With that, he hastily took his leave of the three young men and went home.

Darena at this time occupied a small, but attractive apartment on Rue Neuve-Breda. Thanks to Poterne's transactions with the young marquis, of which Darena received a share of the profits, he had been in funds for some time. His man of business occupied a small room above his apartment.

"Is Poterne in my rooms?" asked Darena, as he pa.s.sed the concierge.

"In yours or else in his, monsieur," was the reply; "he's upstairs. I just saw him go in with the little boy who's been coming to see him every day for a fortnight."

"Aha! so a little boy comes to see him every morning? About how old a boy?"

"Oh! perhaps ten or twelve years old; but he's got a very sharp face. He ain't handsome, but in spite of that, he's got such a sly expression that you'd almost call him good-looking."

"What in the deuce can Poterne be doing with this boy?" said Darena to himself as he went upstairs. "Can it be his son? Oh, no! a man like him never acknowledges a child; he would have to take care of him. It's probably some urchin whom he has hired to do his errands and polish his boots; but I supposed that he did all that himself."

Darena entered his room, and, not finding Poterne there, went up another flight and knocked at the door of his agent's chamber.

Instantly there was a great commotion inside; it was as if chairs were being upset, and closet doors opened and shut. At last Monsieur Poterne's shrill, unmusical voice inquired:

"Who's there?"

"Parbleu! it's I. Let me in, you old scoundrel."

"Why don't you let me know who it is at once?" asked Poterne, as he opened the door. "I was very busy--your knock disturbed me--as I didn't know who it was."

Darena glanced about the room, which was in great disorder; then, fastening his eyes on Poterne, who seemed to be anxious to set things to rights, he said:

"You weren't alone here, you had a small boy with you. What devilish mystery are you brewing now, with this child? Come, answer quickly; I am in no joking mood, I promise you!"

Monsieur Poterne's only reply was to call out:

"Come, Bruno, come; you can show yourself; it was my intimate friend, there's no danger!"

Instantly a closet opened and a small boy of twelve years or more emerged and rolled across the floor, uttering a shrill noise not unlike the cry of a savage. The singularity of his behavior was intensified by the fact that he was clad from head to foot in a sort of greenish skin, hairy in spots; that that skin, which covered his hands and feet as well, ended at those extremities in something like claws; and that a very slender and exceedingly long tail depended from his posterior. His face alone was uncovered.

"What in the devil is this?" asked Darena, examining the boy, who went through a mult.i.tude of leaps and capers on the floor, and seemed perfectly accustomed to walking on his hands.

Monsieur Poterne emitted a hollow rumble, as if he were laughing internally, and replied:

"This is a monkey I am training."

"A monkey! For whom, pray?"

"For our young marquis. I wanted to sell him a large and handsome monkey, but I had no desire to put out the money for one. I had noticed this little bootblack at the corner; the rascal always did what errands I gave him, to my entire satisfaction; I saw that he was a bright little devil, so I proposed to him to play the monkey, for a handsome remuneration. I bought this orang-outang's costume, which is very lifelike; Bruno comes here every morning and puts it on; then he practises jumping and capering. He is doing very well, and he's more amusing than a real monkey. I have a mask, but I haven't made up my mind whether to have him wear one. As he is horribly ugly, I think that, by staining his face and gluing hair on his eyebrows and chin, I could make a fine monkey of him! Ha! ha!"

Darena threw himself into a chair; he could not help laughing with his agent, as he rejoined:

"This is shocking! it is horrible! and yet I cannot help laughing!

Really, this idea of manufacturing a monkey--Poterne, it's a pity that you are such a vile knave, for you have much imagination. But let us suppose that Cherubin has bought this counterfeit monkey--is Monsieur Bruno inclined to remain an animal all his life?"

"Why, no," replied Poterne; "once in the house, he will cleverly choose the moment to take flight; he will escape in one way or another--by the chimney, if need be; for he has been a sweep, and he is perfectly at home climbing chimneys. That part of it doesn't concern me, you see; I sell a monkey and get my money; it isn't my fault if you let him escape.

Ha! ha!"

The boy, hearing Poterne laugh, followed his example, imitating anew the monkey's wild chatter, and leaping over all the furniture in the room in order to develop his talent.

"Well," said Darena, after a moment, "you will lose the expense of educating him, Poterne; this little scamp may play the monkey on the boulevards, but he won't do it in our young pupil's house!"

"Why not, pray?"

"Why not? Because you are a villain, a swindler, a thief!"

Monsieur Poterne looked at the count with an expression which said plainly enough: "You've known that a long while; why pretend to be so surprised?"

