"What position, bourgeois? do you mean what do I do?"
"Exactly."
"I am Vincent, the gardener of the château—by your leave. And there’s work enough, God knows! You wait till you see the garden! You wouldn’t know where you were!"
"Is the garden large?"
"I should say so! It’s so big that I’ve only been taking care of half of it for a long while, because, you see, I can’t do everything."
"Why do you allow the courtyard to get all choked up with weeds, master gardener?" inquired Alfred.
"Oh! I can’t do everything, monsieur; besides, the courtyard ain’t the garden."
"He is right," said Robineau; "he should confine himself to his duties.—And you, behind him—what do you do on my property? Stand forward."
The concierge, forced to abandon the chair that supported him, staggered forward, and pulling out a red handkerchief filled with snuff to wipe his inflamed face, began by hiccoughing, then he commenced to laugh, and said:
"I’m the man—I’m the man as keeps you, master.—You see before you a buck who eats and drinks enough for six."