"Well," continued the outlaw, with imperturbable sang-froid, "his noble manners so thoroughly denounced him, despite the plebeian names he chose to assume, that he was compelled at the end of a few minutes to give up this absurd acting."
"Really, sir," cried the stranger, "I do not see the meaning or relevance of your allusions."
"I permit myself no allusions," said the outlaw, with the utmost suavity. "Very far from it. What matters it to me, I ask, whether you call yourself Hebrard, Count de Mas d'Azyr, Philippe de Salnam, Jean Lerou, or take any other alias?"
"Sir!" cried the other.
"Allow me, I pray, to conclude. In you I only recognise a person who is very warmly recommended to me, who has need of my services, and at whose disposition I therefore place myself at once—ready to serve him if possible," he continued; "at all events we can talk, and I should be glad to know in what way I can be of use."
"Sir," said the stranger, smiling, "you are agreeable and witty. I find that people make mistakes in their idea of you."
"I am obliged by your high consideration," continued the outlaw; "still this does not explain to me—"
"Who I am," cried the other, with feigned candour; "well, sir, considering you have mentioned so many names—"
"You allow, then, that I was right."
"Certainly; you were quite right," answered the other, quickly; "I therefore sincerely beg your pardon."