"Do you recognize this, my dear Frédéric? it's the one I showed you at Paris."
"Yes, I recognize it perfectly," said Frédéric, with no idea of Dubourg's purpose; while Monsieur Ménard glanced at the snuff-box and waited impatiently for the baron to explain himself.
"Ah! it's a very precious object in my eyes!" said Dubourg, taking a pinch of snuff. "You have no suspicion, Monsieur Ménard, to whom this modest snuff-box belonged?"
"No, monsieur le baron."
"Modest as it is, I would not exchange it for one of solid gold. It was the King of Prussia's snuff-box, Monsieur Ménard."
"The King of Prussia's?"
"Yes, monsieur; the great Frederick, who, as you know, was very fond of snuff and often carried it in his pocket; still, he had snuff-boxes, which were always very simple, like everything he carried. He himself gave this one to my father, from whom I had it."
"Ah! monsieur le baron, if I might dare to crave the honor——"
And Ménard respectfully put out two fingers to take a pinch of snuff from the Prussian king's snuff-box, which Dubourg smilingly offered him.
Ménard took a pinch with becoming humility. He stuffed his nose full of snuff which he considered delicious, and, when he sneezed, the poor man fancied that he bore some slight resemblance to the King of Prussia. He had lost his head completely; the fumes of grandeur mingled with those of the snuff, and at the third sneeze he cried, saluting Baron Potoski with renewed deference: