"Don't praise me until you see that I am successful."

Mascarin stopped opposite to a _café_ in the Faubourg Saint Honore.

"Wait here for me, doctor," said he, "while I make a little call. If all
is all right; I will come for you again; then I will see the Count, and
twenty minutes later do you go to the house and ask for the Countess."

The clock struck four as the worthy confederates parted, and Mascarin
continued his way along the Faubourg Saint Honore, and again stopped
before a public house, which he entered, the master of which, Father
Canon, was so well known in the neighborhood that he had not thought it
worth while to have his name painted over the door. He did not profess
to serve his best wine to casual customers, but for regular frequenters
of his house, chiefly the servants of noble families, he kept a better
brand of wine. Mascarin's respectable appearance inclined the landlord
to step forward. Among Frenchmen, who are always full of gayety, a
serious exterior is ever an excellent passport.

"What can I do for you, sir?" asked he with great politeness.

"Can I see Florestan?"

"In Count de Mussidan's service, I believe?"

"Just so; I have an appointment with him here."

"He is downstairs in the band-room," replied the landlord. "I will send
for him."