"Why, because 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.