“Hear me out. I have a friend; we will call her Églantine. Do not laugh, Désiré. My friend lives close by; she is, in fact, very well-to-do, and owns a café. I will go to her, and she will pack me a luncheon basket, and so we will be at the mercy of no landlord.”
“Well, go,” said Toto, “but do not be long.”
“Half an hour is all I ask,” replied the poet, rising in a great hurry and departing.
CHAPTER II.
FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE.
He passed almost at a run down the Rue St. Honoré. A friend tried to stop him.
“I am busy,” cried Gaillard; “do not detain me! Mon Dieu! I will pay you to-night! Meet me at eight at the Café de la Paix.” Then, at a run, round the corner of the Rue Royale and into a large café just waking up: “Du Pont! Du Pont! Where is M. Du Pont?”
The proprietor, a large black-whiskered man in shirt-sleeves, appeared from the back premises, wiping his mouth with a serviette. This was Églantine.
“My dear Du Pont,” cried Gaillard, “here am I nearly mad! M. le Prince has arranged a little picnic, and Sarony has forgotten to send the luncheon basket.”