“What others?” he asked.
“That I don’t know any thing about,” replied the younger valet. “But you may imagine that there must have been more than one in that little house during the many years that M. Vincent owned it,—a man who hadn’t his equal for women, and who was worth millions.”
“And what was his business?”
“Don’t know that, either.”
“What! there were ten of you in the house, and you didn’t know the profession of the man who paid you all?”
“We were all new.”
“The chambermaid, Amanda, must have known.”
“When she was asked, she said that he was a merchant. One thing is sure, he was a queer old chap.”
So interested was the old coachman, that, seeing the punch-bowl empty, he called for another. His comrade could not fail to show his appreciation of such politeness.
“Ah, yes!” he went on, “old Vincent was an eccentric fellow; and never, to see him, could you have suspected that he cut up such capers, and that he threw money away by the handful.”