"If I had suspected that," thought Célestin, "I would have invented a story to make him anxious to oblige me too.—Shall we dine together to-day?" he said aloud.
"It is impossible. I promised my father to dine with him. I have done it so seldom lately that he looks on it as a great favor, and he's too kind to me for me not to try to please him."
"You are becoming a model of filial respect!"
"Célestin," exclaimed Albert, in a very sharp tone, "I allow you to joke about whatever you choose, except my affection for my father; that is a sentiment which must be respected. It seems to me that it would be very unfortunate if there were nothing left in the world to respect."
"Oh! mon Dieu! don't lose your temper! I had no such purpose as you imagine. Until this evening! we shall expect you at the usual place."
It was not quite nine o'clock, but it had been dark for some time when the young men left Tortoni's café and bent their steps toward Place des Italiens. They had just started, when Mouillot said:
"One moment, messieurs! we have forgotten something. Here, take this."
And he gave each of his friends an olive.
"An olive!"
"What's this for?"