On leaving the HÔtel de Mongarcin on this occasion, Bahuchet did not jostle the passers-by or jingle the money in his purse; the little clerk was beginning to be accustomed to windfalls. Moreover, at that moment his joy was moderated by another sentiment. He had carefully concealed the white plume under his doublet; then he had counted the contents of the purse twice over. He found therein a hundred livres tournois in coins of various denominations, and he gazed with admiration at the money; then he carefully bestowed the purse in his belt, saying to himself:

"It is a great pity that I have to carry this plume to Landry the bath keeper! There is nothing pleasant about that commission; it may even be dangerous! Pardieu! Mademoiselle de Mongarcin knows it well enough! She would not pay such a price to have an errand done that is apparently so simple, if she did not foresee that the messenger would be exposed to great risk!—Let me see, let me see! I must cudgel my brain a bit and try to think if there is not some way of keeping my back or my face out of reach of cudgels or claws.—I have promised that this white plume shall be handed to-day to young Bathilde's parents; it shall be, for an honest youth has only his word! Moreover, I am in a solicitor's office! But solicitors know how to get around the most knotty questions; suppose I should get around this errand of mine—suppose I should send somebody else in my place to carry this infernal plume, prescribing the words he was to say? Why, that would come to precisely the same thing in the end, and my person would run no risk whatever!"

Having decided upon this plan, Bahuchet bent his steps toward the wretched eating house where he and his comrade Plumard generally dined.

On entering the place, he saw his friend seated at his usual table; he took his seat opposite him, with an even more than ordinarily expansive smile.

"Enchanted to find you, Plumard, my boy! I should have been disappointed if you had not come here to-night. You are having supper—I will do likewise, for I have a keen appetite. What you are eating looks very good, Plumard; what in the devil is it?"

"It is a rabbit stew, according to our host; but it's too good to be rabbit, it must be cat at least!"

"Ah! bigre! I propose to have some of it, too.—HolÀ! waiter! bring me a portion of the same dish that my friend has; if it isn't the same animal, I won't have it! And by the way, waiter, you may also bring me some fricot of veal, with small onions—a large portion! Make it double, and I will give my friend Plumard some; he has a weakness for veal, like myself. And, waiter, I could eat some of that delicious fish which is noted for its bones—a carp, as fine as those at Fontainebleau, where they resemble whales; a fried carp! That is a feast in itself—with a sprig of parsley on it; and I know that my friend Plumard does not profess a profound contempt for the carp. Moisten it all with that Argenteuil light wine that is so well stripped—you know what I mean, don't you? the old, not the new; the really old, that you don't make yourself.—Go, waiter, and if I am content with you I will grease your palm, as we say at the office."

"But I say!" said Plumard, fixing his great round eyes on his vis-À-vis; "what does this mean, Bahuchet? Have you had a legacy left you? or has a fair lady of mature years let her favors fall upon you?"

"No! nothing of the sort! Certainly, a lady might fall in love with me as well as with another. I am not a foe of the fair sex. Although there is always a reverse side to the medal, I will not say of women, with Suetonius, that we must missam facere uxorem!—That Suetonius was not a gallant man."

"Answer what I ask you, instead of quoting your classics!"

"It seems to me, Plumard, that with you I may venture to take a few strides into the domain of science. You are a clerk like myself; you must understand Latin. If you do not understand it, I grieve for you."

"What an infernal chatterbox! he keeps branching off from his subject."

"That proves that I have facility in elocution, elasticity in my ideas. There are many people who would like to branch off from their subject, and who cannot. They have to remain nailed fast to it, for lack of imagination to think up anything else;—quid agis? You wish to know why I treat you so handsomely this evening, do you not? Well, I propose to tell you: I won a dozen livres in a game of brisque with a churl, and I propose to consume a part of it with you. Do you think that I do wrong?"

"No, no! far from it; it is an excellent idea of yours!"

"Ah! it is very lucky that you approve of my action."

"Do you play at brisque?"

"I play at all games at which I win; they are the only ones that amuse me.—But here comes the veal. Let us attend strictly to business. There are idiots who say: Non ut edam vivo, sed ut vivam edo. For my part, I am not ashamed to say that I live for nothing else except to eat; for if I did not eat, I should die. Why, then, should not one do with pleasure, with sensuous delight, a thing which we are bound to do every day?—Let us fall to!"

Bahuchet, possessor of a stomach whose capacity was extraordinary, swallowed with surprising rapidity everything that the waiter placed between him and Plumard; he consumed, unaided, almost the entire contents of the dishes which he had ordered for two; so that his friend stopped him at last, saying:

"It was hardly worth while to offer to treat me, if you propose to eat everything!"

"Quid rogas, comrade? why do you eat so slowly? I concluded that you were not hungry, and I thought that it was useless to leave anything."

"If I ate as fast as you, I should choke to death!"

"Well, I will go slower now.—Besides, I want to talk with you; and when one is talking, one cannot eat; that is why I laid in a stock in advance.—Plumard, I am going to tell you something which will make you very happy."

"Bah! is it that our solicitor is going to give us a crown more a month?"

"Ouiche! I advise you to count on that! He is more likely to cut us down; he has already threatened to do it to me!—Come, think, think of something that might be of immense benefit to you."

Plumard raised his great eyes to the beams which sustained the ceiling.

"Have you met a rich woman who wishes to marry me?"

"You haven't guessed yet; but with what I have discovered, I make no doubt that you will very soon fascinate some wealthy dowager, who will lay her crowns at your feet."

"Come, explain yourself, Bahuchet; you know that I am not very strong at guessing, and you keep me in suspense too long!"

"Quid festinas? What's the hurry? Think; take your time!"

"If you don't tell me, I will go away!"

"What a keg of powder!"

"That is my nature!"

"Well, listen: I have discovered in a cul-de-sac an old hag who has invented a pomade that infallibly makes the hair grow on the baldest skulls and those most rebellious under cultivation!"

Plumard frowned and looked at his comrade with a wrathful air, muttering:

"Do you mean to make sport of me, as usual? You know, Bahuchet, that I don't like that. You have already told me a lot of stories about pomades that did not exist. You have sent me to ask for them to people who have laughed in my face. I want no more of your practical jokes! I will fight you if you begin that game again. I am not afraid to fight; I am no coward! Look out, or I will hit you a crack!"

"Ta! ta! ta! What a nice, amiable boy it is!—You treat a person, and try to make yourself agreeable to him, and to reward you he threatens to beat you!—All right; we will say no more about it, my dear fellow; I will keep my discovery to myself, and if a few of my hairs should fall out some day I shall know how to remedy it."

Plumard was silent for a moment, nibbling a piece of dry bread.

Then he murmured, in a softer tone:

"Then why have you fooled me so often? How do you expect me to have confidence in you?"

"It's all right! it's all right! let us say no more about it."

"But this old hag who makes the pomade—do you know her address?"

"No, I tell you, I no longer know anything; I was lying, I was trying to make fun of you! I deserve nothing better than the rope's end or the cudgel!"

"Come, come, Bahuchet! I was too quick; I am sorry."

"Ah! when a friend tells me that he is sorry, I cannot harbor ill will against him.—Yes, I know where to find the hag."

"And she sells this pomade?"

"No, she won't sell it to anybody!—but to me, having taken a fancy to me, she will give a jar."

"Oh! that is much more agreeable! And when will you have this jar?"

"To-morrow, if I choose."

"And you will give it to me?—Ah! you are a friend!"

"Yes, I will give it to you, but on one little condition, and that is that you will do me a favor in return. Between friends, you know, when one obliges the other, he always expects reciprocity."

"What is it that I must do?" asked Plumard, with a frown.

"A very simple thing, which will not disturb you in the least. When you go home to-night, go into Landry the bath keeper's place—he is your neighbor—and hand his wife this white plume, which I picked up under their balcony one night when I walked home with you. Then you will say to Dame Ragonde: 'Your daughter's lovers lose their plumes at night, scaling your balcony; here is one which I picked up, and which belongs to a young nobleman whose name your daughter will tell you.'—And then you will go away. It's the simplest thing in the world."

Plumard pushed his stool away from the table, crying:

"A very pretty commission that! I shall be well treated when I deliver that message.—No, no! do your errand yourself—you may have all the profit."

"As you please; but since you refuse to do it, we will say no more about the jar of pomade."

And Bahuchet began to whistle with an indifferent air. After a few minutes Plumard said, between his teeth:

"What an idea, to send to that girl's mother the plume her lover lost!—That is downright wicked, it's a villainous trick!—Have you any reason to complain of pretty Bathilde? I am surprised at that; I thought that you didn't know her."

"Plumard! there are mysteries which it is impossible to divulge.—As for the girl, she will say to her mother: 'It is not true, I have no lover'; and that will be the end of it."

"Do you think so?"

"Parbleu! are girls who have lovers ever at a loss for a lie?"

"That is true.—But another suggestion occurs to me."

"State it."

"Let us assume that I undertake this—thorny commission; how do I know that you will give me the jar of pomade then? You will laugh in my face when I claim it."

"I understand your suspicion, having now and then played some rather neat tricks on you; and I am so far from being angry with you, that I propose to prove to you that it will not be so this time."

And taking from his belt the purse he had received, Bahuchet produced a beautiful rose crown and placed it in Plumard's hand, saying:

"See, here is gold—and of good alloy. If I do not give you the jar of pomade when you claim it, I will allow you to keep this gold piece and not return it to me.—Do you think that I am tricking you, now?"

Plumard turned the coin over and over in his hand; he weighed it, rang it on the table, then put it in his pocket, and offered his comrade his hand, saying:

"It is a bargain; I will deliver the plume."

"And you will say exactly what I have told you?"

"I will say it without omitting a word. Where is the plume?"

"Here it is; conceal it under your doublet, as I have done. Let us empty this jug of wine, then you must go about your commission."

"This evening?"

"Why not? It is better to have it done with at once."

"And you will go for the jar of pomade?"

"I told you that I would give it to you to-morrow, and you may rely upon it. In any event, it seems to me that you have a sufficient guaranty."

"That is true."

The two clerks emptied the jug of wine, and Bahuchet paid the bill.

They left the wine shop.

The day was nearing its end.

"Until to-morrow!" said Bahuchet, shaking hands with his comrade.

"Until to-morrow!"

And the little man ran off in the opposite direction to that which Plumard took to go to Rue Dauphine. And as he ran, he laughed in his sleeve, saying to himself:

"Take the plume, dear boy; I am going to enjoy myself, to pass the night in jollification at a wine shop, and to make up a pomade to redeem my gold piece!"

As Plumard drew near to Master Landry's establishment, he felt that his resolution weakened; a nervous shiver ran through his limbs. To restore his courage, he passed his hand over his bald head several times, saying to himself:

"Hair! it will make my hair grow! I shall have as much as Samson, perhaps! How handsome I shall be when I have some hair! No woman will be able to resist me then. And when they ask me for a lock, I shall not be compelled to refuse them, as I am to-day.—Ah! corbleu! sacrebleu! morbleu! I must shrink at nothing in face of that hope! How beautifully I will dress my hair! I will have curls falling over my ears.—But suppose that old woman should rush at me and claw my eyes out! Peste! then I should not see my hair grow!—My eyes are superb; I should never be able to console myself for the loss of even half of one of them.—This is a very embarrassing, very delicate affair! Let me think a little. Might I not make some change in what I have to say when I deliver the plume? After all, Bahuchet won't be at my back to listen to what I say! He has taken me in many times; and if I should cheat him a little, where would be the harm?—And then, I should be sorry to make trouble for that girl, who, they say, is so pretty! Who knows whether some day, when I have some hair, she may not feel a tender affection for me, on being told of the service I rendered her?—Yes, I must be generous to beauty, and shelter my face from scratches."

In due time, Plumard reached the bath keeper's house.

It was dark and the shopkeepers were beginning to close their doors.

The old trooper of Henri IV sat in his doorway, smoking his pipe.

