"I am not at all astonished at it," said Pommerive with an impudent assurance, for which he was indebted to his age, and to a reputation for cynic cowardice, which I should have stated he was wont to boast of. "I did not expect to meet you; that is all. But listen." Then, taking my arm, he led me to the recess of a window, saying as we moved along: "Do you know the Prince do Fersen very well?"
Pommerive was repugnant to me, but I was curious to know if people had heard of my having travelled with the princess, and as Pommerive was sure to pick up the slightest report, true or false, he might enlighten me on this subject.
"I do not know M. de Fersen any better than you know him," I said.
"Then you know him very well," he replied, conceitedly.
"How is that?"
"Certainly. I dined with him yesterday, a miserable dinner it is true, at Baron ——'s, chargé d'affaires of ——, who brought me here just now in his carriage! And what a carriage! a wretched concern with a glass window in the back, a regular rattletrap. It is indeed a carriage which seems made expressly to help to digest his bad dinners, so hard is it; for that miserly fellow scrapes up dowries for his six hideous daughters from the allowance made him for entertaining; and he is right, for without dowry who the devil would look twice at any of his daughters? But I come back to the prince."
"Very unfortunate for him, M. de Pommerive."
"Oh, not at all! I shall be careful of the dear prince, for he appreciates me, and I have come to make an appointment for our business."
"And what business, M. de Pommerive? May one, without being indiscreet, inquire into this diplomatic secret?"
"Oh, it is quite plain; he asked that miserly baron—" and here Pommerive opened a parenthesis to insert another piece of malice. "Speaking of this miserly baron," he continued, "would you believe it? when he gives his wretched dinners, a sort of Maître Jacques goes once around the table with a miserable bottle of champagne, not iced, which he holds tightly in his arms, just as a nurse holds her precious nursling; and he says very quickly, as he passes on still more quickly, 'Monsieur does not drink champagne,' without any point of interrogation, the wretch, but with an accent of affirmation."