"Well, wife"—said the tailor, with a triumphant air.
"Hold your tongue, you fool . . . he has cheated this coachman as he has bewitched and cheated you . . . another proof that he is a rogue."
"Rogue!" cried the worthy Sicard, stamping his foot angrily . . . . "A cheat! Know, my gossip, that this gentleman cheats no one . . . . If I carried him for nothing it was because it gave me pleasure to do so. Seeing him stopped by the rain, I drew my carriage up to the door and said to him, 'Get in, sir!' 'No, thank you my lad,' he answered, in a voice sweet as music. 'But you will be wet to the skin.' 'That is very possible; but tell me only, my friend, what time it is.' 'Eleven o'clock, sir.' 'Eleven o'clock! and I have business at the Palais Marchand at half-past eleven,' exclaimed he, involuntarily looking sadly at the rain and the gutters, which were running like rivers. 'Get in, then, sir,' I repeated; 'in twenty minutes I will set you down at the Palais Marchand, while on foot it will take you at least until noon to get there!' 'I thank you, my lad,' said he, half-smiling, half-sighing, 'but I have no money. So don't lose your time here!' 'No money!' I cried, opening the door, and almost pushing the little gentleman into my carriage, for he was slender as a reed. 'By Jupiter, it shall not be Jerome Sicard, who, for a franc, leaves a gentleman like you to miss an appointment! Take my number, and you may pay me when you like, sir;' and without giving him time to answer, I jumped on my seat, and in eighteen minutes I deposited him safely at the Palais Marchand."
"Well done! he has bewitched everybody, even a hackney-coachman," cried Dame Landry; "but patience—patience!"
"Shall you soon be done?" cried out the steward of the Princess Soubise.
"In one moment, sir. Arrived at the Palais Marchand, my gentleman said, 'Give me your number, my lad, I only desire to have the power to recognize your kindness some day, and to pay you as you deserve; for without your help, I could not have been present at an audience very important to my lawsuit; but, as you have been so obliging, do me yet one more favor. I started to go to my tailor to tell him not to fail to bring me the coat which he promised me for to-night. This tailor keeps in St. Honoré, at the sign of The Golden Scissors. If it will not take you too much out of your way to pass this shop and tell the tailor that the Marquis—Let—Les—Létorière—yes, that's it—of Létorière, will expect this evening the coat he took the measure for a fortnight since.' 'Whether it is out of my way or not,' said I, 'I will go at any rate.' Then you hired me by the hour, sir;" and the coachman, turning towards the steward, added: "I have passed through St. Honoré, which has not put you out at all, and I have executed my commission to this worthy knight of the thimble and needle." Turning to Landry: "Now, tailor, don't forget the gentleman's coat, and if you will tell me at what hour it will be ready, I will come and carry it to his house myself, gratis. Zounds!—always gratis—for I am sure that to oblige any one who so much resembles a good angel ought to give one happiness. Now, my master, excuse me"—and he turned towards the steward of Madame Rohan-Soubise—"when you are ready we will start."
The steward, witness of this singular scene, felt interested in spite of himself; he did not hurry in getting into the coach, especially when he heard Dame Landry cry, in a cross voice, regarding her husband with surprise and astonishment:
"Have you then dared, in spite of my orders, to promise another coat to this person who never pays? But you have not begun it, I hope?"
"But, my dear—"
"There is no but about it,—answer me!"