"Ah! what a pity that Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is married! She used to give me famous commissions! and she paid handsomely."
Léodgard, who up to this time had heard the lamentations of his two neighbors, but had paid no heed to them, suddenly became very attentive and did not lose a word of what followed; for Valentine's name had reached his ears, and nothing more was needed to arouse his curiosity.
"Oh, yes!" replied Plumard, making a wry face as he tasted the wine that had been brought them; "you used to receive well-filled purses in those days; and you used to treat me. I remember the commission about the white plume; I came near receiving a cudgelling."
"I would run the risk often now, to obtain the wherewithal to pay for a sumptuous repast."
"Why do you not go to the Hôtel de Mongarcin any more?"
"I do go there sometimes, as Maître Bourdinard, our employer, is still Madame de Ravenelle's solicitor and has charge of her affairs. But Mademoiselle Valentine doesn't live with her aunt since she married the Marquis de Santoval."
"The result being that you never see her."
"Faith! the other day the old aunt came within an ace of sending me to her niece to obtain her signature to a document concerning the sale of a piece of real estate; but some formalities had been omitted, and I had to carry the document back to the office, where they prepared another.—Sacrebleu! what beastly wine!"
"Messieurs," said Léodgard, turning to his neighbors, but without removing his hat, which partly concealed his face, "would you like to taste this? you may not think it bad."
And the count raised the bottle to fill the two clerks' goblets. They both made a gesture of surprise, which ended in the most gracious of smiles. They did not wait to be asked twice to hold their goblets.