Meanwhile, the waiter who had served the dinner in the private room ran up to Cherami.
"The gentleman who dined with you is going away; someone has come for him."
"What! my friend Gustave going away? Why, it's impossible! He won't go without me; besides, he's waiting for the bride; we must have the bride; she's been promised to us."
"He's going, I tell you."
The ex-beau decided to return to the private room, and found at the door his young friend and a man of mature years, short of stature, but with a cold, stern face which imposed respect. They were on the point of leaving.
"Well, well! what does this mean?" cried Cherami. "What! my dear Gustave, going, and without me—your intimate friend, your Orestes, your Patroclus?"
"Who is this new friend of yours, whom I don't know, whom I have never seen with you?" the short man asked Gustave, whose arm he held fast.
"It's a gentleman who has been kind enough to take some interest in me, uncle," faltered Gustave;—"I was so unhappy—and to keep me company."
"And whose dinner you have paid for, I presume? Your friend did not spare himself."
"What do I hear? Monsieur is your uncle?"