Cherami made a wry face, muttering:
"Sapristi! I prefer the Auvergnat accent to that jargon.—Look you, messieurs, I just want you to be my seconds; I expect my opponent's seconds here at ten o'clock, and you must both be here then. I will give you a hundred sous each for the morning; and you will be free at half-past ten; for the fight will not come off till to-morrow, I fancy."
"All right! five francs; all right!"
"What have we got to do?"
"In the first place, my boy, you will be good enough not to speak at all; for you have a way of pronouncing your t's and s's which will produce a very bad effect. Your master can say that you're a Pole, and that you don't know a word of French. That's your rôle, then—to say nothing. But I must dress you, my friends; I can't have seconds in short jackets. Do you own a coat, my boy?"
"No, but I've got a much better jacket."
"I don't want seconds in jackets. My landlady must have some coats that belonged to her late husband; we will get one of them. Have you a hat?"
"I have a new cap."
"How you run your words together! We'll find a hat somewhere in the house.—And you, master—what's your name?"
"Michel."