"Oh, heaven! oh, heaven! can I believe my eyes?" sang Mouillot; "'tis he! 'tis he in very truth! he has not gone to Russia or the Marquesas, as we supposed!"
"And he is dressed like several milords," observed Balivan.
"And he has come to withdraw his olive from circulation."
"Yes, messieurs," rejoined Tobie; "I am rich—very rich; my aunt is dead—that respectable lady of whom I have often spoken to you, and with whom I expected to go into partnership. She is dead, and I am her heir; she left me a magnificent business."
"In what line?"
"In all lines. I may go on with the business; I have not decided yet. As for that unlucky olive, it isn't my fault that I haven't redeemed it sooner; I don't know Monsieur Varinet's address."
"You ought to have asked us."
"I never meet you anywhere."
"Bah! what a flimsy excuse! we are at this café every morning. But, never mind; if you are anxious to pay Varinet, he is to join us here soon."
"Oh! then I'll wait for him."