Robeckal shrugged his shoulders.
"Humbug," he said, indifferently.
"No, I mean it seriously."
"I should like it to be done," replied Robeckal, dryly.
"Here are twenty francs in advance."
Robeckal stretched out his hand for the gold piece, let it fall into his pocket, and disappeared without a word.
"You have come too late, my friend," he laughed to himself. "Girdel will be a dead man before the morrow comes, as sure as my name is Robeckal."
In the meantime Girdel continued to converse with the two gentlemen; Schwan went here and there, and Fanfaro, Caillette and Bobichel were waiting for the athlete's orders for the evening performance.
"How goes it?" asked the carman, now softly.
"Good," replied Girdel, in the same tone.