"You won't give orders to Pongo. Let flonflon alone!"
"Ah! you tire me!" and Georget, in his impatience to be gone, leaped upon the coat which the mulatto held by one sleeve; each insisted upon the other's letting go, and as neither of them would give way and as they continued to pull, the subject of the dispute fell upon the gravel, deprived of both sleeves, which remained in the hands of the two disputants for the honor of carrying that garment to their master.
At that moment Monsieur de Brévanne arrived upon the scene of conflict; he saw his coat upon the ground, sleeveless, while Georget and Pongo, with an equally confused and sheepish expression, gazed piteously at the portion of the garment which had remained in their hands.
"Well! I am waiting for my coat!" said the count, who found it hard not to smile at the bearing of the two persons before him.
"Coat—flonflon—there, there!" said the mulatto, passing his master the sleeve that he held.
"What's this you are giving me, Pongo? a sleeve?"
"Oh! me put on the rest afterward, master, me stitch up all what's torn, me fix it nice. It's Monsieur Georget's fault, him want to take the coat, him say me no longer monsieur's servant; me no believe him, he try to take flonflon by force."
"That is true, monsieur," said Georget; "it is my fault that your coat is torn, I admit; I was in such a hurry to bring it to you, and he refused to give it to me."
"If he take my place to wait on master, then Pongo discharged, turned out! Poor Pongo! very unhappy! he go bang his head against the wall."
And the mulatto began to utter noises that would have frightened an ox. Not without much difficulty did his master convince him that he had never had any intention of dismissing him, and that if he did take Georget to Paris that day, it did not mean that Georget had any desire to take his place.