“A fete? Why?”
“To celebrate his approaching marriage, Monsieur.”
“Prince Andras! Ah!” said the first speaker, as if he knew the name well; “Prince Andras is to be married, is he? And who does Prince Andras Zil—”
“Zilah! He is a Hungarian, Monsieur.”
The reporter appeared to be in a hurry, and, handing another leaf to the boy, he said:
“Wait here a moment. I am going on board, and I will send you the rest of the list of guests by a sailor. They can prepare the article from what you have, and set it up in advance, and I will come myself to the office this evening and make the necessary additions.”
“Very well, Monsieur Jacquemin.”
“And don’t lose any of the leaves.”
“Oh, Monsieur Jacquemin! I never lose anything!”
“They will have some difficulty, perhaps, in reading the names—they are all queer; but I shall correct the proof myself.”