"I don't understand."

"The fellow didn't tell everything he did, you see; and then, there may be another reason. As the young joker has stolen Sans-Cravate's mistress, he's afraid of getting a licking, and dursn't come and stand beside him--see?"

"And he does well," muttered Sans-Cravate, clenching his fists; "for a man can't always control himself; and, _sacredie!_ he'd better look out!

I've got a score to settle with him, all the more because he was my friend; and when you hate your friends, you hate 'em worse than you do anybody else."

Elina had turned very pale; she gazed at the two messengers in turn, but could not speak, for what she had heard seemed to have deprived her of strength and voice alike; not until several minutes had elapsed did she succeed in faltering:

"What! Monsieur Paul--has stolen--the mistress of--of---- Oh, no! no!

that is impossible!"

"Impossible!" sneered Jean Ficelle. "Ah! my pretty creature, you don't know men yet, and you don't know what they're capable of. But we're sure of what we say; we caught the thief in the market, as the saying is.

Look you, I'll give you a comparison----"

"No, monsieur, no! I don't care what you say!" replied the girl, paying no heed to Jean Ficelle's comparison; "I am perfectly sure that that isn't true!"

With that, Elina turned away, putting her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away her tears; for she was profoundly afflicted, although she refused to believe that Paul was guilty.

Sans-Cravate looked after her with interest as she walked away.

"Poor girl!" he said; "she don't believe he's unfaithful; she still has confidence in him, she refuses to abandon it; that's a fine thing, I tell you."

And a gleam of serenity appeared on the messenger's brow as he asked himself if he were not doing wrong not to imitate the girl. But Jean Ficelle exclaimed:

"_Ouiche!_ she has confidence in him, you say? Not much! It was self-esteem made her say that, but she ran off crying like a baby."

Sans-Cravate resumed his preoccupied air, and Jean Ficelle began to whistle.

XVI

THE HUNT FOR TOBIE

Albert desired to see the beautiful cashmere shawl belonging to Madame Plays, the mate to which Madame Baldimer was so desirous to own. But in order to see the shawl, it was necessary to see her who wore it, and the young man was not certain whether it would be well for him to call on Madame Plays; after the slightly unceremonious way in which he had ceased his relations with her, sending Tobie as his subst.i.tute, he had reason to fear that he might not be warmly welcomed; indeed, he was not at all certain that his messenger had been well received, for when Pigeonnier returned from his interview, Albert was losing money at bouillotte, and was somewhat heated by the punch, so that he had paid no attention to the little fellow's answers on the subject of his rendezvous.

Albert concluded that the best way to find out whether Tobie had fully taken his place in the heart of the superb Plays was to go and ask him.

But to do that it was necessary to know his address. Tobie had said several times that he lived on Rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins; but that is a long street, and Albert felt no inclination to enter every house and ask for Monsieur Pigeonnier.

He was musing upon this subject on the day following his visit to Madame Baldimer, as he sauntered along the Boulevard des Italiens, as usual, with a cigar in his mouth, when he spied his friend Celestin, who at once came to meet him and held out his hand.

"Good-morning! how are you?"

"Very well."

"And the love affairs?"

"Oh! not in bad shape."

"I'll bet that you have seen Madame Baldimer again."

"You would not lose. I saw her at her house yesterday; she had given me a rendezvous. My affair is progressing, and on her return from the country, where she has gone for a few days, I hope that your friend will have nothing more to wish for."

"Good! I congratulate you."

There was a touch of irony in Monsieur Celestin's felicitations of his friend. Albert paid little attention to it, because he was accustomed to Celestin's manner, which always suggested that he was laughing at the person to whom he was speaking. That is a very clever way of concealing one's lack of merit--to pose as a scoffer or a _blagueur_, which are much the same thing.

"I am very glad to see you; perhaps you can help me to find the person I want to see."

"If you are looking for a faithful woman, I should find it very hard to direct you to one; for I don't know any."

"No, not that; I simply want to know Tobie Pigeonnier's address."

"The deuce! that's almost as hard to find as the other. In the first place, is it quite certain that little Tobie has any address? I believe he contents himself with perching, like the birds; he lights now here, now there."

"Let's not joke; he told us that he lived on Rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins."

"True; but at what number?"

"Ah! that I don't know."

"It's very easy to say: 'I live on Rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins, or Rue de la Paix, or Rue de Rivoli,'--when you confine yourself to that;--in that way, you can live in the most fashionable quarters of Paris. For my own part, I believe little Tobie has a nest in some closet on Rue du Pont-aux-Biches or Place du Chevalier-du-Guet. His hasty departure from our little party at Balivan's the night before last--after putting up a fetich for five hundred francs, that poor Varinet gave him change for---- Do you know, that looks rather shady to me. If he had lost the five hundred francs, it would be all right; you would say that it probably wasn't convenient for him to pay; but he lost only about fifty."

"Didn't he go to pay Varinet the next day?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet he didn't; however, we can soon find out, for there are Varinet and Balivan now, drinking chocolate at Tortoni's."

Albert and Celestin entered the cafe and accosted their friends, just as Balivan was dipping his cigar in the chocolate, thinking that it was a roll.

"Ah! here you are, you rakes!" cried Balivan; "have you been pa.s.sing a night at the card table? What scandalous conduct! you are to blame for my not being able to do a stroke of work yesterday."

"But you are working hard to-day, Balivan. Upon my word, you are eating a fine cigar with your chocolate, instead of a roll!"

"Mon Dieu! so I am. Why do they make cigars of this shape? I took it for a _gaufre_,[I] and I adore _gaufres_ in chocolate."

"We came to ask you about young Tobie, messieurs.--Have you seen him since night before last, Monsieur Varinet?"

"Who in the devil is Monsieur Tobie?" queried the white-eyebrowed young man, in amazement.

"The individual of the fetich--the olive."

"Oh, yes! the man who put up an olive at five hundred francs."

"The same. Has he been to you to pay his debt and redeem his pledge?"

"No; and to prove it, I'll show you that I still have it in my purse."