"Well, I followed my nose, good mother, which was attracted by the smell of your bouillon and beef, and brought me straight here. Permit me to present my friend M. Marcel, a young gentleman who is as yet unacquainted with the mysteries of your marmites."
"Mysteries! what do you mean by that, you little polisson? There are no mysteries in my soup-pots; good beef and good vegetables; find any better if you can."
"Why, I know I can't, Mother Crapaud, and that's why I've come."
"I don't intend running up a score for you, M. Polycarpe, I can tell you; so clear out, you and your friend, if you've nothing to pay with."
"But I have, Mother Crapaud. I'm a millionaire to-day, or very nearly so, and so I'm going to treat my friend and myself to two sous apiece of soup, and we'll see presently if you can give me change for this." And he tossed up into the air and caught again the silver piece he had extorted from poor Zozor's mistress.
The boys then seated themselves at one of the tables, and were presently served with a bowl of good bouillon and a hunk of bread.
"Now for a slice of fat beef, la mère," said Polycarpe, when the soup had disappeared; "six sous' worth will be enough for us two, and two sous each of stewed beans. What a cram! isn't it, Marcel?"
Marcel did indeed like his good hot dinner. Poor fellow! it was only when Polycarpe treated him that he knew what it was to eat his fill. No conscientious scruples prevented his full enjoyment of the present. Conscience, that mirror of the soul, which never flatters, never deceives, was veiled in him by the thick mists of ignorance, and the only kindnesses he ever received were from the hands of thieves.
They were finishing their beef and beans when two big, rough boys, dressed in dirty blue blouses and dirtier trousers of some nondescript color, rushed into the gargote and bellowed for something to eat. Throwing themselves on the bench opposite to that on which Polycarpe and Marcel were seated, they commenced a series of contortions, elbow nudges, whispers, and loud guffaws, which were only stopped by the arrival of their victuals. The elder of the two presently looked up, and, catching Polycarpe's fixed gaze, after a moment's hesitation exclaimed, "Well, yes! 'tis you, Polycarpe! I thought I remembered your face. I'm glad to meet you; you're a good one, I know."
Polycarpe was evidently much flattered by this recognition. "I thought I knew your face too, as soon as you sat down, Guguste, but you were so full of fun that I wouldn't interrupt you."