sleeping; isn't that so? No, it's too stupid to argue about!"

Lorilleux shook his head. He was born on the same day as the Count of
Chambord, the 29th of September, 1820. He was greatly struck with this
coincidence, indulging himself in a vague dream, in which he established
a connection between the king's return to France and his own private
fortunes. He never said exactly what he was expecting, but he led
people to suppose that when that time arrived something extraordinarily
agreeable would happen to him. So whenever he had a wish too great to be
gratified, he would put it off to another time, when the king came back.

"Besides," observed he, "I saw the Count de Chambord one evening."

Every face was turned towards him.

"It's quite true. A stout man, in an overcoat, and with a good-natured
air. I was at Pequignot's, one of my friends who deals in furniture in
the Grand Rue de la Chapelle. The Count of Chambord had forgotten his
umbrella there the day before; so he came in, and just simply said, like
this: 'Will you please return me my umbrella?' Well, yes, it was him;
Pequignot gave me his word of honor it was."

Not one of the guests suggested the smallest doubt. They had now arrived
at dessert and the waiters were clearing the table with much clattering
of dishes. Madame Lorilleux, who up to then had been very genteel, very
much the lady, suddenly let fly with a curse. One of the waiters had
spilled something wet down her neck while removing a dish. This time her
silk dress would be stained for sure. Monsieur Madinier had to examine
her back, but he swore there was nothing to be seen.