"Would you like," said Marillac, without stopping at this interruption,
"that I should improvise a discourse upon the death penalty or upon
temperance? Would you like me to tell you a story?"

"A story, yes, a story!" they all exclaimed in unison.

"Speak out, then; order what story you like; it will cost you nothing,"
replied the artist, rubbing his hands with a radiant air. "Would you
like a tale from the Middle Ages? a fairy, an eastern, a comical, or a
private story? I warn you that the latter style is less old-fashioned
than the others."

"Let us have it, then, by all means," said all the drunken voices.

"Very well. Now would you like it to be laid in Spain, Arabia, or
France?"

"France!" exclaimed the prosecutor.

"I am French, you are French, he is French. You shall have a French
story."

Marillac leaned his forehead upon his hands, and his elbows upon the
table, as if to gather his scattered ideas. After a few moments'
reflection, he raised his head and looked first at Gerfaut, then at
Bergenheim, with a peculiar smile.

"It would be very original," said he, in a low voice as if replying to
his own thoughts.