"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