A respectable-looking carriage, drawn by a pair of horses, used to go out at the Barriere de Fontainebleau every afternoon, containing one or two persons, and with a livery servant standing behind; after a drive of a couple of hours, the vehicle would return about dusk, apparently in status quo. The door was opened as usual, the question was asked in due form, and the party pursued their way unmolested. This went on for some time; at length, the perfect immobility of the footman one day struck the searcher; he resolved to observe more closely, and the next day, accordingly, after he had shut the carriage door, he called out to the coachman, whose wont it was to whip up the horses and drive off at a rapid pace ["]Halte la cocher!["] then turning to the servant he addressed him with, ["]Et vous, mon brave, n'auriez-vous, per hazard, rien a delcarer?["] No answer was returned, and not a whisper moved, when the officer thought it time to come to a closer personal acquaintance with this supercilious and dignified official. His astonishment may be conceived when the supposed valet was dismounted and proved to be a tin case, painted and dressed, and containing several dozen bottles of choice wine.
The Irish Times, September 22nd, 1859.