“Mistigris! if you interfere again I’ll have you put off into the road,” said his master.  “And so,” he added, turning to Georges, “monsieur has been to the East?”

“Yes, monsieur; first to Egypt, then to Greece, where I served under Ali, pacha of Janina, with whom I had a terrible quarrel.  There’s no enduring those climates long; besides, the emotions of all kinds in Oriental life have disorganized my liver.”

“What, have you served as a soldier?” asked the fat farmer.  “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” replied Georges, whereupon all the passengers looked at him.  “At eighteen I enlisted as a private for the famous campaign of 1813; but I was present at only one battle, that of Hanau, where I was promoted sergeant-major.  In France, at Montereau, I won the rank of sub-lieutenant, and was decorated by,—­there are no informers here, I’m sure,—­by the Emperor.”

“What! are you decorated?” cried Oscar.  “Why don’t you wear your cross?”

“The cross of ‘ceux-ci’?  No, thank you!  Besides, what man of any breeding would wear his decorations in travelling?  There’s monsieur,” he said, motioning to the Comte de Serizy.  “I’ll bet whatever you like—­”

“Betting whatever you like means, in France, betting nothing at all,” said Mistigris’s master.

“I’ll bet whatever you like,” repeated Georges, incisively, “that monsieur here is covered with stars.”

“Well,” said the count, laughing, “I have the grand cross of the Legion of honor, that of Saint Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle, that of the Annunciation of Sardinia, and the Golden Fleece.”

“Beg pardon,” said Mistigris, “are they all in the coucou?”

“Hey! that brick-colored old fellow goes it strong!” whispered Georges to Oscar.  “What was I saying?—­oh!  I know.  I don’t deny that I adore the Emperor—­”

“I served under him,” said the count.

“What a man he was, wasn’t he?” cried Georges.

“A man to whom I owe many obligations,” replied the count, with a silly expression that was admirably assumed.

“For all those crosses?” inquired Mistigris.

“And what quantities of snuff he took!” continued Monsieur de Serizy.

“He carried it loose in his pockets,” said Georges.

“So I’ve been told,” remarked Pere Leger with an incredulous look.

“Worse than that; he chewed and smoked,” continued Georges.  “I saw him smoking, in a queer way, too, at Waterloo, when Marshal Soult took him round the waist and flung him into his carriage, just as he had seized a musket and was going to charge the English—­”

“You were at Waterloo!” cried Oscar, his eyes stretching wide open.