"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said he, "I will be with you again in five minutes, I am very subject to these hemorrhages from the nose;" and he went out, leaving his pocket-book on the table. Candour, filled with compassionate interest, rushed after his friend; but truth compels us to state, not to give him assistance, but to bolt with him as fast as his legs could carry him.
The rich provincial was neither more nor less than a Parisian sharper, with whom Candour had concocted a scheme, to rob his accomplices of three thousand francs.
The hemorrhage, and the pocket-handkerchief stained with blood, were the dénoûement of the comedy, the first act of which took place in the Opera-House.
Let us now return to the restaurant, to see and hear what is taking place there.
"Ah!" said Patoche (one of the rascals who remained behind) to his comrade, eyeing at the same time the pocket-book full of bank-notes lying on the table, "all proceeds beyond our hopes. Let us imagine we have gained the bank-notes from the provincial. Let's pay ourselves, and be off."
"Yes; but," said the other, "you forget, the bill must be settled before we can go."
"Mon Dieu! What a fool you are! We will pay the bill, and the pocket-book will reimburse us for any money we advance."
"And if we should meet the owner of it!"
"Well, what could he say to us? We were on our way to meet him, to return him the pocket-book, which he left on the table."
"True; I understand; he will owe us many thanks for so doing. It's a good idea."