"I cannot support it," he murmured. "You understand? The associations are too pathetic."
"They must be harrowing," I said. "Before you go, there is one thing I should like to ask you, if I may. Have I had the honour of meeting monsieur Tricotrin, or monsieur Pitou?"
He stroked his hat, and gazed at me in sad surprise. "Ah, but neither, monsieur," he groaned. "The associations are much more 'arrowing than that—I was the 'Johnnie in the Stalls'!"
TRICOTRIN ENTERTAINS
One night when Pitou went home, an unaccustomed perfume floated to meet him on the stairs. He climbed them in amazement.
"If we lived in an age of miracles I should conclude that Tricotrin was smoking a cigar," he said to himself. "What can it be?"
The pair occupied a garret in the rue des Trois Frères at this time, where their window, in sore need of repairs, commanded an unrivalled view of the dirty steps descending to the passage des Abbesses. To-night, behold Tricotrin pacing the garret with dignity, between his lips an Havannah that could have cost no less than a franc. The composer rubbed his eyes.
"Have they made you an Academician?" he stammered. "Or has your uncle, the silk manufacturer, died and left you his business?"
"My friend," replied the poet, "prepare yourself forthwith for 'a New and Powerful Serial of the Most Absorbing Interest'! I am no longer the young man who went out this evening—I am a celebrity."
"I thought," said the composer, "that it couldn't be you when I saw the cigar."