"Ah! so you know that man, do you, Monsieur Benoît?" asked the inn-keeper, walking toward the newcomer.
Monsieur Benoît caressed his chin, shook his head to give himself importance, and replied:
"Yes, I have met him several times about the town; he has been here at least a week."
"What’s his name?"
"I don’t know that; but I think that he’s a man who has been rich, who has squandered everything and has nothing left."
"And what does he do now?"
"Why, you have seen: he walks about, rests and smokes; but he talks very little."
"Oh! I have no questions to ask him; he has paid for everything he has had here; but he’s very shabbily dressed.—I say, Monsieur Benoît, you must agree that that isn’t the costume of a man who owns consols."
"I didn’t say that he was rich now; I said that I believed that he had been rich, which is a very different matter."
They discussed the stranger for some time longer; but the arrival of new guests caused them to forget the man of meagre repasts.