"You see I did know the count," said Oscar. "Possibly. But you'll never be an ambassador," replied Georges. "When people want to talk in public conveyances, they ought to be careful, like me, to talk without saying anything." "That's what speech is for," remarked Mistigris, by way of conclusion. The count returned to his seat and the coucou rolled on amid the deepest silence. "Well, my friends," said the count, when they reached the Carreau woods, "here we all are, as silent as if we were going to the scaffold." "'Silence gives content,'" muttered Mistigris. "The weather is fine," said Georges. "What place is that?" said Oscar, pointing to the chateau de Franconville, which produces a fine effect at that particular spot, backed, as it is, by the noble forest of Saint-Martin. "How is it," cried the count, "that you, who say you go so often to Presles, do not know Franconville?" "Monsieur knows men, not castles," said Mistigris. "Budding diplomatists have so much else to take their minds," remarked Georges. "Be so good as to remember my name," replied Oscar, furious. "I am Oscar Husson, and ten years hence I shall be famous." After that speech, uttered with bombastic assumption, Oscar flung himself back in his corner. "Husson of what, of where?" asked Mistigris. "It is a great family," replied the count. "Husson de la Cerisaie; monsieur was born beneath the steps of the Imperial throne." Oscar colored crimson to the roots of his hair, and was penetrated through and through with a dreadful foreboding. They were now about to descend the steep hill of La Cave, at the foot of which, in a narrow valley, flanked by the forest of Saint-Martin, stands the magnificent chateau of Presles. "Messieurs," said the count, "I wish you every good fortune in your