"What, monsieur! that gouty old fool in the next room had the face to call and knock? Oh! that don't surprise me, that man ain't afraid to do anything. Such a wretched tenant! how I wish he would leave us! he complains of everything in the house. To listen to him, you would think that he had always lived in châteaux; but you mustn't pay any attention to him, monsieur; and above all things, don't put yourself out. In the first place, you hire an apartment three times dearer than his, consequently you have the right to make three times as much noise."
"That reasoning strikes me as mathematical; but what sort of man is this neighbor of mine?"
"What sort of man? Bless my soul! he's the kind that has the gout; he growls and swears and yells; he's mad because he can't go out; and I have an idea that he'd like to raise the deuce still, although he's too old for that now; but he can't move, and that makes him angry."
"What! this neighbor of mine is old and helpless, and he dares to threaten me! Upon my word! that is too funny; it is really amusing! I believe that the wisest way is to laugh at him."
"Oh, yes! monsieur; but if you want me to go and speak to the old grumbler——"
"No, no, my dear, it isn't necessary; I don't need any intermediary in this sort of thing; I know how to handle it myself. Go, go; we will arrange matters with the neighbor."
And the dandified little Saint-Arthur, overjoyed to learn that his neighbor was old and ill, drew himself up and dismissed the chambermaid, pacing the floor of his room with a lordly swagger.
The servant had not been gone two minutes when Beauvinet knocked lightly at the door, then opened it and entered Saint-Arthur's room, saying:
"May I come in?"
"What is it now? what do you want of me?" asked the young dandy, scrutinizing Beauvinet's wrinkled face.