"I am Guillaume de Ferni, contrebandier de tabac," replied the outlaw. "Parbleu, I was so frightened by your uncut foothair that I very nearly left you for dead. Though you still seem very strange to me; outwardly, you resemble a vagabond utterly devoid of sartorial talent; yet within you are an epicure de premier ordre, I deem."
"It is a marvellous occupation you have," said Samouard, evading the implicit question. "If you don't sell your merchandise you can always use it yourself. As for my foothair, I made a vow not to cut it for a year after Luthienne obtained for me admission to the chambers of Mme. de Magot, queen among farmers' wives. But speaking of years, exactly what year is it?"
"What year? You ask of me what year it is?"
"Yes, I ask of you what year it is."
"How do you not know?"
"What do you wish?" laughed Gamgès. "I have been in such fear of my life, having eaten but four meals today, that I cannot distinguish 'Calendrier du steuard' from 'Champignon au limpé.'"
