"Are you going to Paris, young gentlemen ?" he asked, his tone harsh and high-pitched.
We answered in the affirmative.

"To-morrow ?" he questioned.
"Yes," we answered; and expected him to continue the conversation.

But instead he became silent, gazing abstractedly at the table; and what with our meal, and our own talk we had almost forgotten him again, when looking up, I found him at my elbow, holding out in silence a small piece of paper.
I started his face was so grave.

But seeing that there were half-a-dozen guests of a meaner sort at another table close by, I guessed that he merely wished to make a private communication to us; and hastened to take the paper and read it.

It contained a scrawl of four words only-- "Va chasser l'Idole." No more.