"You want me to so something for you?" said he, in a hearty tone.
"I find myself under the necessity of applying to you for the promotion of one of my second clerks to the head of a room—as a personal favor to myself—and his advancement to be officer of the Legion of Honor."
"What is his name?" said the Marshal, with a look like a lightning flash.
"Marneffe."
"He has a pretty wife; I saw her on the occasion of your daughter's marriage.—If Roger—but Roger is away!—Hector, my boy, this is concerned with your pleasures. What, you still indulge—? Well, you are a credit to the old Guard. That is what comes of having been in the Commissariat; you have reserves!—But have nothing to do with this little job, my dear boy; it is too strong of the petticoat to be good business."
"No, Marshal; it is bad business, for the police courts have a finger in it. Would you like to see me go there?"
"The devil!" said the Prince uneasily. "Go on!"
"Well, I am in the predicament of a trapped fox. You have always been so kind to me, that you will, I am sure, condescend to help me out of the shameful position in which I am placed."
Hulot related his misadventures, as wittily and as lightly as he could.
"And you, Prince, will you allow my brother to die of grief, a man you love so well; or leave one of your staff in the War Office, a Councillor of State, to live in disgrace. This Marneffe is a wretched creature; he can be shelved in two or three years."