What place has monsieur engaged?
Come, find that out! Haven't you a way-book, a register, or something?
What place has Monsieur Lecomte engaged ?--count of what, I'd like to know." "Monsieur le comte," said Pierrotin, visibly troubled, "I am afraid you will be uncomfortable." "Why didn't you keep better count of us ?" said Mistigris.

"'Short counts make good ends.'" "Mistigris, behave yourself," said his master.
Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the persons in the coach for a bourgeois of the name of Lecomte.
"Don't disturb any one," he said to Pierrotin.

"I will sit with you in front." "Come, Mistigris," said the master to his rapin, "remember the respect you owe to age; you don't know how shockingly old you may be yourself some day.

'Travel deforms youth.' Give your place to monsieur." Mistigris opened the leathern curtain and jumped out with the agility of a frog leaping into the water.
"You mustn't be a rabbit, august old man," he said to the count.
"Mistigris, 'ars est celare bonum,'" said his master.
"I thank you very much, monsieur," said the count to Mistigris's master, next to whom he now sat.
The minister of State cast a sagacious glance round the interior of the coach, which greatly affronted both Oscar and Georges.
"When persons want to be master of a coach, they should engage all the places," remarked Georges.
Certain now of his incognito, the Comte de Serizy made no reply to this observation, but assumed the air of a good-natured bourgeois.
"Suppose you were late, wouldn't you be glad that the coach waited for you ?" said the farmer to the two young men.
Pierrotin still looked up and down the street, whip in hand, apparently reluctant to mount to the hard seat where Mistigris was fidgeting.
"If you expect some one else, I am not the last," said the count.
"I agree to that reasoning," said Mistigris.
Georges and Oscar began to laugh impertinently.
"The old fellow doesn't know much," whispered Georges to Oscar, who was delighted at this apparent union between himself and the object of his envy.
"Parbleu!" cried Pierrotin, "I shouldn't be sorry for two more passengers." "I haven't paid; I'll get out," said Georges, alarmed.
"What are you waiting for, Pierrotin ?" asked Pere Leger.
Whereupon Pierrotin shouted a certain "Hi!" in which Bichette and Rougeot recognized a definitive resolution, and they both sprang toward the rise of the faubourg at a pace which was soon to slacken.
The count had a red face, of a burning red all over, on which were certain inflamed portions which his snow-white hair brought out into full relief.

To any but heedless youths, this complexion would have revealed a constant inflammation of the blood, produced by incessant labor.