talking of the horses, but of the stablemen.”
“How many stablemen have you, M. Lachenel?”
“Six.”
“Six stablemen! That’s at least two too many.”
“These are ‘places,’ ” Mercier interposed, “created and forced upon us by the undersecretary for fine arts. They are filled by protégées of the government and, if I may venture to …”
“I don’t care a hang for the government!” roared Richard. “We don’t need more than four stablemen for twelve horses.”
“Eleven,” said the head riding-master, correcting him.
“Twelve,” repeated Richard.
“Eleven,” repeated Lachenel.
“Oh, the acting-manager told me that you had twelve horses!”
“I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since César was stolen.”
And M. Lachenel gave