"You rascal! I'll wager that the lady to whom you gave my letter paid you, and paid you handsomely too; so that I really ought not to give you anything."
"Monsieur is too shrewd," replied Jean Ficelle, with a half-smile; "there's no way of being sharp with him."
"Off with you! keep your mouth shut, and I'll employ you again; when you're paid at both ends, it seems to me that you ought to be satisfied."
"He's a skinflint, all the same!" muttered the messenger, as he went away.
Célestin returned to his friends.
"The reply is evidently satisfactory," said Mouillot, scrutinizing his face. "His eyes have the proud gleam of a victor already. Is your Dulcinea very pretty?"
"Oh! messieurs, it isn't what you imagine. It's important business."
"Are you going to marry?"
"No. It's some business on the Bourse. A little money to invest."
"Oho! if you're going to be a millionaire, then you can afford to lose at bouillotte.—The champagne frappé, waiter. Now is the time!"