On leaving Rue de la Ville-l'Évêque, Arthur Cherami followed the boulevard in the direction of the Bastille; he did not take an omnibus—first, because he was in no hurry; and, secondly, because he had reflected:
"If I could happen to meet in the street some old friend, some good fellow, I would ask him to be my second. On a pinch, if it was necessary, I would sacrifice myself so far as to pay for his breakfast or dinner—but at a soup-kitchen only."
But Cherami arrived at Boulevard du Temple, without falling in with what he sought.
"Shall I go home?" he thought; "what's the use? My hôtel is not the place to find what I want; the poor devils who lodge there seldom wear coats. I am sure that this Comte de la Bérinière will send me two very distinguished gentlemen; they will turn up their noses enough when they see the Widow Louchard's hôtel; I must confront them with men who represent—— Damnation! I haven't my cue! it's infernally embarrassing! The devil take the obstinacy of that count, who insists on having seconds!"
As he walked on, Cherami saw a short man coming toward him, armed with a pretty cane of cherry wood.
"Here comes a grotesque figure which reminds me of a clown I have seen somewhere or other," he said to himself. "Pardieu! it's Courbichon. I must catch him on the wing."
The little bald man was speechless with surprise when he found his passage barred by a tall man; and he seemed by no means pleased when he recognized the gentleman with whom he had dined on the Champs-Élysées.
But Cherami seized his hand and shook it warmly.
"A lucky meeting!" he said; "it is my dear Monsieur Courbichon! Bone Deus! So we are no longer in Touraine?"
"Ah! monsieur, I have the honor—no, as you see, I am in Paris."