"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 various careers.

Monsieur le colonel, make your peace with the King of France; the Czerni-Georges ought not to snub the Bourbons.

I have nothing to wish for you, my dear Monsieur Schinner; your fame is already won, and nobly won by splendid work.

But you are much to be feared in domestic life, and I, being a married man, dare not invite you to my house.