Wolowitz did not reply, because he had not yet learned his name; but Dubourg kicked him, under the table, and made him raise his head, whereupon he replied, still eating:
"Yes, monsieur le baron."
"You see, he continues to call me the baron," said Dubourg; "he imagines he is still on the stage."
Another kick informed Ménard that he had made a blunder, and he muttered in Dubourg's ear:
"Tell me your name, then; you can't expect me to guess it."
"When people saw on the bill-board: Boleslas and Wolowitz," continued Dubourg, with a glance at Ménard, "the theatre was always crowded to suffocation, and we staggered under the wreaths that were thrown to us."
"Oh! you'll get some here," said Floridor; "we will throw 'em to you. I've had a dozen made on purpose to have thrown on my actors' heads. You shall have verses too—quatrains; I've got all those things."
"You are right; they always have a good effect, they flatter the artist and dazzle the audience."
"Ah! Monsieur Boleslas, may I hope that you and your companion will consent to give us a few performances?"
Dubourg did not consent at once; they had made a vow, he said, not to act in any French theatre. Floridor urged them, implored them, and ordered a fresh bottle of wine. Ménard was touched by the supper and the little manager's compliments, and when they left the table he was ready to promise to play any part he was asked to take; but Dubourg did not yield so readily, because he desired to obtain a high price. Floridor did not leave his side, he was ready to kneel at his feet; he would make any sacrifice, he said, to open his theatre with such notable artists, and he finally offered them a hundred francs for four performances, which was a fabulous sum for acting in a stable. Dubourg surrendered, declaring that he did it solely to oblige him.