The next evening, at six o'clock, Cherami, dressed with an elegance which made of him once more the stylish beau of former days, was walking near the Passage de l'Opéra. Several of his former boon companions, who had ceased to bow to him since he had worn a threadbare coat, had stopped when they caught sight of him and acted as if they would accost him; but Cherami at once turned on his heel, saying to himself:
"Go your way, canaille! I know what you amount to, my fine fellows! You wouldn't look at me when I was strapped. You recognize me because I am well dressed. Avaunt! I have had enough of such people!"
Gustave soon appeared; he could not restrain an exclamation of surprise as he gazed at the man who could once more call himself Beau Arthur.
"Sapristi! my dear fellow! Pray excuse these manifestations of surprise," said Gustave; "but, upon my word, at first glance I didn't recognize you. You are superb—I don't exaggerate; no one could wear handsome clothes more gracefully."
"That's a relic of early habit."
"Why have you gotten yourself up so finely?"
"It was the least I could do to show my respect for such a friend as you."
"Let us go and dine, and we will talk."
The gentlemen entered the Café Anglais, and Gustave said to his companion: