"Ah! yes, of course.—Will you lend me three or four napoleons, Albert?"
"I would with the greatest pleasure," Albert replied; "but I am out more than five hundred francs myself, and I have had to borrow. Put up a fetich, that's the simplest way—put a sou, a key, anything you please, in front of you, and call it worth any amount you choose."
"True, you are right; I'll put up a fetich."
Tobie felt in his pocket; he produced one of the olives he had stored there at dinner, and placed it in front of him, saying:
"That stands for five hundred francs!"
The painter roared with laughter.
"Rather high-priced olives!" he said.
"I'm not surprised that he filled his pockets with them; he must have taken at least ten thousand francs' worth," cried Mouillot. "Come, who wants some punch? I'll fill the glasses. By the way, I don't see our magnetizer. Where's Dupétrain? Has he gone?"
"Probably," said Balivan. "He never plays, and, seeing that there was no hope of telling us his story, perhaps he has gone home to bed, to try to put someone to sleep."
"What's your pretty neighbor's name?" inquired Célestin, stretching himself out on a couch.