Gustave's concierge knew that he was not in Paris, but he knew no more than that. Cherami decided to make his way once more into the banker's private office; he was always sure to find him at his desk in the morning.
Monsieur Grandcourt frowned when he recognized his visitor. But Cherami was even more carefully dressed than on the occasion of his last visit. With the thousand francs he had received from Gustave, and by virtue of his newly-adopted system of economy, Beau Arthur had reached the point where he was no longer an ex-beau, and had almost recovered his former air of distinction.
He saluted the banker with the ease of manner which was natural to him, but to which his dress imparted additional charm. Monsieur Grandcourt replied with a cool nod. As he did not leave his armchair, Cherami took a seat and began by making himself comfortable. The two men looked at each other for several minutes without speaking: the banker retaining his scowling expression, Cherami smiling as if he were at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, listening to Arnal.
"How are you this morning, my dear Monsieur Grandcourt?" began Cherami, lolling back in his chair.
"Very well, I thank you, monsieur. Is it to inquire for my health that you come to my office to-day?"
"Oh! if I should say yes, you wouldn't believe me."
"True. But I remember that my nephew told me that you wished to find employment. You appear, however, monsieur, to be more fortunately placed than you were when I first saw you?"
"It is a fact, monsieur, that my condition has improved somewhat. But that does not interfere with my seeking a—suitable place. I am beginning to tire of doing nothing. I am really desirous to have something to occupy my time."
"That desire comes a little late!"
"You know the proverb: better late than never. And then, after all, I am only forty-eight; I am not an old man. You are fully as old as that, and yet you work!"