"Here's my bill; it amounts to a hundred and thirty-two francs."
"Very good; a hundred and fifty and a hundred and thirty-two; that makes two hundred and eighty-two in all.—My dear Charles, do me the favor to take that amount from my safe."
Thereupon we performed for Madame Philocome's benefit the scene of the lost key, with an accompaniment of money jingling by the squirrel. But I was pained to see that the perfumer shook her head and smiled in a very equivocal fashion. Finally, when Balloquet essayed to express his regret at the loss of his key, the old coquette interrupted him, saying:
"It seems that you mislay your key very often, monsieur; for I have happened to see two of your creditors, and they have told me why you didn't pay them; it was exactly the same thing as to-day—the same scheme and the same details."
"That may be, madame; in fact, I did lose my key several days ago."
"Then, monsieur, why did you pretend at first that you were ready to pay me?"
Balloquet buried himself under the bedclothes, with a horrible grimace. I closed the closet door so that we could no longer hear the squirrel, whose efforts thenceforth were of no avail. Madame Philocome settled herself comfortably in her chair, saying:
"I'm very sorry, monsieur, but I want my money. You must have some, judging from that silvery tinkle in your safe. I refuse to be so good-natured as the others you have got rid of by this means. You must pay me; I won't go away until you do."
"Then you'll stay here a long while, madame."
"It's all the same to me, monsieur; I'm in no hurry."