"Radishes, sardines, and b.u.t.ter; then a beefsteak-chateaubriand, rare, with roquefort and a bottle of bordeaux. After that, we will see.

Go!--That cane is certainly worth all that I have ordered," he said to himself; "yes, and I can safely add a cup of coffee and a _pet.i.t verre._ At all events, if they are not satisfied, I will do like Bilboquet in _Les Saltimbanques_, I will pledge my signature.--I am annoyed, all the same, to find that my young friend Gustave is in Spain. But is he really in Spain? That is what I must find out."

Cherami had eaten his hors-d'oeuvre, and was about to attack his beefsteak-chateaubriand, when a short man, dressed with some pretension, with a stupid face and a bald head which seemed to beg for a wig, took his place at the table next to his, and sat down on the cane which Cherami had laid on the bench.

The new-comer jumped to his feet, putting his hand to his posterior, and exclaiming:

"Great heaven! what am I sitting on?"

Cherami picked up his cane and stood it on the floor, between himself and his neighbor.

"It's lucky for you that you didn't break it," he said; "for it would have cost you a pretty penny!"

"I didn't do it purposely, monsieur."

"No matter! if you had broken it, you'd have paid for it!"

"And I hurt myself, too."

"If it had been a blackthorn stick, it would have hurt you much more."

The gentleman did not seem to be consoled by that reflection; he paid no attention to the cane, but was intent only upon rubbing the wounded part of his anatomy. Then he ordered a gla.s.s of grog, picked up a newspaper, and began to read, in evident ill-humor. But Cherami, who loved to converse, kept on talking while he ate.

"I went into a public house one day," he said; "I had ridden horseback six leagues without dismounting, and was naturally very tired. I walked into the common-room, and threw myself into an easy-chair near the fireplace. But as I sat down, a piercing shriek escaped me. Everybody crowded around me: 'What is it, monsieur? what's the matter? what has happened to you?'--But I could only point to my posterior, saying: 'I don't know what I sat down on, but I am wounded--badly wounded!'--The hostess wanted to look and see what it was--she wanted to dress the wound. She was a bright-eyed hussy, with a buxom figure. I would gladly have done as much for her, if she had been wounded. But the husband interposed, considering the location of the wound. He declared that he was the only one of the family who ought to meddle with it. Well, they investigated.--I had sat down on a nail, a huge carpenter's nail. How did it happen to be there--with the point up? That is something n.o.body could explain. But the important thing was to remove it. The landlord couldn't do it. He sent for a locksmith with his pincers, and he had such hard work pulling the infernal spike out of my rump, that, when he did get it out, it looked more like a corkscrew than a nail!"

The bald party made no other comment on this story than a low grunt, and continued to read his newspaper.

Cherami scrutinized him for some minutes, saying to himself: "Where in the devil have I seen that phiz? I can't remember, but this certainly isn't the first time that I have had the misfortune to meet this bald-headed boor.--It seems that the story of my nail didn't affect you, monsieur?" he said aloud to his neighbor, who was stirring his grog.

"I paid very little attention to it, monsieur. When I am reading the paper, I am engrossed by my reading."

"And you believe everything you find in it, I suppose?"

"Why not, monsieur?"

"Ah! I should judge that you were quite capable of it!--But you don't know how to fix your grog, monsieur."

"What! I don't know how to fix my grog?"

"No, not at all. You keep stirring and stirring; but you don't crush the piece of lemon-peel with your spoon and squeeze out the juice."

"How does it concern you, monsieur, whether I crush my lemon-peel or not? If it suits me to drink my grog like this, am I not at liberty to do it?"

"Oh! to be sure! I give you good advice--you don't want it. As you please! I'll bet that you're looking through the advertis.e.m.e.nts in the paper to find something to make the hair grow?"

"No, monsieur. Let me tell you that if I wanted hair, I could have as much as anybody."

"I don't doubt it, with your money; you could wear three wigs, one on top of another; that would give you a superb head of hair!"

