"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her tone that struck Topinard.
"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly. "You are attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama."
"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to have a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him, eh?"
"Swindle him! . . . Your very humble servant!" Topinard answered with superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am something of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked anything of anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you anything? eh, old lady!"
"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is—?"
"Topinard, at your service."
"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my compliments to your missus, if you are married, mister. . . . That was all I wanted to know."
"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out.
"This, child—stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to speak to monsieur."
"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her eyes out," said Mme. Cantinet.