“Whose family?”
“The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville’s representative.”
“Good,” said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. “We shall have two pall-bearers at any rate—you and he.”
And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and Villemot with a pair apiece.
“If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers—” said he.
Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a hundred briefs.
“Willingly, sir,” said he.
“If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled up,” said the master of the ceremonies.
At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered Pons and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a five-franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family.
“Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!” Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, “you love Bons!”