Beaumarchef was an old soldier and a bold man, but he was easily upset, for the lad’s insolence made him believe that he was uttering words that had been put in his mouth by some wily adviser; and not knowing how to act, the ex-soldier thought it best to adopt a more conciliating demeanor.
“How much do you want?” asked he.
“Well, seven francs to start with.”
“The deuce you do! Seven francs a day is a sum. Well, I’ll give it you myself to-day and will speak about you to the master.”
“You won’t get me to loosen my tongue for that amount to-day; you may bet your boots on that,” answered the lad insolently. “I wants one hundred francs down on the nail.”
“One hundred francs,” echoed Beaumarchef, scandalized at such a demand.
“Yes, my cove, that and no less.”
“And what will you give in return? No, no, my lad; your demand is a preposterous one; besides, you wouldn’t know how to spend such a sum.”
“Don’t you flurry yourself about that; but of one thing you may be sure, I sha’n’t spend my wages as you do—in wax for your mustache.”
Beaumarchef could not endure an insult to his mustache, and Chupin was about to receive the kick he had so richly earned, when Daddy Tantaine suddenly made his appearance, looking exactly as he did when he visited Paul in his garret.