"Monsieur Bernardin, do you refuse to make me any advance?"
"I cannot do it, monsieur."
"Very well! off with you, then; I have my cue!"
Bernardin saluted his late master's son with the utmost respect, and took his leave.
Some time after, when he was in a most desperate plight, Arthur Cherami had renewed his urgent solicitations to Bernardin, in the hope of obtaining a little interest in advance or a portion of the principal; but all his entreaties were of no avail. The old fellow was not to be moved, and his resolution was the more inflexible because he knew that by acting thus he was saving a modest income for his benefactor's son.
The years passed. Far from becoming wiser in the school of adversity, the ci-devant Beau Arthur retained the same passions, the same faults, and the same impertinence, as in his prosperous days. Doubtless forty-six francs a month is a very small allowance; it amounts to about thirty sous per day; and when with that amount a man must board, lodge, and clothe himself, he must needs live very sparingly. However, in this Paris of ours, where living is said to be so expensive, since the opening of those beneficent establishments for the sale of soup and cooked beef, and especially since those establishments have conceived the happy idea of serving their own products, a man may dine for seven sous; yes, reader, for seven sous! to wit: soup, two sous; beef, three sous; bread, two sous. And that man will have eaten more healthful and more nourishing food than he who, for thirty-two sous, regales himself with soup, his choice of three entrées, dessert, bread at discretion, and a pint of wine.
But when Monsieur Cherami received his quarterly interest, instead of husbanding that small sum, his last resource, paying some few debts, and dining inexpensively at one of the soup-kitchens, he would betake himself, with head erect and an arrogant air, to one of the best restaurants in Paris, take his seat with a great flourish, call the waiter, and order a sumptuous dinner of the daintiest dishes and the most expensive wines; and all in such wise that everybody who was in the room could hear him. In short, he would resume his rôle of dandy, forgetting that he no longer wore the costume of the rôle, yet imposing respect on the multitude by his lordly manner.
Some said: "He's an original, who affects a shabby costume to conceal the fact that he's a millionaire." Others: "He is some foreigner, some eminent personage, who desires to remain incognito in Paris."
And the waiters served promptly and with the utmost respect this party in a threadbare frock-coat, who ate truffled partridges and drank champagne frappé; and when he paid his bill, Cherami never took the change which the waiter brought him, even if it amounted to two or three francs.
"All right!" he would cry; "keep that; it's for you!"