After his duel with Auguste MonlÉard, Cherami returned to his lodgings, whistling a polka. He found his hostess where he had left her, standing in her doorway.

Madame Louchard was very inquisitive; it had stirred her curiosity to the highest pitch to see her tenant go away with the young exquisite who owned a cabriolet; and when the former returned alone, she cried:

"Well! what have you done with him?"

"With whom? with what?"

"Why, with that elegant gentleman who went away with you on foot,—a strange thing to do when he has a cabriolet at his command. You might just as well have got into it, both of you, as it followed you."

"It wasn't worth while to ride; we only went a little way."

"Oho! where did you go?"

"To that vacant lot over yonder, by the theatre."

"What in the world did you go there for? Does your friend think of buying the lot?"

"Not at all. We went there to fight. It's a very convenient place for that."

"To fight? Is it possible!"

"As I have the honor to tell you."

"With your fists?"

"Madame Louchard, you always imagine that you are talking to the clowns who are your usual associates. Understand, pray, that a man like me doesn't fight with his fists! I sometimes send the toe of my boot into the fleshy part of an upstart who bores me—but when it's a question of a duel, that's another affair."

"What did you fight with, then?"

"With swords."

"You didn't have any."

"That gentleman had a whole arsenal in his carriage."

"Mon Dieu! And which of you was killed?"

"Why, your question is rather beside the mark. Do I look like a dead man?"

"Ah! that's so. It was the other man, then? Poor young man!"

"Don't be alarmed; he isn't dead, and he won't die. A simple wound—and I warned him, too; I said: 'You strike down too much!'—He fences rather well, but he isn't in my class yet."

"You villain! always in trouble—fighting duels. But what if he had killed you, eh?"

"In that case, superb Louchard, I should not, at this moment, have the pleasure of gazing upon your strongly-marked features."

"And the cause of your duel?"

"A trifle—a mere nothing—a jest. But that young man's coming prevented me from breakfasting, and I feel the need of attending to that important function. I go to my room to get my pretty cane with the agate head, and I fly to the VÉfour of the Quarter. But, no; there isn't one here, and, as I wish to breakfast very well indeed, I will go as far as Passoir's."

"Anyone can see that you're in funds."

"Indeed, it is true, divine hostess."

"And you don't leave me a little on account."

"We will talk of that later."

Cherami took his new cane, placed his new hat on the side of his head, and with his pockets lined with the money he had won at ÉcartÉ the night before, left the house, saying:

"I have my cue!"

According to his custom, Cherami spent his gold pieces freely. But it seemed that that money had brought him luck. Being a great lover of the game of billiards, he did not fail, after dinner, to go and play pool at a cafÉ where he knew that there was always a game in progress in the evening; and for some days fortune favored him so persistently, that all the frequenters of the cafÉ frowned when he appeared, muttering:

"Here comes the pool-shark!"

But one evening the luck turned; Cherami left the cafÉ with empty pockets.

"Palsambleu!" he said to himself; "here I am reduced to extremities again!—For I shall not receive my quarterly income for a fortnight, and that stingy Bernardin wouldn't pay me a single day in advance. But why wouldn't this be a good time to pay a little visit to our young friend Gustave, in whose behalf I fought a duel, and who has not even come to thank me? By the way, I think I didn't give him my address, and, on the other hand, he didn't give me his. But he lives with his Uncle Grandcourt; he's a banker, or a merchant, no matter which; I ought to find his address in the Almanack du Commerce. To-morrow I will obtain it, and I will go and bid friend Gustave good-day. And if he is still in the depths, I'll dine with him again. He will tell me his woes, and I will order the dinner. And at dessert he certainly will lend me a hundred francs to carry me to my next quarterly payment—that will be easy to manage. Indeed, I am convinced that dear Gustave is surprised at my non-appearance, and that he is looking for me everywhere.—But, to make up for my neglect, I'll not leave him for a fortnight."

The next day, Cherami found Monsieur Grandcourt's address, and lost no time in betaking himself thither. Having arrived at a handsome house in Faubourg Montmartre, he tapped on the concierge's window with his pretty cane.

"Monsieur Grandcourt, the banker?"

