“That, too, is on the cards,” said the abbé, sipping his glass quietly. “One can credit anything these times.”
“Even the Catholic religion, Abbé,” said De Beauvais, laughing.
“Or the Restoration,” replied the abbé, with a half-malicious look at the préfet, which seemed greatly to amuse the Russian.
“Or the Restoration!” repeated the préfet, solemnly, after him,—“or the Restoration!” And then filling his glass to the brim, he drained it to the bottom.
“It is a hussar corps you are appointed to?” said De Beauvais, hastily turning towards me, as if anxious to engage my attention.
“Yes; the huitieme,” said I: “do you know them?”
“No; I have few acquaintances in the army.”
“His father, sir,” said the préfet, with a voice of considerable emphasis, “was an old garde du corps in those times when the sword was only worn by gentlemen.”
“So much the worse for the army,” whispered the abbé, in an undertone, that was sufficiently audible to the rest to cause an outbreak of laughter.
“And when,” continued the préfet, undisturbed by the interruption, “birth had its privileges.”