We will make no conjectures about the social position of this gentleman,—he will hereafter explain himself. Almost before the bell he rang had ceased to sound, the door was opened by another person. The latter was tall, dark and athletic, so that we would really have taken him for the lover of Mlle. Celestine Crepineau, had he worn the magnificent moustache and voluminous whiskers of the bear-hunter, which the lady admired so much. His costume, too, was different from that of the Spaniard. He wore a blue frock over his chest, at the bottom hole of which was a bit of red ribbon, not a little discolored.
"Ah! M. Morisseau," said the inmate of the room, "you are welcome, but late. The dinner is cold. And," added he in a low tone, "the dinner of a brigand of the Loire, as they call such fragments of the imperial guard as myself, must be hot, it being too small to eat in any other way."
"I think it always excellent, Monsieur Rhinoceros," said Morisseau.
"Permit me," said the brigand of the Loire,—for so the man called himself—"My name is not Rhinoceros. A certain African animal has that beautiful name, as I have often told you during the many games of dominoes we have played together at the Café Lemblin, whither you are attracted by my company. My name is Rinoccio—Paolo Rinoccio, born in Corsica, as my foreign accent tells you. I am the countryman of him." He made a military salute. "I served ten years beneath the Eagles. You, too, adore our Emperor. Each Buonapartist has a hand for his brother," continued he, shaking that of Morisseau. "Already thinking alike, eight days ago, over M. Lemblin's cognac, we swore eternal friendship. You, therefore, deigned to visit the warrior in his tent, in Jacob-street, to share the bread and soup of the soldier, and drink to the return of him of Austerlitz."
"M. Rhinoceros,—no, no, Rhino,—damn the name," said the Corsican's guest, "it is indeed an honor for me to sit at the table of so brave a man—for that reason, I accepted your invitation."
"Sit down, then, and let us drink to the health of the little corporal."
As he spoke he filled two glasses and emptied his own. M. Morisseau simply moistened his lips. "The Emperor," he said, on receiving his part of the soup, "the Emperor, M. Rhino, was my god."
"And that of France," said the Corsican.
"He was my god and my best customer; I had the honor to be his furrier."
"His what?"