In fact, two hundred meters away, in the rue de Fleurus, Cyprien was at that very moment stopping before the house where Johan Schleifmann lived.
He put his tricycle—his “beast” as he would have said—under the arch and asked the concierge to keep an eye on it; then he began to climb the stairs.
“Have you come to fetch me for lunch, my friend?” Schleifmann asked, when he had opened the door to him. “One minute, please! l put my frockcoat on and go with you!”
They walked into the study, a light, spacious, garret, the red tiles of which were half covered with two straw mats.
M. Raindal the younge expression was both amused and ceremonious. He sat in an old armchair and declared, as, with a stage gesture, he took off his wide, brown sombrero:
“No, my friend, I have not come to fetch you.... I have come to talk to you....”
“What has happened?” asked Schleifmann. “This has happened, my dear fellow, that ... that I am presenting to you a man who is done for, absolutely done for!”
And he added, while the Galician lifted his arms in a gesture of surprise.
“Yes, Schleifmann! I have gambled in gold mines and I have lost....”
“I was sure of it!” the Galician exclaimed, stamping angrily on the red tiles. “How much have you lost?”