"Monseigneur—"
"Be seated; I wish it. Here I lay aside my rank and my grandeur; in you I see the first confidant of my loves, the clever servant of my passions, the audacious rascal for whom gold excited the imagination, and who knew no obstacle when a purse filled with pistoles was the recompense of his services. You are still the same, I am certain."
"Ah, monsieur, age makes us more reasonable. Seventeen years have passed since I had the honor of serving you for the first time; but since that time my head is steadier; I have learned to reflect."
"Do you wish to become an honest man? But it is not more than ten years ago that you were serving me; you were still a knave then. Does your conversion date from that epoch?"
"Monsieur le marquis is incessantly joking. He calls those services knaveries which I rendered to him because I was so strongly attached to him."
"Call it what you will, it matters little to me. It's not necessary with me, Master Touquet, to play the hypocrite, and man of scruples. In fact, are you disposed to be useful to me? Is your genius extinguished, and will gold no longer resuscitate it?"
"To serve you, monsieur le marquis, I shall be always the same; you need not doubt my zeal or my devotion."
"All in good time. That is all that I ask of you; be a saint with other people if that pleases you, but see that I always find you the same to me as you were formerly."
Touquet did not answer, but he turned his head and his features seemed to grow sad. However, he soon recovered himself and turned smilingly toward his guest, who was tapping the wall of the chimney with his feet, and who remained for some time silent, as if he had forgotten that he was still at the barber's. The latter waited with impatience for the marquis to resume his discourse. At the end of five minutes the noble seigneur broke the silence.
"My dear Touquet, when I recall the events of my life to my memory, I am truly astonished that I am still in the world. Why, during all this time, has not the dagger of a jealous husband or father fallen upon my head? How many men have sworn to ruin me! And the women,—if all those I have betrayed had executed their projects of vengeance! Thanks to Heaven, we are not in Italy or in Spain; and, while we have among the French some vindictive spirits, who hold rancor toward one who has betrayed them, the total is small. Inconstancy is not an unforgivable crime among these ladies, who deign sometimes to put themselves in our places and say they would not have done differently to us."