“Oh! some races I make two or three thousand francs—and without selling my master, monsieur.”
“Sublime infant!” said Vinet; “he knows the turf.”
“Yes, and all gentlemen riders,” said the child, sticking out his tongue at Vinet.
Antonin Goulard, ushered by the landlord into a room which had been turned into a salon, felt himself instantly under the focus of an eyeglass held in the most impertinent manner by the stranger.
“Monsieur,” said the sub-prefect with a certain official hauteur, “I have just learned from the wife of the innkeeper that you refuse to conform to the ordinances of the police, and as I do not doubt that you are a person of distinction, I have come myself—”
“Is your name Goulard?” demanded the stranger in a high voice.
“I am the sub-prefect, monsieur,” replied Antonin Goulard.
“Your father belonged to the Simeuse family?”
“And I, monsieur, belong to the government; that is how times differ.”
“You have a servant named Julien, who has tried to entice the Princesse de Cadignan’s maid away from her?”