“You may, if you accompany it with something to drink. Would you believe it, Oppovich and his daughter were at supper when I arrived to report myself; and neither of them as much as said, Chevalier—I mean Mon. de Marsac—won't you do us the honor to join us? No. Old Ignaz went on with his meal,—cold veal and a potato salad, I think it was; and the fair Sara examined my posting-book to see I had made no delay on the road; but neither offered me even the courtesy of a glass of wine.”
“I don't suspect it was from any want of hospitality,” I began.
“An utter want of everything, mon cher. Want of decency; want of delicacy; want of due deference to a man of birth and blood. I see you are sending your servant out. Now, I beg, don't make a stranger—don't make what we call a 'Prince Russe' of me. A little quiet supper, and something to wash it down; good fellowship will do the rest. May I give your man the orders?”
“You will confer a great favor on me,” said I.
He took my servant apart, and whispered a few minutes with him at the window. “Try Kleptomitz first,” said he aloud, as the man was leaving; “and mind you say M. Marsac sent you. Smart 'bursche' you've got there. If you don't take him with you, hand him over to me.”
“I will do so,” said I; “and am happy to have secured him a good master.”
“You'll not know him when you pass through Fiume again. I believe there's not my equal in Europe to drill a servant. Give me a Chinese, an Esquimau; give me a Hottentot, and in six months you shall see him announce a visitor, deliver a letter, wait at table, or serve coffee, with the quiet dignity and the impassive steadiness of the most accomplished lackey. The three servants of Fiume were made by me, and their fortunes also. One has now the chief restaurant at Rome, in the Piazza di Spagna; the other is manager of the 'Iron Crown Hotel,' at Zurich; he wished to have it called the 'Arms of Marsac,' but I forbade him. I said, 'No, Pierre, no. The De Marsacs are now travelling incog.' Like the Tavannes and the Rohans, we have to wait and bide our time. Louis Napoleon is not immortal. Do you think he is?”
“I have no reason to think so.”
“Well, well, you are too young to take interest in politics; not but that I did at fourteen: I conspired at fourteen! I will show you a stiletto Mazzini gave me on my birthday; and the motto on the blade was, 'Au service du. Roi.' Ah! you are surprised at what I tell you. I hear you say to yourself, 'How the devil did he come to this place? what led him to Fiume?' A long story that; a story poor old Dumas would give one of his eyes for. There's more adventure, more scrapes by villany, dangers and deathblows generally, in the last twenty-two years of my life—I am now thirty-six—than in all the Monte Cristos that ever were written. I will take the liberty to put another log on your fire. What do you say if we lay the cloth? It will expedite matters a little.”
“With all my heart. Here are all my household goods,” said I, opening a little press in the wall.