At last, the little man made up his mind to speak:

"That cane, monsieur—with that agate head; it's very singular!"

"You find that my cane has a singular look? Distinguished, you mean, I doubt not?"

"Why, monsieur, the fact is, that that cane—the more I look at it—a rattan—exactly!—and the hat, too—the same kind of a band—very broad——"

"Tell me, monsieur—when you have finished, will you very kindly explain yourself?" said Cherami. He began to suspect who his companion was, but he did not choose to let it appear.

"This is how it is, monsieur: I had a cane exactly like this one—so much like it that I could swear it was the same one."

"We see canes that look just alike, every day, monsieur; there's nothing extraordinary in that; there are many men who are mistaken for one another, and yet there is an expression, an animation, on a man's face which you would seek in vain on the head of a cane."

"Excuse me, monsieur; but all canes haven't an agate head cut like this one."

"If they had, they would be too common, and I wouldn't want one."

"Well, monsieur, I lost my cane and my hat at a wedding party which I attended about two months ago; that is to say, I didn't positively lose them, but they were exchanged—and I didn't gain by the change! In place of my hat, which had a band exactly like this—very broad—and the same shape—they left a pitiful, disgraceful thing; and I was obliged to buy a new one the next day; and in place of my cane I found a sort of switch, of the kind they beat clothes with—not worth six sous!"

"Corbleu! monsieur, what do you mean to imply by all this? This cane that you lost, with an agate head—and your hat with a band like this—do you know that I am beginning to lose my temper? Do you mean to say that I stole your cane?"

"No, monsieur—but——"

"Then you insult me, and I will not brook an insult!—When we leave this cafÉ, we will go and cut each other's throats, like a couple of young dandies!"

"Never, monsieur; not by any means! I am mistaken, monsieur; I am wrong. No, no, it isn't my cane—let it be as if I had said nothing; I beg your pardon."

The little bald man, trembling like a leaf, seemed inclined to disappear under the table at which he was seated. Cherami, having reflected two or three minutes, looked at him with an affable expression, and said:

"Didn't you lose something else at the party you mentioned just now."

"Something else? yes, I did, monsieur; I was in bad luck that night! When I arrived at the ball, I had lost one of my gloves—a yellow glove. To be sure, it was returned to me later—but in such a state!"

"Ah! now I understand! I recognize you now!"

"You recognize me?"

"To be sure—you are Monsieur Courbichon.""That's my name, sure enough! But how——?"

"Pardieu! we met at our friend Blanquette's little party. Dear Monsieur Courbichon! I have been looking for you a long while!"

"You have been looking for me, monsieur? For what, pray?"

"For what? Why, to return your cane."

"But, monsieur, I don't know whether——"

"And your hat too, if you insist upon it; but, as the one you have now is newer, you would lose again by the change. But the cane is certainly yours; do you consider me capable of keeping something that doesn't belong to me,—that is in my possession only as the result of a mistake?"

"Ah! monsieur, I am sensible——"

"You understand, of course, that before returning this cane, which I carried away by mistake from my friend Blanquette's party, I wished to be sure of returning it to its owner and no one else. Have you my switch?"

"No, monsieur; I haven't it—I don't even know what has become of it."

"Bigre! I am very sorry for that. You thought, I suppose, that it was just a common switch; you didn't see that it was a nerf de boeuf, which came from China, where they make a great many canes of that material, because it bends and never breaks. You value it at six sous, but it was worth forty francs."

"Oh! if I had known that——"

"You'd have taken more care of it. However, that's a trifling mishap. You pay for what I have eaten, and we will dine together; then we shall be quits."

"What, monsieur, you propose——"

"Pray take your cane; it's a fascinating thing! Everybody stared at it. Dear Courbichon! I am delighted to have returned it to you; but I greatly regret my Chinese switch! Such is very rare in Paris. Very few like it come here from China.—I say, waiter, how much do I owe?"

"Seven francs fifty, monsieur."

