naturally conversed with the landlord while waiting for dinner.
Mitouflet was an old soldier, guilelessly crafty, like the peasantry
of the Loire; he never laughed at a jest, but took it with the gravity
of a man accustomed to the roar of cannon and to make his own jokes
under arms.

"You have some very strong-minded people here," said Gaudissart,
leaning against the door-post and lighting his cigar at Mitouflet's
pipe.

"How do you mean?" asked Mitouflet.

"I mean people who are rough-shod on political and financial ideas."

"Whom have you seen? if I may ask without indiscretion," said the
landlord innocently, expectorating after the adroit and periodical
fashion of smokers.

"A fine, energetic fellow named Margaritis."

Mitouflet cast two glances in succession at his guest which were
expressive of chilling irony.

"May be; the good-man knows a deal. He knows too much for other folks,
who can't always understand him."

"I can believe it, for he thoroughly comprehends the abstruse
principles of finance."

"Yes," said the innkeeper, "and for my part, I am sorry he is a