“Then there is the Prince de Harnac—Gustave.”
“What, you know a Prince!”
“Why, man, I am a Prince.”
“You are a what?”
“I am a Prince,” said Toto shamefacedly.
“Ah, mon Dieu! what a droll you are!” cried Garnier, breaking into a laugh. “First you are a bourgeois, then you are a banker, then you are a Prince.”
“I am not joking; I am what I say.”
“But,” cried Garnier, sobered by the serious face of Toto, “you a Prince, sitting here at the Trois Frères with me! Come now! a joke is all very well up to a certain point; beyond that it makes one feel giddy. Besides, you are not like a Prince.”
“For Heaven’s sake, what is a Prince like?” asked Toto, half laughing, half vexed. “I have never seen a Prince that was different from anyone else; they are generally more stupid, perhaps, but that is all.”
“But what are you Prince of?” cried the painter, belief and disbelief battling in his mind.