"Often," replied Oscar. "I am a comrade of his son, who is about my
age, nineteen; we ride together on horseback nearly every day."

"'Aut Caesar, aut Serizy,'" said Mistigris, sententiously.

Pierrotin and Pere Leger exchanged winks on hearing this statement.

"Really," said the count to Oscar, "I am delighted to meet with a
young man who can tell me about that personage. I want his influence
on a rather serious matter, although it would cost him nothing to
oblige me. It concerns a claim I wish to press on the American
government. I should be glad to obtain information about Monsieur de
Serizy."

"Oh! if you want to succeed," replied Oscar, with a knowing look,
"don't go to him, but go to his wife; he is madly in love with her; no
one knows more than I do about that; but she can't endure him."

"Why not?" said Georges.

"The count has a skin disease which makes him hideous. Doctor Albert
has tried in vain to cure it. The count would give half his fortune if
he had a chest like mine," said Oscar, swelling himself out. "He lives
a lonely life in his own house; gets up very early in the morning and
works from three to eight o'clock; after eight he takes his remedies,
--sulphur-baths, steam-baths, and such things. His valet bakes him in
a sort of iron box--for he is always in hopes of getting cured."

"If he is such a friend of the King as they say he is, why doesn't he
get his Majesty to touch him?" asked Georges.