"Soon?"
"To-day."
"Oh! take care. Monsieur de Manicamp; you undertake much, and I do not ask that. Thirty leagues in a day is too much, you would kill yourself."
"I think nothing impossible when obliging a friend."
"You are quite heroic."
"Where are the twenty pistoles?"
"Here they are," said Malicorne, showing them.
"That's well."
"Yes, but my dear Monsieur Manicamp, you would consume them in nothing but post-horses."
"No, no; make yourself easy on that head."
"Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place to Etampes."
"Fourteen."
"Well, fourteen be it; fourteen leagues make seven posts; at twenty sous the post, seven livres; seven livres the courier, fourteen; as many for coming back, twenty-eight; as much for bed and supper, that makes sixty of the livres which this complaisance would cost you."
Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, and fixing his two great eyes upon Malicorne, "You are right," said he; "I could not return before to-morrow;" and he took the twenty pistoles.
"Now, then, be off!"
"Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have time."
"Time for what?"
"Time for play."
"What do you wish to play with?"
"Your twenty pistoles, pardieu!"
"No; you always win."
"I will wager them, then."
"Against what?"
"Against twenty others."
"And what will be the object of the wager?"
"This: We have said it was fourteen leagues to go to Etampes?"
"Yes."
"And fourteen leagues back?"
"Doubtless."
"Well, for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow less than fourteen hours?"
"That is agreed."
