"Good-morning, dear uncle! You are at work, I see. Bigre! it seems that dig's the word in your shop; for I found outside here an old pensioner so buried in his figures that I couldn't see the end of his nose.—Well, how does it go?—Don't you know me? I am Arthur Cherami."
Monsieur Grandcourt raised his head, and stared in utter amazement at the individual before him.
"Might I know, monsieur," he rejoined, "what you want, what brings you here? for I probably didn't understand what you said."
"Ah! you didn't understand, eh? Are you adding figures, too? That occupation seems to deaden the intellect. But, never mind about that! So you don't recognize me, dear uncle?"
"No, monsieur, no; and I confess that I fail to understand this title of uncle which you persist in giving me."
"That is a title of affection, because I am a friend of your nephew—dear Gustave—who was so desperate on the day that his faithless Fanny married another. And on that same day, I dined with him at Deffieux's. He was absolutely determined to speak to the lovely bride, when you fell into our private room like a bombshell, and dragged the poor fellow away."
"Ah! very good, monsieur! now I understand, and I recognize you. Yes, it was you who were at the restaurant with my nephew—and you attempted to interfere with my taking him away."
"Dame! he was so anxious to see his Fanny! I have always protected love affairs."
"And do you realize, monsieur, all that might have resulted from an interview between Gustave and that young woman?"
"Why, no more, I fancy, than did actually happen—a duel, that's all!"