I'm a merchant,
Monsieur Risler, a merchant and son of a merchant. Oh! I see what you're
coming at. I have no business. But whose fault is it? If the people who
shut me up at Montrouge, at the gates of Bicetre, like a paralytic, had
had the good sense to furnish me with the money to start in business--"

At that point Risler succeeded in silencing him, and thereafter
only snatches of the conversation could be heard: "a more convenient
shop--high ceilings--better air--future plans--enormous business--I will
speak when the time comes--many people will be astonished."

As he caught these fragments of sentences, Delobelle became more and
more absorbed in his estimates, presenting the eloquent back of the man
who is not listening. Risler, sorely perplexed, slowly sipped his beer
from time to time to keep himself, in countenance.

At last, when M. Chebe had grown calm, and with good reason, his
son-in-law turned with a smile to the illustrious Delobelle, and met the
stern, impassive glance which seemed to say, "Well! what of me?"

"Ah! Mon Dieu!--that is true," thought the poor fellow.

Changing at once his chair and his glass, he took his seat opposite the
actor. But M. Chebe had not Delobelle's courtesy. Instead of discreetly
moving away, he took his glass and joined the others, so that the great
man, unwilling to speak before him, solemnly replaced his documents in
his pocket a second time, saying to Risler:

"We will talk this over later."

Very much later, in truth, for M. Chebe had reflected:

"My son-in-law is so good-natured! If I leave him with this swindler,
who knows what he may get out of him?"

And he remained on guard. The actor was furious. It was impossible to
postpone the matter to some other day, for Risler told them that he was
going the next day to spend the next month at Savigny.

"A month at Savigny!" exclaimed M. Chebe, incensed at the thought of his
son-in-law escaping him. "How about business?"

"Oh! I shall come to Paris every day with Georges. Monsieur Gardinois is
very anxious to see his little Sidonie."

M. Chebe shook his head. He considered it very imprudent. Business is
business. A man ought to be on the spot, always on the spot, in the
breach. Who could say?--the factory might take fire in the night. And he
repeated sententiously: "The eye of the master, my dear fellow, the eye
of the master," while the actor--who was little better pleased by this
intended departure--opened his g