“I’ll repeat that to Vinet,” thought the sub-prefect. “Go and ask your master if he can receive the sub-prefect of Arcis.”
Presently Paradise returned.
“Monsieur begs Monsieur the sub-prefect to come up; he will be delighted to see him.”
“My lad,” said Olivier Vinet, who with the two other functionaries had joined the sub-prefect before the inn, “how much does your master give a year for a boy of your cut and wits?”
“Give, monsieur! What do you take me for? Monsieur le comte lets himself be milked, and I’m content.”
“That boy was raised in a good school!” said Frederic Marest.
“The highest school, monsieur,” said the urchin, amazing the four friends with his perfect self-possession.
“What a Figaro!” cried Vinet.
“Mustn’t lower one’s price,” said the infant. “My master calls me a little Robert-Macaire, and since we have learned how to invest our money we are Figaro, plus a savings bank.”
“How much do you earn?”