"But I don't like artificial things, monsieur; I detest what is false!

The truth before everything!"

"Ah! I understand, then, why you parade your skull. But if you propose always to show us the truth, that may carry you rather far! That G.o.ddess's costume is a little scanty, or rather she has none at all. She appears to the world quite naked! I would like to see you go out in the street in that condition, for love of the truth. I fancy that a police officer wouldn't listen to that excuse. Look you, monsieur, it has often been said that it isn't always well to tell the truth; we might add that it isn't always well to see it. In general, a man is wise to conceal his infirmities, his deformities, and whatever he may have that is unpleasant to look at; he does well to make himself as attractive, or as little unattractive, as possible. To embellish, to seek to please, such seems to be the purpose of nature, everywhere and in everything. Look at a mother with her child: her first care is to dress it up, to try to embellish it. Women are born with the instinct of coquetry; men have it, too, although the rush and hurry of business compels them to pay less heed to their persons. When you take lodgings, your first care is to make them attractive; if you have a garden, you embellish it by planting flowers in it; if you give a dinner party, you want it to be stylish, sumptuous, enriched by handsome plate.--For instance, see this thin gla.s.s from which I am drinking my claret: it improves the wine, monsieur; it makes it taste better--for the wine would seem much less delicious to me if it were served in a preserve-jar. And take your own case--would you have liked it if they had brought you your grog in a wash-basin, eh?--Deuce take me! I believe the little fellow isn't listening!" exclaimed Cherami, suddenly interrupting his dissertation.

"Where in the world have I seen that face?--Waiter! my coffee!"

As he threw himself back on the bench, Cherami knocked his cane against his neighbor. Whereupon the latter turned, and pushed the cane away, muttering:

"Have you made a wager to annoy me?"

"What's that! a wager--just because my cane slipped against you? I say, my dear monsieur, who are so attached to the truth, you're very touchy, aren't you?"

The bald man made no reply; as he pushed the cane away, he had glanced at it, and from that moment he kept his eyes fixed upon it.

"Ah! you are admiring my cane now?" said Arthur; "you begin to understand that it would have been a pity to break it!--It's very neat."

Still the bald man made no reply, but raised his eyes and examined the hat which its owner had hung on a hook. He scrutinized it so carefully that Cherami lost patience, and said to himself:

"Well, well! what's the matter with this creature! How much longer is he going to stare at my hat and cane? He's beginning to make me very weary."

XXVII

THE CANE AND THE HAT

At last, the little man made up his mind to speak:

"That cane, monsieur--with that agate head; it's very singular!"

"You find that my cane has a singular look? Distinguished, you mean, I doubt not?"

"Why, monsieur, the fact is, that that cane--the more I look at it--a rattan--exactly!--and the hat, too--the same kind of a band--very broad----"

"Tell me, monsieur--when you have finished, will you very kindly explain yourself?" said Cherami. He began to suspect who his companion was, but he did not choose to let it appear.

"This is how it is, monsieur: I had a cane exactly like this one--so much like it that I could swear it was the same one."

"We see canes that look just alike, every day, monsieur; there's nothing extraordinary in that; there are many men who are mistaken for one another, and yet there is an expression, an animation, on a man's face which you would seek in vain on the head of a cane."

"Excuse me, monsieur; but all canes haven't an agate head cut like this one."

"If they had, they would be too common, and I wouldn't want one."

"Well, monsieur, I lost my cane and my hat at a wedding party which I attended about two months ago; that is to say, I didn't positively lose them, but they were exchanged--and I didn't gain by the change! In place of my hat, which had a band exactly like this--very broad--and the same shape--they left a pitiful, disgraceful thing; and I was obliged to buy a new one the next day; and in place of my cane I found a sort of switch, of the kind they beat clothes with--not worth six sous!"

"Corbleu! monsieur, what do you mean to imply by all this? This cane that you lost, with an agate head--and your hat with a band like this--do you know that I am beginning to lose my temper? Do you mean to say that I stole your cane?"