A Start in Life | Page 6

was
to start on the morrow. By offering fifteen hundred francs, instead of
the two thousand five hundred still due, he was in hopes that the
softened carriage-builders would give him his coach. But after a few
moments' meditation, his feelings led him to cry out aloud:--
"No! they're dogs! harpies! Suppose I appeal to Monsieur Moreau, the
steward at Presles? he is such a kind man," thought Pierrotin, struck
with a new idea. "Perhaps he would take my note for six months."
At this moment a footman in livery, carrying a leather portmanteau and
coming from the Touchard establishment, where he had gone too late to

secure places as far as Chambly, came up and said:--
"Are you Pierrotin?"
"Say on," replied Pierrotin.
"If you would wait a quarter of an hour, you could take my master. If
not, I'll carry back the portmanteau and try to find some other
conveyance."
"I'll wait two, three quarters, and throw a little in besides, my lad," said
Pierrotin, eyeing the pretty leather trunk, well buckled, and bearing a
brass plate with a coat of arms.
"Very good; then take this," said the valet, ridding his shoulder of the
trunk, which Pierrotin lifted, weighed, and examined.
"Here," he said to his porter, "wrap it up carefully in soft hay and put it
in the boot. There's no name upon it," he added.
"Monseigneur's arms are there," replied the valet.
"Monseigneur! Come and take a glass," said Pierrotin, nodding toward
the Cafe de l'Echiquier, whither he conducted the valet. "Waiter, two
absinthes!" he said, as he entered. "Who is your master? and where is
he going? I have never seen you before," said Pierrotin to the valet as
they touched glasses.
"There's a good reason for that," said the footman. "My master only
goes into your parts about once a year, and then in his own carriage. He
prefers the valley d'Orge, where he has the most beautiful park in the
neighborhood of Paris, a perfect Versailles, a family estate of which he
bears the name. Don't you know Monsieur Moreau?"
"The steward of Presles?"
"Yes. Monsieur le Comte is going down to spend a couple of days with
him."

"Ha! then I'm to carry Monsieur le Comte de Serizy!" cried the
coach-proprietor.
"Yes, my land, neither more nor less. But listen! here's a special order.
If you have any of the country neighbors in your coach you are not to
call him Monsieur le comte; he wants to travel 'en cognito,' and told me
to be sure to say he would pay a handsome pourboire if he was not
recognized."
"So! Has this secret journey anything to do with the affair which Pere
Leger, the farmer at the Moulineaux, came to Paris the other day to
settle?"
"I don't know," replied the valet, "but the fat's in the fire. Last night I
was sent to the stable to order the Daumont carriage to be ready to go to
Presles at seven this morning. But when seven o'clock came, Monsieur
le comte countermanded it. Augustin, his valet de chambre, attributes
the change to the visit of a lady who called last night, and again this
morning,--he thought she came from the country."
"Could she have told him anything against Monsieur Moreau?--the best
of men, the most honest of men, a king of men, hey! He might have
made a deal more than he has out of his position, if he'd chosen; I can
tell you that."
"Then he was foolish," answered the valet, sententiously.
"Is Monsieur le Serizy going to live at Presles at last?" asked Pierrotin;
"for you know they have just repaired and refurnished the chateau. Do
you think it is true he has already spent two hundred thousand francs
upon it?"
"If you or I had half what he has spent upon it, you and I would be rich
bourgeois. If Madame la comtesse goes there--ha! I tell you what! no
more ease and comfort for the Moreaus," said the valet, with an air of
mystery.
"He's a worthy man, Monsieur Moreau," remarked Pierrotin, thinking

of the thousand francs he wanted to get from the steward. "He is a man
who makes others work, but he doesn't cheapen what they do; and he
gets all he can out of the land--for his master. Honest man! He often
comes to Paris and gives me a good fee: he has lots of errands for me to
do in Paris; sometimes three or four packages a day,--either from
monsieur or madame. My bill for cartage alone comes to fifty francs a
month, more or less. If madame does set up to be somebody, she's fond
of her children; and it is I who fetch them from school and take them
back; and each time she gives