"The marquis will visit us," said Oliver, "within an hour."
"He will do no such thing," said Oliver's mother; "he will not come at all."
"He will," said Oliver, taking out his brand-new watch from his breeches pocket and looking at it—"he will be here within a half an hour."
Oliver's mother sniffed incredulously. Oliver arose from the sofa where he was sitting and went to the window, and there stood drumming upon the sill, looking out into the street. Suddenly he drew back. The rumble of a coach was heard; it stopped before the house. A servant opened the coach door, and monseigneur himself stepped out.
He had driven over from the château, and had stopped at the inn. Pierre was standing at the door-way when the marquis leaned out from the window and beckoned—yes, actually beckoned to him. Pierre was so surprised that he took off not only his hat, but his wig also, and stood there bowing in the sun, with his head glistening like a billiard-ball.
"Do you know, innkeeper, of one Monsieur de Monnière who lives in this neighborhood?"
"Monsieur de Monnière?" repeated Pierre, blankly.
"Yes," said the marquis, impatiently. "De Monnière—Monsieur de Monnière. Do you know where Monsieur de Monnière lives?"
"Monsieur de Monnière," repeated Pierre, stupidly; he did not recognize the name.