“Et vive la joie!” took up Phil.
They were now a trio of friends.
“By the way, mon cher, where do you live?” asked Poufaille, who was already saying “thou” to him and calling him mon cher and mon vieux without knowing either his name or address. Phil told the hotel he was at.
“Allons donc! but that’s a quarter of the arrivés!” Poufaille said scornfully; “you have only bourgeois in that quarter, medal-men, members of the jury—the pigs! You’re done for if you stay there!”
“You mustn’t stay there a day longer!” declared Suzanne. “Come over here; we’ll present you to the copains [comrades].”
Hesitation was impossible.
“All right,” Phil said, as he put on his collar and cravat. “I will leave to-day.”
“Will you come to my house?” Suzanne asked. “No ceremony, you know! I’ll bring you a mattress.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Phil.
“Or else here,” said Poufaille. “You can sleep in the corner beside the potatoes, hein? Will that do?”