“Ah ca! is he subject to such attacks,—­that master of yours?” said Mistigris, addressing the porter.

“He has gone to fetch his feed from the stable,” replied the porter, well versed in all the usual tricks to keep passengers quiet.

“Well, after all,” said Mistigris, “‘art is long, but life is short’ —­to Bichette.”

At this particular epoch, a fancy for mutilating or transposing proverbs reigned in the studios.  It was thought a triumph to find changes of letters, and sometimes of words, which still kept the semblance of the proverb while giving it a fantastic or ridiculous meaning.[*]

  [*] It is plainly impossible to translate many of these proverbs
      and put any fun or meaning into them.—­Tr.

“Patience, Mistigris!” said his master; “‘come wheel, come whoa.’”

Pierrotin here returned, bringing with him the Comte de Serizy, who had come through the rue de l’Echiquier, and with whom he had doubtless had a short conversation.

“Pere Leger,” said Pierrotin, looking into the coach, “will you give your place to Monsieur le comte?  That will balance the carriage better.”

“We sha’n’t be off for an hour if you go on this way,” cried Georges.  “We shall have to take down this infernal bar, which cost such trouble to put up.  Why should everybody be made to move for the man who comes last?  We all have a right to the places we took.  What place has monsieur engaged?  Come, find that out!  Haven’t you a way-book, a register, or something?  What place has Monsieur Lecomte engaged? —­count of what, I’d like to know.”

“Monsieur le comte,” said Pierrotin, visibly troubled, “I am afraid you will be uncomfortable.”

“Why didn’t you keep better count of us?” said Mistigris. “’Short counts make good ends.’”

“Mistigris, behave yourself,” said his master.

Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the persons in the coach for a bourgeois of the name of Lecomte.

“Don’t disturb any one,” he said to Pierrotin.  “I will sit with you in front.”

“Come, Mistigris,” said the master to his rapin, “remember the respect you owe to age; you don’t know how shockingly old you may be yourself some day.  ‘Travel deforms youth.’  Give your place to monsieur.”

Mistigris opened the leathern curtain and jumped out with the agility of a frog leaping into the water.

“You mustn’t be a rabbit, august old man,” he said to the count.

“Mistigris, ‘ars est celare bonum,’” said his master.

“I thank you very much, monsieur,” said the count to Mistigris’s master, next to whom he now sat.

The minister of State cast a sagacious glance round the interior of the coach, which greatly affronted both Oscar and Georges.

“When persons want to be master of a coach, they should engage all the places,” remarked Georges.

Certain now of his incognito, the Comte de Serizy made no reply to this observation, but assumed the air of a good-natured bourgeois.