“We will keep you,” said Pierre as he alighted, when they had reached the Place du Marcadal.
“Very well, very well, Monsieur l’Abbé! I’ll wait for you!” And then, leaving his lean horse in the hot sun, the driver went to chat and laugh with a strong, dishevelled servant-girl who was washing a dog in the basin of the neighbouring fountain.
Cazaban, as it happened, was just then on the threshold of his shop, the lofty windows and pale green painting of which enlivened the dull Place, which was so deserted on week-days. When he was not pressed with work he delighted to parade in this manner, standing between his two windows, which pots of pomatum and bottles of perfumery decorated with bright shades of colour.
He at once recognised the gentlemen. “Very flattered, very much honoured. Pray w
