"To what, M. Murphy?"
"You told me, I am glad I have found you, and still happy, perhaps—"
"Oh, yes, M. Murphy! Why, you see, when you came to where I was at work at the timber-yard, you said, 'My lad, I am not rich, but I can procure you a situation where your work will be easier than on the Quai, and where you will gain four francs a day.' Four francs a day! Vive la Charte! I could not believe it; 'twas the pay of an adjutant sub-officer! I replied, 'That's the very thing for me, M. Murphy!' but you said then that I must not look so like a beggar, as that would frighten the employer to whom you would take me. I answered, 'I have not the means of dressing otherwise.' You said to me, 'Come to the Temple.' I followed you. I chose the most spicy attire that Mother Hubart had,—you advanced me the money to pay her,—and in a quarter of an hour I was as smart as a landlord or a dentist. You appointed me to meet you this morning at the Porte St. Denis, at daybreak; I found you there in a cab, and here we are."
"Well, do you find anything to regret in all this?"
"Why, I'll tell you, M. Murphy. You see, to be dressed in this way spoils a fellow; and so, you see, when I put on again my old smock-frock and trousers, I sha'n't like it. And then, to gain four francs a day,—I, who never earned but two,—and that all at once! why, I seem to have made too great a start all of a sudden, and that it cannot last. I would rather sleep all my life on the wretched straw bed in my cock-loft, than sleep five or six nights only in a good bed. That's my view of the thing."
"And you are by no means peculiar in your view; but the best thing is to sleep always in a good bed."
"And no mistake; it is better to have a bellyful of victuals every day than to starve with hunger. Ah! here is a butchery here," said the Chourineur, as he listened to the blows of the chopper which the boy was using, and observed the quarters of beef through the curtains.
"Yes, my lad; it belongs to a friend of mine. Would you like to see it whilst the horse just recovers his wind?"
"I really should, for it reminds me of my boyish days, if it was only when I had Montfauçon for a slaughter-house and broken-down horses for cattle. It is droll, but if I had the means, a butcher's is the trade in which I should set up, for I like it. To go on a good nag to buy cattle at fairs,—to return home to one's own fireside, to warm yourself if cold, or dry yourself if wet,—to find your housekeeper, or a good, jolly, plump wife, cheerful and pleasant, with a parcel of children to feel in your pockets to see if you have brought them home anything! And then, in the morning, in the slaughter-house, to seize an ox by the horns, particularly when he's fierce,—nom de nom! he must be fierce!—then to put on the ring, to cleave him down, cut him up, dress him,—Tonnerre! that would have been my ambition, as it was the Goualeuse's to suck barley-sugar when she was a little 'un. By the way, that poor girl, M. Murphy,—not seeing her any more at the ogress's, I supposed that M. Rodolph had taken her away from there. That's a good action, M. Murphy. Poor child! she never liked to do wrong,—she was so young! And then the habit! Ah, M. Rodolph has behaved quite right!"
"I am of your opinion. But will you come into the shop until our horse has rested awhile?"