"Sartorian will buy any rubbish of that sort. For my part, I think if one buried a brass button only long enough, he would give one a bank-note for it."
"They say there are marble creatures of his that cost more than would dower a thousand brides, or pension a thousand soldiers. I do not know about that. My boy did not get far in the palace; but he said that the hall he waited in was graven with gold and precious stones. One picture he saw in it was placed on a golden altar, as if it were a god. To worship old coins, and rags of canvas, and idols of stone like that,—how vile it is! while we are glad to get a nettle-salad off the edge of the road."
"But the coins gave thee the brindled calf."
"That was no goodness to us. Sartorian has a craze for such follies."
Folle-Farine had listened, and, standing by them, for once spoke:
"Who is Sartorian? Will you tell me?"
The women were from a far-distant village, and had not the infinite horror of her felt by those who lived in the near neighborhood of the mill of Yprès.
"He is a great noble," they answered her, eyeing her with suspicion.
"And where is his dwelling?"
"Near Rioz. What do the like of you want with the like of the Prince?"