“But,” said De Nani, who had remained sober, for the gout was threatening, and, besides, there seemed to be a chance of money in all this, “what is the name of this journal to be?”
“Pantin,” replied Pelisson. “I have sifted a hundred thousand names in my head during the last three days, and Pantin is the only one that stuck. It fits my idea like a glove; it has several meanings. It is like a stroke on a gong.”
Pantin’s health was drunk, then the conversation ran on, everyone talking except Toto, who was drinking.
Toto, to do him credit, rarely drank much; he drank to-night because the joy of the others depressed him. He could not share their excitement; he felt himself to be the drone in this hive; they were all famous in their way, these men, except De Nani. He and De Nani, the representatives of birth—what a pair! He drank double on account of De Nani.
They all rose from the table and trooped out, Pelisson’s hand on everybody’s shoulder, Wolf with his spectacles glittering in the gaslight, Gaillard gesticulating, De Nani sniggering, Toto smoking. They were going to Pelisson’s rooms to formulate their plans on paper. Unhappy Toto, had he known the nasty trick Pantin was destined to play him!
CHAPTER IV.
RECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS.
Some days later Gaillard was lying in bed. It was noon, and the blinds of his room were down. Toto burst in.
“Go away, Toto,” said the poet in a feeble voice. “I am dying.”