vampire: — he is carrying on a trade in it.”
“No, monsieur le comte, he wishes to make a present of it.”
“To whom?”
“To myself, monsieur.”
“Why did you not say so at once, my dear M. Mauvaisecorne?”
“Malicorne, monsieur le comte.”
“Forgive me; it is the Latin that bothers me — that
terrible mine of etymologies. Why the deuce are young men of
family taught Latin? Mala and mauvaise — you understand it
is the same thing. You will forgive me, I trust, M. de
Malicorne.”
“Your kindness affects me much, monsieur: but it is a reason
why I should make you acquainted with one circumstance
without any delay.”
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“What is it?”
“That I was not born a gentleman. I am not without courage,
and not altogether deficient in ability; but my name is
Malicorne simply.”
“You appear to me, monsieur!” exclaimed the count, looking
at the astute face of his companion, “to be a most agreeable
man. Your face pleases me, M. Malicorne, and you must
possess some indisputably excellent qualities to have
pleased that egotistical Manicamp. Be candid, and tell me
whether you are not some saint descended upon the earth.”
“Why so?”
“For the simple reason that he makes you a present of
anything. Did you not say that he intended to make you a
present of some appointment in the king’s house
“I beg your pardon, count; but, if I succeed in obtaining
the appointment, you, and not he, will have bestowed it on
me.”
“Besides, he will not have given it to you for nothing, I
suppose. Stay, I have it; — there is a Malicorne at
Orleans, who lends money to the prince.”
“I think that must be my father, monsieur.”
“Ah! the prince has the father, and that terrible dragon of
a Manicamp has the son. Take care, monsieur, I know him. He
will fleece you completely.”
“The only difference is, that I lend without interest,” said
Malicorne, smiling.
“I was correct in saying you were either a saint or very
much resembled one. M. Malicorne, you shall have the post
you want, or I will forfeit my name.”
“Ah! monsieur le comte, what a debt of gratitude shall I not
owe you?” said Malicorne, transported.
“Let us go to the prince, my dear M. Malicorne.” And De
Guiche proceeded toward the door, desiring Malicorne to
follow him. At the very moment they were about to cross the
threshold, a young man appeared on the other side. He was
from twenty-four to twenty-five years of age, of pale
complexion, bright eyes and brown hair and eyebrows.
“Good-day,” he said, suddenly, almost pushing De Guiche back
into the courtyard again.
“Is that you, De Wardes? — What! and booted, spurred, and
whip in hand, too?”
“The most befitting costume for a man about to set off for
Havre. There will be no one left in Paris tomorrow.” And
hereupon he saluted Malicorne with great ceremony, whose
handsome dress gave him the appearance of a prince.
“M. Malicorne,” said De Guiche to his friend. De Wardes
bowed.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“M. de Wardes,” said Guiche to Malicorne, who bowed in
return. “By the by, De Wardes,” continued De Guiche, “you
who are so well acquainted with these matters, can you tell
us, probably, what appointments are still vacant at the
court; or rather in the prince’s household?”
“In the prince’s household,” said De Wardes, looking up with
an air of consideration, “let me see — the appointment of
the master of the horse is vacant, I believe.”
“Oh,” said Malicorne, “there is no question of such a post
as that, monsieur; my ambition is not nearly so exalted.”
De Wardes had a more penetrating observation than De Guiche,
and fathomed Malicorne immediately. “The fact is,” he said,
looking at him from head to foot, “a man must be either a
duke or a peer to fill that post.”
“All I solicit,” said Malicorne, “is a very humble
appointment; I am of little importance, and I do not rank
myself above my position.”
“M. Malicorne, whom you see here,” said De Guiche to De