“I was forgetting, I’ve a little present.”
And, turning out his pocket, he gave Fifi the sugar which he had just stolen at the café. She thanked him very heartily, and, as she crunched up a piece, she became quite red with pleasure. Then, becoming bolder, she asked:
“Do you not happen to have some four sou pieces?”
Bachelard searched his pockets without result. Octave had one, which the young girl accepted as a memorial. She did not accompany them to the door, no doubt out of propriety; and they heard her drawing her needle, having at once resumed her altar cloth, whilst Mademoiselle Menu saw them to the landing, with her good old woman’s amiability.
“Eh? it’s worth seeing,” said uncle Bachelard, stopping on the stairs. “You know, it doesn’t cost me five louis a month. I’ve had enough of the hussies who almost devoured me. On my word! what I required was a heart.”
But, as Octave laughed, he became mistrustful.
“You’re a decent fellow; you won’t take advantage of what I have shown you. Not a word to Gueulin, you swear it on your honor? I am waiting till he is worthy of her to show her to him. An angel, my dear fellow! No matter what is said, virtue is good: it refreshes one. I have always gone in for the ideal.”
His old drunkard’s voice trembled; tears swelled his heavy eyelids. Down below, Trublot chaffed, pretending to take the number of the house, whilst Gueulin shrugged his shoulders, asking Octave, who was astounded, what he thought of the little thing. Whenever the uncle’s feelings had been softened by a booze, he could not resist taking people to see these ladies, divided between the vanity of showing his treasure and the fear of having it stolen from him; then, on the morrow, he forgot all about it, and returned to the Rue-Saint-Marc with an air of mystery.
“Everyone knows Fifi,” said Gueulin, quietly.
Meanwhile, Bachelard was looking out for a cab, when Octave exclaimed: