“I do not think that is in very good taste,” said Garnier dryly.
“What! is that all you have to say—not in very good taste?”
“My friend,” said Garnier, “it is no affair of mine; but it makes my fingers tingle none the less. Were it an affair of mine, I would make you eat that journal and all it contains—vé! I have spoken.”
“Ah, stupid!” cried Toto, uncrossing his legs and moving his arms about. “You think I have written that!” and the corners of his mouth went up in a very mirthless rictus.
“But surely——”
“I? Why, cannot you see that it is a hoax? No one came here to see me—I was not frying things over the stove. Do you think for a moment I would expose myself like that, and give my address? It was done to make fun of me—everyone will be laughing at me. Can’t you see?”
“Oh, my friend,” said Garnier, “forgive me, forgive me! How could I have been so stupid and so blind? Ah, owl that you are!” and he gave his great chest a thump with his great fist, and then came to the couch and sat by Toto, and rested his hand on his knee, and poured out consolation in the language of Arles, punctuated with explosive oaths.
“Oh, it does not matter. Do you think that I care? I do in a way, for it shows me the villainy of the world.”
“Ah, you are right; this villain of a world—it is a beast! But tenez! my dear friend, I hear the little Célestin coughing. I will give her a grape.”