tip us one of your pretty little ditties" (goualantes).
"Supper, supper first, Mother Ponisse," said the Chourineur.
"Well, my lad of wax, what can I do for you?" said the ogress to Rodolph, whose good-will she was desirous to conciliate, and whose support she might, perchance, require.
"Ask the Chourineur; he orders, I pay."
"Well, then," said the ogress, turning to the bandit, "what will you have for supper, you 'bad lot?'"
"Two quarts of the best wine, at twelve sous, three crusts of wheaten bread, and a harlequin,"[5] said the Chourineur, after considering for a few moments what he should order.
"Ah! you are a dainty dog, I know, and as fond as ever of them harlequins."
"Well, now, Goualeuse," said the Chourineur, "are you hungry?"
"No, Chourineur."
"Would you like anything better than a harlequin, my lass?" said Rodolph.
"No, I thank you; I have no appetite."
"Come, now," said the Chourineur, with a brutal grin, "look my master in the face like a jolly wench. You have no objection, I suppose?"
The poor girl blushed, and did not look at Rodolph. A few moments afterwards, and the ogress herself placed on the table a pitcher of wine, bread, and a harlequin, of which we will not attempt to give an idea to the reader, but which appeared most relishing to the Chourineur; for he exclaimed, "Dieu de Dieu! what a dish! What a glorious dish! It is a regular omnibus; there is something in it to everybody's taste. Those who like fat can have it; so can they who like lean; as well as those who prefer sugar, and those who choose pepper. There's tender bits of chicken, biscuit, sausage, tarts, mutton-bones, pastry crust, fried fish, vegetables, woodcock's heads, cheese, and salad. Come, eat, Goualeuse, eat; it is so capital! You have been to a wedding breakfast somewhere this morning."
"No more than on other mornings. I ate this morning, as usual, my ha'porth of milk, and my ha'porth of bread."
The entrance of another personage into the cabaret interrupted all conversation for a moment, and everybody turned his head in the direction of the newcomer, who was a middle-aged man, active and powerful, wearing a loose coat and cap. He was evidently quite at home in the tapis-franc, and, in language familiar to all the guests, requested to be supplied with supper. He was so placed that he could observe the two ill-looking scoundrels who had asked after Gros-Boiteux and the Schoolmaster. He did not take his eyes off them; but in consequence of their position, they could not see that they were the objects of such marked and constant attention.
The conversation, momentarily interrupted, was resumed. In spite of his natural audacity, the Chourineur showed a deference for Rodolph, and abstained from familiarity.
"By Jove," said he to Rodolph, "although I have smarted for it, yet I am very glad to have met with you."
"What! because you relish the harlequin?"
"Why, may be so; but more because I am all on the fret to see you 'serve out' the Schoolmaster. To see him who has always crowed over me, crowed over in his turn would do me good."
"Do you suppose, then, that for your amusement I mean to spring at the Schoolmaster, and pin him like a bull-dog?"
"No, but he'll have at you in a moment, when he learns that you are a better man than he," replied the Chourineur, rubbing his hands.
"Well, I have coin enough left to pay him in full," said Rodolph, in a careless tone; "but it is horrible weather: what say you to a cup of brandy with sugar in it?"
"That's the ticket!" said the Chourineur.
"And, that we may be better acquainted, we will tell each other who we are," added Rodolph.
"The Albinos called the Chourineur a freed convict, worker at the wood that floats at St. Paul's Quay; frozen in the winter, scorched in the summer, from twelve to fifteen hours a day in the water; half man, half frog; that's my description," said Rodolph's companion, making him a military salute with his left hand. "Well, now, and you, my master, this is your first appearance in the Cité. I don't mean anything to offend; but you entered head foremost against my skull, and beating the drum on my carcass. By all that's ugly, what a rattling you made, especially with these blows with which you doubled me up! I never can forget them—thick as buttons—what a torrent! But you have some trade besides 'polishing off' the Chourineur?"
"I am a fan-painter, and my name is Rodolph."
"A fan-painter! Ah! that's the reason, then, that your hands are so white," added the Chourineur. "If all your fellow workmen are like you, there must be a tidy lot of you. But, as you are a workman, what brings you to a tapis-franc in the Cité, where there are only prigs, cracksmen or freed convicts like myself, and who only come here because we cannot go elsewhere? This is no place for you. Honest mechanics have their coffee-shops, and don't talk slang."
"I come here because I like good company."
"Gammon!" said the Chourineur, shaking his head with an air of doubt. "I found you in the passage of Bras Rouge. Well, man, never mind. You say you don't know him?"
"What do you mean with all your nonsense about your Bras Rouge? Let him go to the—"
"Stay, master of mine. You, perhaps, distrust me; but you are wrong, and if you like I will tell you my history; but that is on condition that you teach me how to give those precious thumps which settled my business so quickly. What say you?"
"I agree, Chourineur; tell me your story, and Goualeuse will also tell hers."
"Very well," replied the Chourineur; "it is not weather to turn a mangy cur out-of-doors, and it will be an amusement. Do you agree, Goualeuse?"
"Oh, certainly; but my story is a very short one," said Fleur-de-Marie.
"And you will have to tell us your history, comrade Rodolph," added the Chourineur.
"Well, then, I'll begin."
"Fan-painter!" said Goualeuse, "what a very pretty trade!"
"And how much can you earn if you stick close to work?" inquired the Chourineur.
"I work by the piece," responded Rodolph; "my good days are worth three francs, sometimes four, in summer, when the days are long."
"And you are idle sometimes, you rascal?"
"Yes, as long as I have money, though I do not waste it. First, I pay ten sous for my night's lodging."
"Your pardon, monseigneur; you sleep, then, at ten sous, do you?" said the Chourineur, raising his hand to his cap.
The word monseigneur, spoken ironically by the Chourineur, caused an almost imperceptible smile on the lips of Rodolph, who replied, "Oh, I like to be clean and comfortable."
"Here's a peer of the realm for you! a man with mines of wealth!" exclaimed the Chourineur; "he pays ten sous for his bed!"
"Well, then," continued Rodolph, "four sous for tobacco; that makes fourteen sous; four sous for breakfast, eighteen; fifteen sous for dinner; one or two sous for brandy; that all comes to about thirty-four or thirty-five sous a day. I have no occasion to work all the week, and so the rest of the time I amuse myself."
"And your family?" said the Goualeuse.
"Dead," replied Rodolph.
"Who were your friends?" asked the Goualeuse.
"Dealers in old clothes and marine stores under the pillars of the market-place."
"How did you spend what they left you?" inquired the Chourineur.
"I was very young, and my guardian sold the stock; and, when I came of age, he brought me in his debtor for thirty francs; that was my inheritance."
"And who is now your employer?" the Chourineur demanded.
"His