"I happen to be the proprietor of the carriage," replied Henry, assuming an important air, "and if you decline to leave it I shall call the Sergent de Ville." Then turning to the porter, he told him to put the bags in the coupé, which he did.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the two men. "Faites ça, mon bon! that would be amusing. Do you know who we are?"
Henry did not, and said he was not particularly anxious to know.
"This is Monsieur Félix Pyat, and I am his secretary. Here is a bon for your carriage," handing Henry the card.
"Well," said Henry, pulling out his card, "here is my card, here are my passes, and here [pointing to Louis] is my coachman!"
Félix Pyat said, "How do we know that this is your carriage?"
Henry acknowledged that at the moment he looked so little like the owner of anything except the bag, in which the peas were rattling like bullets, that he forgave the doubt.
Louis was called from the box and the question was put to him. In ordinary moments Louis would have mumbled and stuttered hopelessly; but he seemed to have been given overwhelming strength on this occasion, and surprised Henry by confirming his words with an unction worthy of the great Solomon himself. He waved his whip aloft, pointed to Henry, and putting his hand on his heart (which I am sure was going at a tremendous pace) said, "I swear that this is my master!"
No one but a Communard could have doubted him; but Félix Pyat no more believed Louis's oath than he did Henry's documents.
"Bien," said Pyat; "if it is true that you live in the Rue de Courcelles, we will leave you there and continue on our way."