"His offices are on the ground floor, at the rear, right-hand door."

"Very good. Shall I find Monsieur Gustave Darlemont in the office?"

"Monsieur Gustave?"

"Yes, the banker's nephew, who is employed by his uncle."

"Faith! monsieur, I don't know; there are several clerks; I don't know their names."

"You don't seem very well posted, that's a fact. All right; I'll go to the office, and it's to be hoped that someone will be able to answer me there."

Cherami walked to the rear of the building, and entered a room where an elderly clerk, half reclining on a ledger, was adding columns of figures.

"Will you kindly tell me where I can find my friend Gustave?"

The clerk made no reply, but continued to mutter:

"Forty-five, fifty-two, four, six, sixty."

"Is this old fossil afflicted with deafness, I wonder?" said Cherami to himself.—"I ask you, monsieur," he added aloud, "to direct me to the desk—the office—the chamber of my friend Gustave; don't you hear me?"

"Eight and eight are sixteen—and sixteen, thirty-two."

"Sacrebleu! we've known for a long while that eight and eight are sixteen! Is it such nonsense as that that keeps you from answering me?"

As he spoke, Cherami seized the old clerk's collar and shook him roughly. He turned upon his assailant in a rage, exclaiming:

"I am adding my balances, monsieur; and when I am adding, no one has any right to disturb me—do you hear?"

"Well, well! you are another pretty specimen, you are! They ought to frame you and hang you up in the water-closet!"

"Monsieur! What do you mean?"

"There, there, my old mummy; let's not lose our temper. Where is Monsieur Grandcourt's nephew?"

"As if I knew, monsieur! I keep accounts, and nothing else, and I can't talk. You have put me out; I must begin all over again!"

"Very well, you shall begin again; nothing trains the youthful mind like addition. But you must answer my question first."

"Monsieur Grandcourt's private office is at the end of this passage, monsieur. Go and tell him what you want, and leave me to my accounts."

"All right! Do you know, I believe that excessive adding has hindered you sadly in your growth."

Cherami followed the passage, and, upon turning the knob of a door at the end, found himself in the banker's office. Monsieur Grandcourt was writing at his desk; being accustomed to the frequent coming and going of his clerks, he went on writing without looking up.

Cherami closed the door, examined Monsieur Grandcourt for a moment, and said to himself:

"That's our uncle—I recognize him. I never saw him but once, but that's enough. Besides, he has one of those peppery faces which have a certain chic."

He walked to the desk and removed his hat, saying:

"Good-morning, dear uncle! You are at work, I see. Bigre! it seems that dig's the word in your shop; for I found outside here an old pensioner so buried in his figures that I couldn't see the end of his nose.—Well, how does it go?—Don't you know me? I am Arthur Cherami."

Monsieur Grandcourt raised his head, and stared in utter amazement at the individual before him.

"Might I know, monsieur," he rejoined, "what you want, what brings you here? for I probably didn't understand what you said."

"Ah! you didn't understand, eh? Are you adding figures, too? That occupation seems to deaden the intellect. But, never mind about that! So you don't recognize me, dear uncle?"

"No, monsieur, no; and I confess that I fail to understand this title of uncle which you persist in giving me."

"That is a title of affection, because I am a friend of your nephew—dear Gustave—who was so desperate on the day that his faithless Fanny married another. And on that same day, I dined with him at Deffieux's. He was absolutely determined to speak to the lovely bride, when you fell into our private room like a bombshell, and dragged the poor fellow away."

"Ah! very good, monsieur! now I understand, and I recognize you. Yes, it was you who were at the restaurant with my nephew—and you attempted to interfere with my taking him away."

"Dame! he was so anxious to see his Fanny! I have always protected love affairs."

"And do you realize, monsieur, all that might have resulted from an interview between Gustave and that young woman?"

"Why, no more, I fancy, than did actually happen—a duel, that's all!"

"What do you mean, monsieur? My nephew fought no duel; that I know; I didn't leave him until the very moment of his departure."

"Well, I don't say that it was he who fought; it was I; but it amounts to the same thing."

"What! you fought a duel—you?"

