He rang for the waiter.
“No, no,” said Julius. “You’re my guest. The Crédit’s not far off; we can take a cab if necessary. Don’t be flurried. Oh, I wanted to say that if you’re going to Naples this evening you can make use of this circular ticket of mine. It’s in my name, but it doesn’t matter.” (For Julius liked to be obliging.) “I took it in Paris, thinking that I should be going further south; but I’m kept here by this congress. How long do you think of staying?”
“As short a time as possible. I hope to be back to-morrow.”
“Then I’ll expect you to dinner.”
At the Crédit Industriel, thanks to the Comte de Baraglioul’s introduction, Fleurissoire had no difficulty in cashing his cheque for six bank-notes, which he slipped into the inner pocket of his coat. In the meantime he had told his brother-in-law, more or less coherently, the tale of the cheque, the Cardinal and the abbé. Baraglioul, who went with him to the station, listened with only half an ear.
On their way, Fleurissoire went into a shirtmaker’s to buy himself a collar, but he didn’t put it on at once, so as not to keep Julius waiting outside the shop.
“Haven’t you got a bag?” he asked as Fleurissoire joined him.
Fleurissoire would have been only too glad to go and fetch his shawl and his night things; but own up to the Via dei Vecchierelli before Baraglioul? It couldn’t be thought of.
“Oh, only for one night!” he said brightly. “Besides, there isn’t time to go round by my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?”