"Most assuredly I shall not fight with Albert," he said to himself; "I haven't the slightest inclination to do it. But I will tell him of my meeting with Madame Plays, as well as her proposition to me. Albert is a good fellow, he likes a joke, and he will help me to invent some way of making her think that we have fought. Oh, yes!—but my olive! However, it isn't Albert that I owe the money to, after all, and I'll tell him Varinet hasn't shown up."
Nine o'clock was just striking, the next morning, when Tobie called at the Vermoncey mansion and asked Albert's servant if his friend was visible. The servant ushered Tobie into the young man's bedroom, where he was still asleep.
"It's I, my dear Albert," said Tobie, speaking very loudly; "if you want to sleep some more, don't wake up; I will go away."
Albert woke, rubbed his eyes, recognized Tobie, and murmured sleepily:
"What! is it you, Tobie? where in the devil have you come from?"
"From home, of course."
"And why didn't you come last evening to Place des Italiens, where somebody was waiting for you?"
"Oho! how do you know that?"
"Parbleu! because it was Mouillot, Balivan, Célestin, and I who made the appointment with you through Bastringuette."
"Really?"