"Let me hear no more of all that nonsense!" said Chamoureau, leaving the room.—"Your husband isn't lost, you see, Madame Mignon.—Messieurs and mesdames, you must be convinced now that I am not a thief. I have the honor to salute you."
With that, Chamoureau hurried to the sidewalk and was stupefied to find there an open milord.
"Why, concierge," he cried, in dire distress, "I asked you to get a closed cab, so that I couldn't be seen."
"Go and get one for yourself and leave us in peace!" exclaimed Madame Mignon, who was still in a bad humor.
Chamoureau made the best of it, jumped into the milord, gave the driver his address, and throughout the journey held his cap in front of his face, like a fan.
IX
A BUSINESS AGENT'S OFFICE
Chamoureau occupied a very comfortable apartment on what is called the Carré Saint-Martin, that is to say, the junction of Rue Saint-Martin and the boulevard. There he carried on the profession of business agent; he undertook the purchase or sale of houses, the investment of funds, the recovery of old debts, in short, everything which business agents—hommes d'affaires—generally undertake; most of them having passed the examination for admission to the roll of advocates, and some having even assumed that title, they are generally familiar with the laws and with all the tricks of the profession.
Chamoureau did not lack clients, for he had the reputation of being an honorable man, and was one in fact; in his case that quality was an advantageous substitute for cleverness, which unfortunately is not always a guaranty of uprightness. By which we do not mean that a man may not be both a fool and a knave. Nature is sometimes as lavish of evil as of good qualities.
Several persons had already called to confer with the business agent on the morning following the Opéra ball. They had found no one but the woman employed to do his housework, who always found the key at the concierge's lodge. Not finding Chamoureau, she assumed that he had gone out very early on business.
At eight o'clock, a man from the country made his appearance. He seemed to be half-bourgeois, half-peasant; he was about fifty years of age, short and thickset; his head was set low between his shoulders; his features were ugly and without distinction, their only expression being that distrust so customary among country people, who are always suspicious of those who live in cities and believe that they are always trying to cheat them; probably because when they themselves are at home they have no scruples about cheating city folk.