"Very good. Monsieur here will attend to it."

Monsieur Courbichon did not seem overjoyed to pay for his neighbor's breakfast; however, he did it. They left the cafÉ together, and, when they were on the boulevard, Cherami passed his arm through that of the owner of the cane, saying:

"Where shall we go now?"

"Faith! monsieur, I had intended to go for a stroll on the Champs-ÉlysÉes. It's a fine day, and near the end of September; we must make the most of these last good days. And then, I am very fond of watching them play bowls."

"Very good! that suits me—that suits me to the very tick: let us go to the Champs-ÉlysÉes, and see them play bowls. Walking helps the digestion; it gives one an appetite. We will dine there; I know all the good restaurants on the Champs-ÉlysÉes. Oh! never fear, Papa Courbichon, you are with a buck who knows what good living is!"

"I don't doubt it, monsieur, but——"

"Sapristi! what a pretty cane! everybody admires it as they pass. It must have cost a lot?"

"I cannot tell you, monsieur; it's a present from my nephew."

"Ah, indeed! I was just saying to myself, that it's a surprising thing that Monsieur Courbichon should have bought a cane like that. Your nephew's a man of taste. What does he do?"

"He's in business. He has gone to America. This was his cane; he gave it to me, because, as he said, he was going to a country where there are plenty of canes, and it was useless for him to carry this one."

"Do you mean that he carries a piece of sugar-cane in his hand when he goes out to walk?"

"I can't tell you, I don't know. The cane suited me, because at need I could use it to defend myself."

"My Chinese switch was a famous weapon of defence, too."

"What! a switch?"

"Remember that it was a nerf de boeuf. I could have killed a calf with it."

"What a curious idea of those Chinese to make canes with nerfs de boeuf!"

"An additional proof, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, that the Chinese are much more advanced than we are—much more progressive! They build houses of india-rubber."

"Hard rubber, of course?"

"I don't know whether it's hard or not—it makes no difference. Pardieu! Monsieur Courbichon, you must agree that there are lucky chances, and that we were both happily inspired when we went to that cafÉ to-day!"

"It is certain, monsieur, that otherwise——"

"You would never have seen your charming cane again. Are you married, Monsieur Courbichon?"

"I have been married, monsieur, but I am a widower."

"A superb position for a man still young and made to please the ladies."

"Oh! monsieur, I am fifty-five."

"That is the very prime of life, the age at which a man makes most conquests, because he knows better how to go about it. Ah! I would like to be fifty-five! I hope to get there, but I haven't yet. You have some means?"

"Five or six thousand francs a year, which I made in dried fruit."

"A very pretty business!—That isn't a magnificent fortune, but it is that pleasant mediocrity so highly praised by Horace. Do you know Horace?"

"Yes, I have seen it played at the ThÉÂtre-FranÇais."

"Ah! I guess we will stop there! Have you children, excellent Courbichon?"

"I have a daughter, monsieur,—a married daughter; I have set her up in business."

"In dried fruit?"

"No, monsieur; she is in olive oil."

"Oh! the deuce! that's very different! But it will preserve her longer. You have no other daughter?"

"No, monsieur."

"What a pity!"

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Because I feel so strongly attracted to you that I would have asked her hand in marriage. Faith! yes, I would have renounced my liberty, which I have never done yet—but there's an end to everything. Does your son-in-law enjoy good health?"

"Yes, monsieur, excellent!"

"So much the worse!"

"Why so much the worse?"

"Because, if he should die soon, I might marry his widow."

"Oh! what an idea, monsieur!"

"He is in good health, so there's an end of that; let us say no more about it. Don't be alarmed; I have no idea of killing him. If he had insulted me, I don't say——"

"A thousand pardons, monsieur; but I should be very glad to know your name."

"My name? So you have forgotten it, have you? But I was called by name often enough at young Blanquette's wedding party—while I was dancing with Aunt Merlin."

"I don't remember it."

