"You little pickpocket!—"
"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long." And with threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated.
"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to a poor widow to find a champion."
Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. The manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic attitude—a trick which he had learned since be began to command his army of actors, dancers, figurants, musicians, and stage carpenters. He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into his waistcoat; he head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into space.
"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?"
"No, sir."
"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?"
"No, sir—" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance.
"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of respect to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of cleaning the lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the scores. And that is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting monsters and managing devils when a hell is required. There is not a super that does not covet your post, and there are those that are jealous of you, my friend; you have enemies in the theatre."
"Enemies!" repeated Topinard.