"I have no objection to your selling things at rather a high figure to my young friend, because tradesmen always get as much as they can. That is business and nothing else. But I do not propose that you shall abuse Cherubin's confidence to the point of cheating him outrageously; and that is just what you have done, master thief!"

Poterne rolled his eyes in amazement, muttering:

"I don't see where the great harm comes in! I told him they were preserved pineapples, and they're turnips; but they can't hurt him; on the contrary, they're less heating."

"I am not talking about turnips--I don't know about that episode, you must tell me about it!--I am talking about the watch and chain and pin; they are all sham, horribly sham; and you had the face to tell me that they were worth eight hundred francs! You robbed me too, you villain!"

"It's very lucky that they weren't worth as much as that!" replied Poterne coolly; "for, out of the twenty-five hundred francs I got for them, you left me only five hundred to pay the dealer on account, and you've never given me the rest since."

"Because I had a sort of presentiment of your knavery! The idea of selling trash, gilded copper, to my young friend! it is infamous!"

"Bah! look you, it seems to me that you've been living comfortably at your young friend's expense for eighteen months past."

"Hold your tongue, Poterne, hold your tongue. I am tempted to break every bone in your body, and you deserve it. See what a fine thing you have done in not being content with the honest profits you might have made on such things as you sold Cherubin; now you can never go to his house again. I had thrown open an excellent house to you, and you have closed it by your thirst for gold--and as a result you have injured me considerably. I have derived some profit from your little transactions--and that was no more than fair; as it was I who made you acquainted with this rich youngster."

"Some profit! In other words, you took the whole!" muttered Poterne, with a horrible grimace.

"Once more, hold your tongue, or I cannot restrain myself!--Now, how shall I maintain my position, my life of luxury? I can borrow of Cherubin occasionally, to be sure, but that resource will soon fail me: the most obliging people get tired of lending, especially when they are never paid. I have tried to instil into my young friend a taste for cards, telling him that it was the pa.s.sion of fashionable people; but I could not do it, cards are a bore to him; and then that devil of a Monfreville has strongly advised him not to touch them. So that there is but one way left for me to feather my own nest by making myself useful to Cherubin, and that is--love. When a wealthy young man is in love, he usually does all sorts of foolish things for the woman he loves. If there are obstacles, he spends money lavishly to overcome them,--and we should have had no difficulty in placing obstacles in his path whenever we chose. Well! by some fatality which I cannot understand, Cherubin, who exclaims in admiration at sight of a pretty face, who seemed to be dead in love with my four little ballet dancers, who cannot look at a grisette without a thrill, who, in short, acts as if he were tremendously in love with all women, hasn't yet engaged in any intrigue or taken a mistress. I have proposed twenty times to take him to Malvina, or Rosina, or Fdora; he will agree at first, then refuse, saying: 'Later; we'll see about it; I don't dare!' And my sarcasms, my jests, fail to overcome his timidity.--That is where I stand now, monsieur; I was justified, you see, in saying that your knavery has placed me in an unpleasant position."

Poterne, who had listened very attentively to Darena, reflected for some moments on what he had heard, and replied at last:

"If the young man has no love-affairs on hand, it is probably because he has not yet met a woman who has really attracted him. Those dancers of yours who seemed to be throwing themselves at his head--that's not the way to captivate a wholly inexperienced heart, which wants illusions, ardent pa.s.sion. Never fear, I'll find what he needs, and before long I will involve him in a most romantic and complicated intrigue."

"Remember that you cannot show your face before Cherubin, who is quite capable of kicking you downstairs. He is in a terrible rage with you, I warn you."

"Oh! don't be alarmed; if I appear before him, I will take good care that he doesn't recognize me."

"Poterne, if you succeed in arousing a pa.s.sionate love in our young man's heart, I will give you back my esteem."

"Oh, yes! I shall succeed! But first, you must give me time to find a pretty girl, and then to learn whether--I say, Bruno! Bruno! where are you going, you little rascal?"

During the foregoing conversation between Darena and Poterne, the small boy, who had understood that he was not to play the part of a monkey, as he had been led to expect, had resumed his ordinary garb; but, when he had finished his toilet, Monsieur Bruno, presuming that no one was paying any heed to him, rolled the monkey's skin around the mask, put it under his arm, and left the room.

"My skin! my monkey's skin, Bruno!" cried Monsieur Poterne, running out to the landing. "Ah! you little vagabond! don't you mean to give it back to me?"

But Monsieur Bruno, who had become very skilful in gymnastic exercises, thanks to the lessons he had taken in playing the monkey, ran down the stairs so rapidly that he was at the foot before Poterne had covered three stairs. The latter ran after the little thief none the less; and while Darena returned to his room, laughing at the episode, Monsieur Poterne ran through the street after the bootblack, crying: