I was to return to Paris, where my bed, my bedding, my sheets, my table linen, four chairs, a table, a chest of drawers and two sets of plate would be forwarded; I would hire a small room, the cheapest possible; I would stay there until my position was established; and when my place was secure, I would write to my mother. Then my mother would hesitate no longer: she would sell everything and come to join me.
The next day was a Thursday. I utilised my being at Villers-Cotterets to draw for the conscription; my years would have called me to the service of my country, had I not been the son of a widow. I took No. 9, which was no inconvenience to myself, and did not deprive another of a good number I might have taken. I met Boudoux, my old friend of the marette and the pipée.
"Ah! Monsieur Dumas," he said, "as you have obtained such an excellent situation, you can surely give me a four-pound loaf."
I took him off to the baker; and instead of a four-pound loaf I paid for one of eight pounds for him.
I held my conscription ticket in my hand.
"What is that?" asked Boudoux.
"That? It is my number."
"You have taken No. 9?"
"As you see."
"Well, now, I have an idea: in return for your eight-pound loaf, Monsieur Dumas, if I were you, I would go to my aunt Chapuis, and I would put a thirty-sous piece on No. 9. Thirty sous wont ruin you, and if No. 9 turns up, it will bring you in seventy-three francs."