If your master is
fond enough of Mademoiselle Paquita Valdes to surmount all these
obstacles, he certainly won't triumph over Dona Concha Marialva, the
duenna who accompanies her and would put her under her petticoats
sooner than leave her. The two women look as if they were sewn to one
another."
"All that you say, worthy postman," went on Laurent, after having
drunk off his wine, "confirms me in what I have learned before. Upon
my word, I thought they were making fun of me! The fruiterer opposite
told me that of nights they let loose dogs whose food is hung up on
stakes just out of their reach. These cursed animals think, therefore,
that any one likely to come in has designs on their victuals, and
would tear one to pieces. You will tell me one might throw them down
pieces, but it seems they have been trained to touch nothing except
from the hand of the porter."
"The porter of the Baron de Nucingen, whose garden joins at the top
that of the Hotel San-Real, told me the same thing," replied the
postman.
"Good! my master knows him," said Laurent, to himself. "Do you know,"
he went on, leering at the postman, "I serve a master who is a rare
man, and if he took it into his head to kiss the sole of the foot of
an empress, she would have to give in to him. If he had need of you,
which is what I wish for you, for he is generous, could one count on
you?"
"Lord, Monsieur Laurent, my name is Moinot. My name is written exactly
like _Moineau_, magpie: M-o-i-n-o-t, Moinot.
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