He did not profess to serve his best wine to casual customers, but for regular frequenters of his house, chiefly the servants of noble families, he kept a better brand of wine.

Mascarin's respectable appearance inclined the landlord to step forward.

Among Frenchmen, who are always full of gayety, a serious exterior is ever an excellent passport.
"What can I do for you, sir ?" asked he with great politeness.
"Can I see Florestan ?" "In Count de Mussidan's service, I believe ?" "Just so; I have an appointment with him here." "He is downstairs in the band-room," replied the landlord.

"I will send for him." "Don't trouble; I will go down," and, without waiting for permission, Mascarin descended some steps that apparently led to a cellar.
"It appears to me," murmured Father Canon, "that I have seen this cove's face before." Mascarin pushed open a door at the bottom of the flight of stairs, and a strange and appalling noise issued from within (but this neither surprised nor alarmed him), and entered a vaulted room arranged like a _cafe_, with seats and tables, filled with customers.

In the centre, two men, in their shirt sleeves, with crimson faces, were performing upon horns; while an old man, with leather gaiters, buttoning to the knee, and a broad leather belt, was whistling the air the hornplayers were executing.