"My name is Arthur Cherami."

Courbichon, thinking that his companion was addressing him as his dear friend (cher ami), replied:

"Oh! yes, your name is Arthur—— Nothing more?"

"What do you say? nothing more? Why, I have just told you—Arthur Cherami."

"Yes, I understand—Arthur; that's a very pretty name. Are you in business?"

"I don't do anything; I live on my income, like you."

"Oh! that's different! When one has enough to live on, one certainly has the right to loaf as much as he pleases."

"That's so, isn't it, my dear Courbichon? Ah! I am delighted to see that we agree. We were destined to become close friends; it was written, as the Arabs say."

While conversing thus,—that is to say, while Cherami conversed and his companion listened, with difficulty finding a chance to put in a word or two from time to time,—they had reached the Champs-ÉlysÉes. They sauntered toward a spot where a game of bowls was in progress, and looked on for a while. According to his habit, Cherami made his reflections aloud and gave his opinion on the strokes. He did not hesitate to say: "That was wretchedly played!" to the face of the player. The latter, a youngster of sixteen years, came up to him with an irritated air, crying:

"What business is it of yours? Perhaps you wouldn't do as well!"

"No, I flatter myself that I wouldn't do as well, for I would do much better. And if you don't like what I say, my boy, just come with me. There's a shooting-gallery yonder. I will take you for my target, and you take me; we'll see which of us will bring the other down."

The bowler retired without making any reply.

"You are too quick, my dear Monsieur Arthur," said Courbichon, putting his hand on Cherami's shoulder; "you take fire like saltpetre."

"Ah! that's the way I was made, my dear Courbichon. What would you have—a man can't make himself over!—But just let anyone presume to insult you, when you're with me! Bigre! a dwarf, a giant, a colossus—it's all one to me; I would grind him to powder on the spot, and it wouldn't take long!"

Meanwhile, the young bowler, who had returned to his game boiling with rage, had formed a plan to revenge himself upon the person who had said that he bowled badly; and when it was his turn to bowl, he threw the ball with all his force in Cherami's direction, hoping that it would strike his legs. But a small stone caused it to deviate slightly, and, instead of striking Beau Arthur, it came in contact with Monsieur Courbichon's legs. That gentleman staggered, and uttered a piercing shriek. Cherami saw plainly whence the ball came, and saw the bowler laughing uproariously. Instantly, snatching the cane from his companion's hand, he ran toward the author of the assault, shouting:

"Never fear, my poor Courbichon; I will avenge you, and I'll do it thoroughly, too. He'll have his rabbit, the villain!"

The youngster who had thrown the ball fled when he saw Cherami running toward him. But Cherami pursued him; while Monsieur Courbichon rubbed his legs, saying:

"This is the first time such a thing ever happened to me while I was watching the game; and it's the more surprising, because I wasn't in line with the pins. So it must have been done on purpose; but why should the fellow aim at my legs? I didn't make any comment on his play—I didn't have any dispute with him.—This will certainly leave a mark on my legs.—Where in the deuce has Monsieur Arthur gone? That man is too quick-tempered."

In a few minutes, Cherami returned, flushed and triumphant, crying:

"You are avenged, my dear Courbichon! yes, what anyone would call thoroughly avenged; the rascal has had what he deserved; and here's the proof."

As he spoke, he handed his new friend his beautiful cane broken in two.

Monsieur Courbichon was dumfounded, and gazed with an air of consternation at the pieces of the cane.

"Ah! mon Dieu!" he faltered; "it is broken!"

"True—it is broken; but I broke it on the back of the ragamuffin who threw his ball at your skittles—I mean, your legs."

"What a pity! You struck him too hard."

"One cannot strike an enemy too hard."

"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 appetite."

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-ÉlysÉes. 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—album 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, passing 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, tÊte-À-tÊte 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 cafÉ, 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 gods!"

"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 pawn."

"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 glass 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, HÔtel 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.