“But, my dear fellow,” replied M. Noirtier, seating himself, “I might say the same thing to you, when you announce to me your wedding for the 28th of February, and on the 3rd of March you turn up here in Paris.”
“And if I have come, my dear father,” said Gérard, drawing closer to M. Noirtier, “do not complain, for it is for you that I came, and my journey will be your salvation.”
“Ah, indeed!” said M. Noirtier, stretching himself out at his ease in the chair. “Really, pray tell me all about it, for it must be interesting.”
“Father, you have heard speak of a certain Bonapartist club in the Rue Saint-Jacques?”
“No. 53; yes, I am vice-president.”
“Father, your coolness makes me shudder.”
“Why, my dear boy, when a man has been proscribed by the mountaineers, has escaped from Paris in a hay-cart, been hunted over the plains of Bordeaux by Robespierre’s bloodhounds, he becomes accustomed to most things. But go on, what about the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques?”
“Why, they induced General Quesnel to go there, and General Quesnel, who quitted his own house at nine o’clock in the evening, was found the next day in the Seine.”
“And who told you this fine story?”
“The king himself.”
“Well, then, in return for your story,” continued Noirtier, “I will tell you another.”
“My dear father, I think I already know what you are about to tell me.”
“Ah, you have heard of the landing of the emperor?”