As he looked on in very mild jealousy, Arafrantz recalled the singular shudder that had passed through the Count when he had been in some way forced to shake hands with Réginard.
The next day, Réginard and Arafrantz betook themselves early to the Count's chambers, that the Viscount de Pérégrin might express the depth of his gratitude.
"Monsieur le comte," said Réginard, "I am no poet, despite all the efforts of my tutors, nor am I skilled in verse, beyond perhaps a comic and slightly off-color rhyme at a soirée – so I cannot express my meaning as I ought. It should be an operatic aria. What I mean is that I will never forget how you came to my aid, and will always remember that I owe you my life, more or less."
"My dear neighbour," replied the Count with a laugh, "you greatly exaggerate your obligations towards me. I have merely spared you the expense of some four thousand certar, and all you owe me is a tiny economy in your travelling expenses and voilà tout; you can see that it is hardly worth the bother of mentioning."
