"Well! if it's a play in five acts that they're composing, and if there's any tableaux in it——"
"Oh! mon Dieu! now they're going into a café! That is the last straw!"
"What do you expect? We can't prevent those gentlemen from wanting to take something. Suppose we go into the café too and take a petit verre?"
"No, Monsieur Jéricourt might notice us, and then he would see that we have followed him."
"You are right, and he wouldn't answer my questions; indeed, it's better that he shouldn't see you. Well, let's do sentry duty; it's a bore, but after all, in our business we often do it for others, and we can afford to be bored on our own account once in a way."
Jéricourt remained more than an hour in the café with the person whom he had met; then they came out, talked again a long while in front of the café, and finally separated.
"At last!" cried Georget, as they walked along Boulevard Beaumarchais, which Jéricourt had taken. "This time, Chicotin, you mustn't wait before speaking to this gentleman, until he has met somebody else."
"No, no; but still, I must choose my place. There are some places where one can talk better than others. Ah! he is turning into Rue Pas-de-la-Mule. I'll tackle him on Place Royale.—Yes, he's turning to the left. Wait here for me, Georget."
Chicotin ran after his customer, and Georget remained on the boulevard. Five minutes passed, which seemed an eternity to the young lover; then, as his comrade did not return, Georget went down the street to Place Royale, looked about in all directions, and finally discovered Chicotin under an arcade, talking to Jéricourt, who listened with a most contemptuous expression. Georget would have liked to hear what was being said; he walked a few steps toward them, but Chicotin saw him and made a very energetic sign which meant: "Clear out."
Georget took up a position farther away; he leaned against a pillar, and waited, putting his head out from time to time to see if his friend was coming. At last he saw Chicotin walking slowly toward him, his troubled expression denoting anything but good news. Georget ran to meet his comrade, crying out: