“He looks like a big-bug,” said another; “dresses in fine style. And, then, to be here so young! Oh, what larks!”
Meanwhile the object of this hideous admiration approached the wicket, against which one of the keepers was leaning.
“Come, sir,” he said, “lend me twenty francs; you will soon be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have relations who possess more millions than you have deniers. Come, I beseech you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may buy a dressing-gown; it is intolerable always to be in a coat and boots! And what a coat, sir, for a prince of the Cavalcanti!”
The keeper turned his back, and shrugged his shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused anyone else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same things—indeed, he heard nothing else.
“Come,” said Andrea, “you are a man void of compassion; I’ll have you turned out.”
This made the keeper turn around, and he burst into a loud laugh. The prisoners then approached and formed a circle.
“I tell you that with that wretched sum,” continued Andrea, “I could obtain a coat, and a room in which to receive the illustrious visitor I am daily expecting.”
“Of course—of course,” said the prisoners;—“anyone can see he’s a gentleman!”
“Well, then, lend him the twenty francs,” said the keeper, leaning on the other shoulder; “surely you will not refuse a comrade!”
“I am no comrade of these people,” said the young man, proudly, “you have no right to insult me thus.”