The clerk walked up and down the street several times; at last he decided to accost Landry, saying to himself:

"It matters little whether I give the plume to the father or the mother. I prefer to address myself to the father; men understand each other better. I must be shrewd and subtle.—Ah! good evening, Master Landry! How are you this evening? You are smoking, I see; that is a pleasant pastime. I should like very much to smoke, if it did not make me sick and make my head ache so that I can't see. I have an uncle who went into consumption from smoking a pipe, and two cousins who were made insane!—Ah! how pleasant it is to smoke!—The skies are dark to-night, and I am afraid we shall have a storm to-morrow; that would be a disappointment to me. I have a longing to take a ride in a chaise À porteurs, or a brouette—the new invention, you know? it is very convenient, and very fashionable in the best society; brouettes cost only sixteen sous for the trip, or eighteen by the hour; while the chaise À porteurs costs thirty sous for the trip. That is dear—yes, it's very dear! But how comfortable it must be in one!—Still, it's very nice in a brouette!"

Landry listened tranquilly to this outflow of words, eying the young clerk the while; when it was at an end, he answered coldly:

"As I don't know you, and as it makes no difference to me whether you ride in a chaise or in a brouette, I am going to bed. Good-night!"

"Oh! stay a moment! You are in a terrible hurry. You do not recognize me, because it is beginning to grow dark, but I am one of your best customers; I bathe as many as fifteen times a week!—But so many people come to your place that you can't recognize all their faces!"

"That is possible! In that case, excuse me; but I am tired, and I am going to bed."

"One moment more, I beg!—Does your charming daughter also enjoy perfect health, like her worthy father?"

The old soldier began to examine the clerk more closely, muttering:

"My daughter! do you know my daughter, monsieur de la Basoche?"

"Ah! I know her—without knowing her. I know that she is enchanting, because I have seen her sometimes on your balcony, when she was watering her flowers."

"Ah! you have seen her, have you? Very good; I begin to understand.—Well, what are you trying to come at to-night?"

"I' faith! I will tell you. See—I have here a superb white plume; I had it from an aunt who had it from an uncle, who was train bearer at the court of King Charles IX.—To make a long story short, I said to myself: 'Such a handsome plume as this is a pure luxury in my hands; if I should offer it to Master Landry's daughter, it would be a gift worthy of her charms, and it would shade becomingly her brow of roses and lilies.'—That idea once conceived, I determined to put it in execution. Here, excellent bath keeper, is the plume in question; you see how beautiful it is! Pray take it and hand it to your fascinating progeny; I desire no other reward than the pleasure of knowing that she is gratified by the gift."

"Aha! my rascal! so you presume to offer a plume to my daughter, do you? And you dare to ask her father to be your messenger? Ten thousand cannon balls! this passes all bounds! It was probably you who prowled about this street so much that it made the neighbors gossip!"

"Master Landry, I live on this street, it is true; but I have never prowled about your——"

"Enough! enough! you impertinent rascal! coming to ask a father to take charge of a present intended to seduce his daughter!"

"Why, not at all! you are off the track, my good Landry; I have no such purpose."

"Ah! you take me for one of those half-witted or obliging fathers who shut their eyes to such manoeuvres! I am going to show you how I receive gallants who would like to talk nonsense to my daughter!—Here, you blackguard, here is the price of your gift!"

As he spoke, the bath keeper planted his foot in Plumard's short-clothes, and repeated the movement several times, running after the young clerk, who fled, yelling at the top of his voice.

Satisfied with the chastisement he had administered to the man whom he believed to be in love with his daughter, Landry returned to his house and locked the door.

As for the ill-fated Plumard, he hastened to his lodgings, holding his hand to the portion of his frame that had been so roughly treated by the bath keeper, and saying to himself:

"I should have done as well to execute my commission without making any change in the text, without diverging from my instructions!—What a brutal wretch that bath keeper is! He thinks now that I am in love with his daughter! I shall not dare to pass his door—I shall have to move.—However, if the pomade has the virtue that Bahuchet attributes to it, I shall find some consolation for my late disagreeable experience. I shall be so handsome with plenty of hair! I will go about bareheaded, I will carry my cap in my hand all the time!"