With these words he disappeared into the kitchen, pushing Péron before him, and closing the door sharply behind him.
In spite of Péron’s recent alarm and anger, he became at once so interested in the busy scene which opened before his eyes that he almost forgot his troubles; but not so did Archambault. The pastry cook seemed absorbed in thought and took no notice of the cooks and scullions hurrying to and fro with smoking pots and gaudily dressed dishes. He even forgot the child’s errand and hurried him through the kitchens, across the court, and into a room which opened at the back of the house on the Rue de Beaujolais. So rapid had been their movements that the bewildered boy did not recollect Madame Michel’s orders until he suddenly bethought himself of the livre still in his hand.
“I have not the tarts,” he said, drawing back as Archambault began to unfasten the outer door. The pastry cook stopped and rubbed his head.
“Diable!” he ejaculated, and then after a moment’s thought he called to a scullion.
“Gaspard, bring hither some tarts and cakes,” he said, “and be quick!”
Péron opened his little fist at last and gravely extended the money.
“You were to take out the price,” he said.
The scullion had already hastily filled the order and put the bundle in the small customer’s arms but without taking the livre. Archambault meanwhile had thrust his head out from the door and looked anxiously up and down the street; he drew back now and grasped the child by the arm.
“Come!” he said impatiently, as Péron held back.
“I have not paid,” the boy protested, stoutly resisting.