“Ah, to be sure,” replied Château-Renaud; “the lovely Venetian, is it not?”
“Herself.” At this moment the countess perceived Albert, and returned his salutation with a smile.
“You know her, it seems?” said Château-Renaud.
“Franz introduced me to her at Rome,” replied Albert.
“Well, then, will you do as much for me in Paris as Franz did for you in Rome?”
“With pleasure.”
There was a cry of “Shut up!” from the audience. This manifestation on the part of the spectators of their wish to be allowed to hear the music, produced not the slightest effect on the two young men, who continued their conversation.
“The countess was present at the races in the Champ-de-Mars,” said Château-Renaud.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Bless me, I quite forgot the races. Did you bet?”
“Oh, merely a paltry fifty louis.”
“And who was the winner?”
“Nautilus. I staked on him.”
“But there were three races, were there not?”
“Yes; there was the prize given by the Jockey Club—a gold cup, you know—and a very singular circumstance occurred about that race.”
“What was it?”
“Oh, shut up!” again interposed some of the audience.
“Why, it was won by a horse and rider utterly unknown on the course.”
“Is that possible?”
“True as day. The fact was, nobody had observed a horse entered by the name of Vampa, or that of a jockey styled Job, when, at the last moment, a splendid roan, mounted by a jockey about as big as your fist, presented themselves at the starting-post. They were obliged to stuff at least twenty pounds weight of shot in the small rider’s pockets, to make him weight; but with all that he outstripped Ariel and Barbare, against whom he ran, by at least three whole lengths.”