"Just a little, nephew—I mean, uncle. Indeed, I administered to the young husband a very neat sword-thrust in the arm. However, he's a stout fellow; but he holds himself back too much in fencing; that's very dangerous."

"You fought with Monsieur MonlÉard?"

"Why, yes! what of it? You open your eyes like porte cochÈres! One would say that it was a most extraordinary thing!"

"But, monsieur, it's a horrible thing for you to have done! You have compromised that young woman, you have compromised my nephew, you have——"

"Sacrebleu! do you know that you make me tired! Where the devil did I get an uncle like this, who doesn't appreciate the services I have rendered his nephew?"

"A little less noise, monsieur, if you please!"

"Ah! you don't like that! Very good! but, no! You are Gustave's uncle; I cannot fight with you; it would grieve him. After all, my business isn't with you; and if that old baked apple out yonder had told me where I could find your nephew, you wouldn't have had a call from me. Tell me at once, and I'll make my bow."

"You want to see Gustave?"

"That was my only reason for coming here."

"My nephew is not now in France, monsieur; he is in Spain."

"In Spain? Do you mean it? it isn't a sell?"

Monsieur Grandcourt made a gesture of impatience, whereupon Cherami continued:

"Don't you like the word? You surprise me! It is adopted now in the best society. It's like balancÉ. You say: 'I have balancÉ So-and-so,' which means: 'I have sent him about his business.' We have enriched the French language with a lot of such locutions, more or less picturesque. Ah! the Latin tongue is much more forcible, much more complete. You can say things in Latin that you'd never dare to say in French. Look you, for example, Plautus, in his comedies,—in Casina, I believe,—makes an amorous old man say, when he thinks of his mistress:

"'Jam, Hercle, amplexari, jam osculari gestio!'

Ah! they were great jokers, those Latin and Greek authors! Write comedies now like those of Aristophanes—you'd have a warm reception! They are beginning already to find MoliÈre too free! We are becoming very refined, very severe, in the matter of language! Does that mean that we are growing more virtuous? Frankly, I don't think it. Habits, customs, and manners change; but passions, vices, absurdities, are always the same!"

The banker's brow lost some of its wrinkles as he listened to Cherami. He scrutinized him more carefully, and said:

"How does it happen, monsieur, that, having received a good education, knowing your classics as you do, in short, being a well-informed man, you do not make use of your knowledge, to——"

"To do what? To buy a coat? Is that what you mean?"

"Faith! something like it."

"I love independence, liberty, monsieur."

"Those words have been sadly abused of late, monsieur. And if your love of liberty compels you to go abroad in shabby clothes, it seems to me that you would do well to prefer love of work to it."

"Look you, my dear monsieur, I believe that you are undertaking to preach to me—and I have never stood that from anybody!"

"Perhaps that is the great mistake you have made."

"Corbleu! you are lucky to be the uncle of a young man for whom I felt at once a sincere affection.—Let us say no more. Gustave is in Spain?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"For a long time?"

"I cannot tell exactly."

"That's as good a way as any of not telling me. But when he is in Paris, I promise you that I shall not fail to find him."

"Have you anything important to say to him, monsieur? if so, tell it to me, and I will transmit it."

Cherami reflected a moment, then pulled his hat over his eyes, and said:

"No, I simply wanted to shake hands with him, to inquire for his health, and to find out whether he is finally cured of his love for the faithless Fanny."

"His letters tell me that his health is good. As for his foolish passion for a woman who never loved him, I like to believe that it has succumbed to absence."

"Say rather to the glances of the Andalusians; for they have terrible eyes, those Spanish women! I know something of them. I have known three, who——"

"Pardon me, monsieur; but I am very busy, and, if you have nothing else to say to me——"

"Ah! you dismiss me?—Very good; that's very polite. I have my cue!"

"You have your cue? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh! it's of no consequence. It's a little phrase which I often use; it's as if I said: 'I see where I stand.'"

"That makes a difference, monsieur. I wish you good-morning!"

"And I wish you nothing at all!"

Thereupon Cherami left the banker's office, saying to himself:

"There's a tough old uncle for you! I think I won't borrow money of him—I won't do him that honor. No, never! especially as he wouldn't lend me any."