“It’s exactly what he does want, I believe, sir,” said I. “If I were you, I would go to the house and obtain entrance. The duke expects guests to-morrow.”
“But yourself, sir? Are not your services sufficient for the present?”
“As you perceive,” said I, indicating my attire, “I am not an indoor servant. I am but a makeshift in that capacity.”
He smiled a polite remonstrance at my modesty, adding:
“You think, then, I might have a chance?”
“An excellent one, I believe. Turn to the left, there by the chestnut tree, and you will find yourself within a minute’s walk of the front door.”
He bowed, raised his hat, and trotted off, moving with a quick, shuffling, short-stepping gait. I lit another pipe and yawned. I hoped the duke would engage this newcomer and let me go about my business; and I fancied that he would, for the fellow looked dapper, sharp, and handy. And the duchess? I was so disturbed to find myself disturbed at the thought of the duchess that I exclaimed:
“By Jove, I’d better go! By Jove, I had!”
A wishing-cap, or rather a hoping-cap—for if a man who is no philosopher may have an opinion, we do not always wish and hope for the same thing—could have done no more for me than the chance of Fate; for at the moment the duke’s voice called “Sampson!” loudly from the house. I ran in obedience to his summons. He stood in the porch with the little stranger by him; and the stranger wore a deferential, but extremely well-satisfied smile.
“Here, you,” said the duke to me, “you can make yourself scarce as soon as you like. I’ve got a better servant, aye, and a sober one. There’s ten francs for you. Now be off!”