"My hats, Monsieur the Marquis?" responded
Edgar, highly flattered, for the young Pleérin, a
robber at the races and a trickster at the gaming-table, was then one of the most famous personalities
of Parisian society. "It is very simple; only it
is like picking the winner,—you must know how.
Well, this is the trick. Every morning [ make my
valet de chambre run for a quarter of an hour. He
sweats, of course. And the sweat contains oil.
Then, with a very fine silk handkerchief, he wipes
the sweat from his brow, and rubs my hats with it.
A stroke or two with the iron finishes the job. But
it takes a clean and healthy man, preferably a man
with nut-brown complexion,—for some blondes smell
strong, and all sweats are not suitable. Last year
I gave the receipt to the prince of Wales."
And, as the young marquis de Plerin thanked Edgar and slyly shook his hand, the latter added, confidently:
"Take Baladeur at seven to one. He is to be the winner, Monsieur the Marquis."
It is really funny when I think of it, but I finally came to feel flattered myself that William had such a relation. To me, too, Edgar was something admirable and inaccessible, like the emperor of Germany, Victor Hugo, or Paul Bourget. That is why I think it advisable to fix in these pages, from all that William told me, the portrait of this more than illustrious, this historic personage.
