“I must be in Paris before noon,” said La Thomassinière, shuffling a mass of papers that he took from his wallet; “I have ten appointments for to-day. I am sure that at least twenty people have called at my house before this. A little more coffee, if you please. It isn’t Mocha——”
“I beg your pardon,” said Destival, as he poured out some for him.
“Oh, no! I assure you that isn’t; I know what I am talking about. I laid in lately a consequential supply; it’s very different from this.”
“I must be in Paris this morning,” said Destival, puffing himself out; “I have numerous matters on the carpet, some of great importance! Monin wants to buy a house, and I have just what he wants.”
“Who’s he? that little man who bet two sous at écarté?”
“What! that fellow buy houses! I shouldn’t have suspected it; his coat was very threadbare—and patched on the elbows.”
“Oh! that means nothing in the country.”
“Never mind! you must admit that a man in a threadbare coat doesn’t promise great things—it doesn’t give you a very exalted idea of his wit. Oh! I have a keen glance, I have; and then, being used to seeing only rich and well-dressed people,—I say, footman, just tell my people to harness up, to put my horses to my calèche.”
“I expect my milliner this morning,” said Athalie; “she is to bring me the sweetest bonnet. We must go at full speed, monsieur, for I am very anxious to try on that bonnet.”