"Such a pretty cane!"

"You still have the pieces--or, at all events, the head; you can have it put on another stick."

"It was a genuine rattan."

"Pardieu! it was genuine enough; the fact that it broke so soon proves that. But there are other rattans in the shops."

"I'm very sorry that you broke my cane."

"If you hadn't lost my Chinese switch, I would have beaten him with that; and that wouldn't have broken, I promise you!"

"It makes me feel very bad--my beautiful cane!"

"Saperlotte! are you going to cry over it? Oughtn't you rather to thank me for avenging the insult to your legs? Come, take your cane, and let us go and dine; the walk has given me an appet.i.te."

Poor Courbichon, with a lachrymose expression, took the pieces of his cane, and submitted to be led away by Cherami, who took his arm and conducted him to one of the best restaurants on the Champs-elysees. They took their seats out-of-doors, at one of the tables surrounded by hedges in such wise as to form private rooms with walls of verdure. Courbichon placed the fragments of his cane on a chair by his side, heaving a profound sigh; for his new friend intimidated him so that he no longer dared, in his presence, to betray the chagrin caused by the spectacle of his broken treasure.

Cherami ordered the dinner, saying:

"Rely on me; I will order the dinner; and as we are sensible men and have no women with us, there's no need of our making fools of ourselves.

We don't want to have a magnificent feast, but simply to dine comfortably. Is that your idea?"

"Exactly; still----"

"You have just the disposition I like! I shall mark with a white cross--_alb.u.m dies!_--the day which brought us together and enabled me to return your cane. I regret that you lost my Chinese switch! but you have your cane; that's the main thing!"

Whenever his new friend mentioned his cane, Monsieur Courbichon made a wry face, but he did not venture to make any complaint. They proceeded to dine: one, talking constantly as he ate; the other, eating almost without speaking; and, although Cherami had informed his host that they would dine like sensible men, when the bill was brought, it amounted to twenty-two francs.

"That is not too much," said Cherami, pa.s.sing the check to his companion; "for we have had a good dinner and punished our three bottles."

The little bald man seemed to be of a different opinion; he turned the paper over and over in his hand, muttering:

"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"

"Well, my good Courbichon, that won't drain the sea dry! How many times I have spent ten times as much on a dainty dinner, tete-a-tete with a pretty woman! To be sure, we used to have all the delicacies of the season--asparagus at thirty francs the bunch, strawberries at fifteen francs, pineapples, wine of Constance.--The women adore that wine! they delight in getting tipsy on Constance--in the bottle!--Have you ever indulged in that sort of affair, amiable Courbichon? Oh! you must have done it, many a time! That's where you lost your hair; eh, old boy?"

"Twenty-two francs! twenty-two francs!"

"Those figures seem to worry you! Do you find a mistake in the addition?"

"No, it isn't that; but I am afraid I haven't enough money with me. I paid quite a large amount at the cafe, this morning. I didn't expect to spend so much to-day. Would you be kind enough to lend me what I need?"

"I would do so with the most lively satisfaction, my estimable friend; but, as I was feeling in my pocket just now, I discovered that I have forgotten my purse; which, by the way, happens quite often, for I am very absent-minded. I may add that, when I made that discovery, I intended to borrow a few francs of you--as is often done between good friends; for what's the use of friendship, if not to oblige? O divine friendship! gift of the G.o.ds!"

"Mon Dieu! what are we going to do, if we haven't enough money between us to pay for our dinner?"

"Don't you be alarmed! I have found myself in that position more than once. You can leave your cane in p.a.w.n."

"My cane! When it was whole, that might have been--but now I can only offer some pieces of a cane as a pledge."

"Then leave your watch, my friend."

"I haven't worn it since my last one was stolen."

"But don't worry! They will give us credit on our respectable appearance."

"Let me see; with every sou I can find---- Search your pockets, too."

"Oh! that's useless; I never carry money loose in my pockets. I have my purse, or I haven't it."

Monsieur Courbichon, having collected all that he had in his pockets, could find only twelve francs and two sous. But suddenly, upon renewing his search, he produced something carefully wrapped in paper, and that something proved to be a gold piece of ten francs. The bald man's face lightened.

"Ah!" he cried; "the ten francs that I loaned to Mathieu, and that he paid back this morning; I had forgotten them. That makes up the amount and two sous over--for the waiter."

"If I were in your place," said Cherami, "I would keep Mathieu's ten francs, so that we might have something to refresh ourselves with when we go back; and I would leave my cane for the balance."

"What! you want me to ask for credit when I have enough money to pay the bill?"

"You haven't enough; for with a bill of twenty-two francs, you can't think of giving the waiter less than twenty sous; if you offer him two, he'll throw them in your face."

"If he refuses them, he'll get nothing at all--so much the worse for him! but I shall pay my bill."

"And suppose you feel the need of something while we are walking back?"

"We have dined so well that I shall not want anything."

"On the contrary, you may have an attack of indigestion--you are very red already--and then you'll want a gla.s.s of sugar and water."

"I can do without it; I am not in the habit of being sick."

"There are lots of things we're not in the habit of having, and yet they come--as, sudden death, for example; certainly one hasn't the habit of it, and it takes you all of a sudden."

Cherami's arguments were of no avail; Monsieur Courbichon held his ground. He called the waiter, paid for his dinner, and told him that he gave him only two sous because he had nothing but banknotes which he did not wish to change.

They left the restaurant. The little bald man carried the pieces of his cane, but his face wore a very unamiable expression. Cherami, who had ceased to enjoy his society, soon left him, saying:

"Give me your address, my dear friend. I will come soon and bid you good-morning."

"It is useless, monsieur; I start to-morrow for Touraine, where I expect to settle."

"What! you are leaving Paris, too? Very well; if you go to Tours, send me some plums--Rue de l'Orillon, Belleville, Hotel du Bel-Air; but prepay the freight!"

Monsieur Courbichon saluted Cherami, and hurried off as fast as his little legs would carry him, thrusting a fragment of his cane into each pocket.

XXVIII