‘What you like,’ returned that gentleman, impatiently, ‘I don’t care.’
‘That’s a great mistake,’ replied Gaston, coolly; ‘bad wine plays the deuce with one’s digestion—two bottles of Pommery, waiter.’
Gurchy nodded, that is to say his head disappeared for a moment in the foam of his collar, then re-appeared again as he slowly rolled out of the door and vanished.
‘Now, then, sir,’ said Meddlechip, sharply, rising from his seat and closing the door, ‘what did you bring me here for?’
M. Vandeloup raised his eyebrows in surprise.
‘How energetic you are, my dear Kestrike,’ he said, smoothly, lying down on the sofa, and contemplating his shoes with great satisfaction; ‘just the same noisy, jolly fellow as of yore.’
‘Damn you!’ said the other, fiercely, at which Gaston laughed.
‘You had better leave that to God,’ he answered, mockingly; ‘he understands more about it than you do.’
‘Oh, I know you of old,’ said Meddlechip, walking up and down excitedly; ‘I know you of old, with your sneers and your coolness, but it won’t do here,’ stopping opposite the sofa, and glaring down at Vandeloup; ‘it won’t do here!’
‘So you’ve said twice,’ replied M. Vandeloup, with a yawn. ‘How do you want me to conduct myself? Do tell me; I am always open to improvement.’