"Mon Dieu! monsieur, don't go so fast; it's no use. Don't you know what has happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Poor Monsieur Albert is dead."

"Dead! Great G.o.d!"

"Yes, monsieur; he was killed in a duel."

"Killed in a duel?"

Tobie looked at the concierge with a doubtful expression, and tried to read in the man's eyes whether he was making fun of him.

"Look you, concierge," he continued; "are you quite sure of what you say? Once before, there was a report that Albert had been killed in a duel, and I know that was a lie."

"Alas! monsieur, I am only too sure."

"How long has he been dead?"

"A month, the day after to-morrow, monsieur. I remember that fatal day perfectly well; they brought the poor fellow home in a cab, with a bullet in his side; I went for the doctor; and when he tried to take out the bullet, the wounded man shut his eyes--and it was all over."

"Albert had returned to Paris, then?"

"Yes, monsieur; he came back first after he'd been gone quite a long while, but he only stayed about a week and then went off again. When he fought this duel, he'd only come home the night before."

"Whom did he fight with? what was it about?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, n.o.body knows; the poor young man died so soon; he wasn't able to say anything; he didn't take anybody with him for a second but Joseph, his servant, who told us that his master fought a duel with pistols near Pantin, with a young man he, Joseph, didn't know, and who didn't have any second. You see, he hadn't been in Monsieur Albert's service long. As to the cause of the quarrel, he didn't know anything about it. I remember seeing a messenger go up to Monsieur Albert's rooms that day; I suppose he came to bring the challenge.

That's all I know."

"It's all very obscure. Where is this Joseph? I should like to talk with him."

"He's gone back to his province. As Monsieur Albert was dead, Monsieur Vermoncey didn't keep him. Ah! that poor man--he's terribly broken up; he don't go out, nor see anyone. But, if you'd like to try to see him, monsieur----"

"No, no, it's not necessary; I have no desire to disturb his grief.--Well, as poor Albert is dead, there's nothing for me to do but go away."

Tobie Pigeonnier returned to his cabriolet, reflecting profoundly on what he had learned. He alighted on Boulevard des Italiens, and stalked proudly into Tortoni's, where he found Mouillot and Balivan, the two loyal habitues.

The young men exclaimed in surprise when they saw Tobie smilingly draw near, take a seat at their table, and order chocolate, rolls and b.u.t.ter, with the air of a man who is not afraid to spend his money.

"Oh, heaven! oh, heaven! can I believe my eyes?" sang Mouillot; "'tis he! 'tis he in very truth! he has not gone to Russia or the Marquesas, as we supposed!"

"And he is dressed like several milords," observed Balivan.

"And he has come to withdraw his olive from circulation."

"Yes, messieurs," rejoined Tobie; "I am rich--very rich; my aunt is dead--that respectable lady of whom I have often spoken to you, and with whom I expected to go into partnership. She is dead, and I am her heir; she left me a magnificent business."

"In what line?"

"In all lines. I may go on with the business; I have not decided yet. As for that unlucky olive, it isn't my fault that I haven't redeemed it sooner; I don't know Monsieur Varinet's address."

"You ought to have asked us."

"I never meet you anywhere."

"Bah! what a flimsy excuse! we are at this cafe every morning. But, never mind; if you are anxious to pay Varinet, he is to join us here soon."

"Oh! then I'll wait for him."

"And do you know that poor Albert----"

"Is dead; yes, I know it."

"Killed in a duel--and no one knows by whom! Isn't it a most extraordinary thing?"

Tobie pursed his lips, frowned, and gazed at the ceiling, murmuring:

"Ah! things happen sometimes in the world that one can't talk about; but people always end by discovering the truth! You surely can understand that the man who killed Albert is not likely to go about boasting of it, because he is probably much affected himself."

And Tobie took out his handkerchief and blew his nose several times, trying to make them think that he was weeping.

Mouillot and Balivan stared at each other in amazement; and the former muttered, under his breath:

"Nonsense! it isn't possible!"

Tobie was only at his fifth roll, when Monsieur Varinet arrived with Dupetrain. The first bowed very coolly to Pigeonnier, but that gentleman made haste to say to him:

"I owe you no end of apologies, monsieur, for remaining in your debt so long; but chance seemed to have determined to keep us apart; however, as I have found you at last, I will, with your permission, settle my account with you."

Varinet lost no time in taking out his purse, overjoyed to be rid of the olive stone, which he produced and handed to Tobie, saying:

"Here is your fetich, monsieur."

"I don't recognize it," said Tobie, scrutinizing the olive.

"You have left it in my hands so long, monsieur," retorted the young man with the white eyelashes, with some asperity, "that it has had ample time to change. If you had redeemed it the next day, as the custom is with gambling debts, it wouldn't have shrunk to its present size."

Tobie had nothing to say; he took out his wallet, and opened it in such a way that they could all see a number of banknotes, one of which he handed to Varinet, saying:

"One more or less doesn't make much show when you have plenty."

"That wallet of yours would put Celestin to rights just now," said Mouillot.

"Why so?"

"Because he's in prison for debt--yes, been there two months."

"No, really? in prison for debt! poor Celestin! I'll go and see him; and I'll see that he's released."