“You are right,” replied Manicamp, stretching out his hand again, “and from that point of view I can accept them. Give them to me.”
“An instant, what the devil! it is not only holding out your hand that will do; if I give you the twenty pistoles, shall I have my brevet?”
“To be sure you shall.”
“Soon?”
“Today.”
“Oh! take care! Monsieur de Manicamp; you undertake much, and I do not ask that. Thirty leagues in a day is too much, you would kill yourself.”
“I think nothing impossible when obliging a friend.”
“You are quite heroic.”
“Where are the twenty pistoles?”
“Here they are,” said Malicorne, showing them.
“That’s well.”
“Yes, but my dear M. Manicamp, you would consume them in post-horses alone!”
“No, no, make yourself easy on that score.”
“Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place to Etampes?”
“Fourteen.”
“Well! fourteen be it; fourteen leagues makes seven posts; at twenty sous the post, seven livres; seven livres the courier, fourteen; as many for coming back, twenty-eight! as much for bed and supper, that makes sixty livres this complaisance would cost.”
Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, and fixing his two great eyes upon Malicorne, “You are right,” said he; “I could not return before tomorrow”; and he took the twenty pistoles.
“Now, then, be off!”
“Well, as I cannot be back before tomorrow, we have time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to play.”
“What do you wish to play with?”
“Your twenty pistoles, pardieu!”
“No; you always win.”
“I will wager them, then.”
“Against what?”
“Against twenty others.”
“And what shall be the object of the wager?”
“This. We have said it was fourteen leagues to Etampes.”
“Yes.”
“And fourteen leagues back?”
“Doubtless.”
“Well; for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow less than fourteen hours?”
“That is agreed.”
“One hour to find the Comte de Guiche.”
“Go on.”
“And an hour to persuade him to write a letter to Monsieur.”
“Just so.”
“Sixteen hours in all?”
“You reckon as well as M. Colbert.”
“It is now twelve o’clock.”
“Half-past.”
“Hein!—you have a handsome watch!”
“What were you saying?” said Malicorne, putting his watch quickly back into his fob.
“Ah! true; I was offering to lay you twenty pistoles against these you have lent me, that you will have the Comte de Guiche’s letter in—”
“How soon?”
“In eight hours.”
“Have you a winged horse, then?”
“That is no matter. Will you bet?”
“I shall have the comte’s letter in eight hours?”
“Yes.”
“In hand?”
“In hand.”
“Well, be it so; I lay,” said Malicorne, curious enough to know how this seller of clothes would get through.
“Is it agreed?”
“It is.”
“Pass me the pen, ink, and paper.”
“Here they are.”
“Thank you.”
Manicamp raised himself with a sigh, and leaning on his left elbow, in his best hand, traced the following lines:—
“Good for an order for a place of maid of honor to Madame, which M. le Comte de Guiche will take upon him to obtain at sight.
This painful task accomplished, he laid himself down in bed again.
“Well!” asked Malicorne, “what does this mean?”
“That means that if you are in a hurry to have the letter from the Comte de Guiche for Monsieur, I have won my wager.”
“How the devil is that?”
“That is transparent enough, I think; you take that paper.”
“Well?”
“And you set out instead of me.”
“Ah!”
“You put your horses to their best speed.”
“Good!”
“In six hours you will be at Etampes; in seven hours you have the letter from the comte, and I shall have won my wager without stirring from my bed, which suits me and you too, at the same time, I am very sure.”
“Decidedly, Manicamp, you are a great man.”
“Hein! I know that.”
“I am to start then for Etampes?”
“Directly.”
“I am to go to the Comte de Guiche with this order?”
“He will give you a similar one for Monsieur.”
“Monsieur will approve?”
“Instantly.”
“And I shall have my brevet?”
“You will.”
“Ah!”
“Well, I hope I behave genteely?”
“Adorably.”
“Thank you.”
“You do as you please, then, with the Comte de Guiche, Manicamp?”
“Except making money of him—everything?”
“Diable! the exception is annoying; but then, if instead of asking him for money, you were to ask—”
“What?”
“Something important.”
“What do you call important?”
“Well! suppose one of your friends asked you to render him a service?”
“I would not render it to him.”
“Selfish fellow!”
“Or at least I would ask him what service he would render me in exchange.”
“Ah! that, perhaps, is fair. Well, that friend speaks to you.”
“What, you, Malicorne?”
“Yes; I.”
“Ah! ah! you are rich, then?”
“I have still fifty pistoles left.”
“Exactly the sum I want. Where are those fifty pistoles?”
“Here,” said Malicorne, slapping his pocket.
“Then speak, my friend; what do you want?”
Malicorne took up the pen, ink, and paper again, and presented them all to Manicamp. “Write!” said he.
“Dictate!”
“An order for a place in the household of Monsieur.”
“Oh!” said Manicamp, laying down the pen, “a place in the household of Monsieur for fifty pistoles?”
“You mistook me, my friend; you did not hear plainly.”
“What did you say, then?”
“I said five hundred.”
“And the five hundred?”
“Here they are.”
Manicamp devoured the rouleau with his eyes; but this time Malicorne held it at a distance.
“Eh! what do you say to that? Five hundred pistoles.”
“I say it is for nothing, my friend,” said Manicamp, taking up the pen again, “and you exhaust my credit. Dictate.”
Malicorne continued:
“Which my friend the Comte de Guiche will obtain for my friend Malicorne.”
“That’s it,” said Manicamp.
“Pardon me, you have forgotten to sign.”
“Ah! that is true. The five hundred pistoles?”
“Here are two hundred and fifty of them.”
“And the other two hundred and fifty?”
“When I am in possession of my place.”
Manicamp made a face.
“In that case give me the recommendation back again.”
“What to do?”
“To add two words to it.”
“Two words?”
“Yes; two words only.”
“What are they?”
“In haste.”
Malicorne returned the recommendation; Manicamp added the words.
“Good,” said Malicorne, taking back the paper.
Manicamp began to count out the pistoles.
“There want twenty,” said he.
“How so?”
“The twenty I have won.”
“In what way?”
“By laying that you would have the letter from the Comte de Guiche in eight hours.”
“Ah! that’s fair,” and he gave him the twenty pistoles.
Manicamp began to scoop up his gold by handfuls, and pour it in cascades upon his bed.
“This second place,” murmured Malicorne, whilst drying his paper, “which, at
