"He has rare simplicity," said the governor, aside; "he little knows how he appears."
Létorière went on. . . . "Then I had to see the councillor Flachsinfingen. I reached his house and asked for him, and was introduced into the presence of an old sorceress, dressed in black, who might have passed for a female savant, so dry and thin was she. She had, into the bargain, a Bible in her hand. 'I have business with the councillor, and not with his wife,' said I to the lacquey. 'Me or the councillor, 'tis all the same,' said the old witch. 'Tell me, sir, what you have to say to my husband?' Then, baron, I, who know how to do such things, devised a way to send off the wife and bring forward the husband."
"Let's hear, Marquis," said the governor; adding, aside: "when he shall become quick and adroit in such matters, I will drink pure water . . . he is rough and knotty as an oak, but pliable as a willow. Ah, well! what was this scheme, Marquis?"
"'A thousand devils, madam!' said I to the lady, 'what I have to say to the councillor is not fit for your chaste ears.' 'Never mind; say on, sir!' Then, baron, I began to recount a tale of the barracks which would have made a Pandour blush."
At this new jest the baron had a new spasm of laughter, and exclaimed: "A barrack-story to the prudish and devout Flachsinfingen! I would have given—devil take me if I wouldn't—my old hound Moick, if I could have witnessed that scene; and what did she say?"
"She blushed red as a lobster, called me insolent, and made me a sign to go away."
"If that is the course you take to interest your judges in your cause, my guest, I wish you joy of it," said the governor.
"And what the devil should I find to say to a learned man or to a prude? One cannot make himself over again."
"Certainly not," murmured the baron; "the poor boy is like me; he would find it difficult to accustom himself to the jargon of a doctor and the babbling of an old woman."
"Then only you remained to be seen, baron. I have seen you; you are a brave man . . . and I am afraid to bother you with my affairs. . . . But this lawsuit . . . if you knew . . . if I lose it! I seem to be an easy-going fellow; but look at me; if this were . . . if I lose it" . . . said Létorière, with energy, "I will never survive. S'death! I should pray St. Cartridge and my rifle to have mercy on me!"