“You can now understand,” remarked the professor, “how some airs become popular in Paris. I have forty pupils all trying the same thing. I am drilling them now in the _Marguerite_, and in a little time you will have nothing else in the streets.” Poluche was proceeding to give Tantaine some further information, when a step was heard upon the stairs, and the professor remarked,-- “Here is the master; he never comes up here, because he is afraid of the stairs. You had better go down to him.” CHAPTER XXII. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. The ex-cook appeared before Tantaine in all his appalling vulgarity as the latter descended the stairs. The proprietor of the musical academy was a stout, red-faced man, with an insolent mouth and a cynical eye. He was gorgeously dressed, and wore a profusion of jewelry. He was much startled at seeing Tantaine, whom he knew to be the redoubtable Mascarin’s right-hand man. “A thousand thunders!” muttered he. “If these people have sent him here for me, I must take care what I am about,” and with a friendly smile he extended his hand to Tantaine. “Glad to see you,” said he. “Now, what can I do for you, for I hope you have come to ask me to do something?” “The veriest trifle,” returned Tantaine. “I am sorry that it is not something of importance, for I have the greatest respect for M. Mascarin.” This conversation had taken place in the window, and was interrupted every moment by the shouts and laughter of the children; but beneath these sounds of merriment came an occasional bitter wail of lamentation. “What is that?” inquired Perpignan, in a voice of thunder. “Who presumes to be unhappy in this establishment?” “It is two of the lads that I have put on half rations,” returned Poluche. “I’ll make them learn somehow or----” A dark frown on the master’s face arrested his further speech. “What do I hear?” roared Perpignan. “Do you dare, under my roof, to deprive those poor children of an ounce of food? It is scandalous, I may say, infamous on your part, M. Poluche.” “But, sir,” faltered the professor, “have you not told me hundreds of times--” “That you were an idiot, and would never be anything better. Go and tell Mother Butor to give these poor children their dinner.” Repressing further manifestations of rage, Perpignan took Tantaine by the arm and led him into a little side-room, which he dignified by the name of his office. There was nothing in it but three chairs, a common deal table, and a few shelves containing ledgers. “You have come on business, I presume,” remarked Perpignan. Tantaine nodded, and the two men seated themselves at the table, gazing keenly into each other’s eyes, as though to read the thoughts that moved in the busy brain. “How did you find out my little establishment down here?” asked Perpignan.