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"Riot has but one language," said the astute statesman Mistigris. "Well," continued Schinner, "when I was brought into court in presence of the magistrates, I learned that the cursed corsair was dead, poisoned by Zena. I'd liked to have changed linen then. Give you my word, I knew nothing of that melodrama. The immense fortune of that cursed pirate was really the cause of all my Zena's troubles.
Milan was rightly called the Schwyzer's grave. It was not unusual for Confederates to fight against Confederates on foreign soil, and to kill each other for hire. The ecclesiastical lord, Matthew Schinner, Bishop of Sion in Valais, a very deceitful man, helped greatly to occasion this.
"And that's what our rulers are trying to bring us to. 'Tax vobiscum, no, thank you!" said Mistigris. "But that is what we are coming to," said the count. "Therefore, those who own land will do well to sell it. Monsieur Schinner must have seen how things are tending in Italy, where the taxes are enormous." "Corpo di Bacco! the Pope is laying it on heavily," replied Schinner.
"Mamma," he said, "here are the two artists sent down by Monsieur Schinner." Madame Moreau, agreeably surprised, rose, told her son to place chairs, and began to display her graces. "Mamma, the Husson boy is with papa," added the lad; "shall I fetch him?" "You need not hurry; go and play with him," said his mother.
But on looking at Adelaide, a man so pure-minded as Schinner could not but believe in her perfect innocence, and ascribe the incoherence of the furniture to honorable causes. "My dear," said the old lady to the young one, "I am cold; make a little fire, and give me my shawl."
If, here, the picture is too boldly drawn, if you find it tedious in places, do not blame the description, which is, indeed, part and parcel of my story; for the appearance of the rooms inhabited by his two neighbors had a great influence on the feelings and hopes of Hippolyte Schinner.
"Well, you have only eight hundred now to get," remarked the count, who considered this moan, addressed to Pere Leger, a sort of letter of credit drawn upon himself. "True," said Pierrotin. "Xi! xi! Rougeot!" "You must have seen many fine ceilings in Venice," resumed the count, addressing Schinner.
"Little scamp," said the count, catching him by the ear, "we are both in the decoration business. I hope you recognize your own work, my dear Schinner," he added, pointing to the ceiling of the salon.
We both love art, and, above all, artists," she added in a mincing tone; "and I beg you to make yourselves at home here. In the country, you know, every one should be at their ease; one must feel wholly at liberty, or life is too insipid. We have already had Monsieur Schinner with us." Mistigris gave a sly glance at his companion.
"Messieurs," said the count, "I wish you every good fortune in your various careers. Monsieur le colonel, make your peace with the King of France; the Czerni-Georges ought not to snub the Bourbons. I have nothing to wish for you, my dear Monsieur Schinner; your fame is already won, and nobly won by splendid work.
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