"Truly, monsieur, you are very jovial," said the unknown, cheerfully.
"Yes, monsieur; jovial, as all people are who carry nothing on their minds, or, for that matter, in their heads. Oh! I can see it is quite another sort of thing with you," continued D'Artagnan; "I can read in your eyes all sorts of genius."
"Oh, monsieur!"
"Come, confess one thing."
"What is that?"
"That you are a learned man."
"Ma foi! monsieur."
"Hein?"
"Almost."
"Come, then!"
"I am an author."
"There!" cried D'Artagnan, clapping his hands, "I knew I could not be deceived! It is a miracle!"
"Monsieur--"
"What, shall I have the honor of passing the evening in the society of an author, of a celebrated author, perhaps?"
"Oh!" said the unknown, blushing, "celebrated, monsieur, celebrated is not the word."
"Modest!" cried D'Artagnan, transported, "he is modest!" Then, turning towards the stranger, with a character of blunt bonhomie: "But tell me at least the name of your works, monsieur; for you will please to observe you have not told me your name, and I have been forced to divine your genius."
"My name is Jupenet, monsieur," said the author.
"A fine name! a grand name! upon my honor; and I do not know why--pardon me the mistake, if it be one--but surely I have heard that name somewhere."
"I have made verses," said the poet, modestly.
"Ah! that is it, then; I have heard them read."
"A tragedy."
"I must have seen it played."
The poet blushed again, and said: "I do not think that can be the case, for my verses have never been printed."
"Well, then, it must have been the tragedy which informed me of your name."
"You are again mistaken, for MM. the comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne, would have nothing to do with it," said the poet, with a smile, the receipt for which certain sorts of pride alone knew the secret. D'Artagnan bit his lips. "Thus, then, you see, monsieur," continued the poet, "you are in error on my account, and that not being at all known to you, you have never heard tell of me."
"Ah! that confounds me. That name, Jupenet, appears to me, nevertheless, a fine name, and quite as worthy of being known as those of MM. Corneille, or Rotrou, or Garnier. I hope, monsieur, you will have the goodness to repeat to me a part of your tragedy presently, by way of dessert, for instance. That will be sugared roast meat,--mordioux! Ah! pardon me, monsieur, that was a little oath which escaped me, because it is a habit with my lord and master. I sometimes allow myself to usurp that little oath, as it seems in pretty good taste. I take this liberty only in his absence, please to observe, for you may understand that in his presence--but, in truth, monsieur, this cider is abominable; do you not think so? And besides, the pot is of such an irregular shape it will not stand on the table."