“Well,” said Mascarin, throwing himself back in his chair with an air of affected impatience, “let us have it.” “We had eight gents to dinner, all howling swells, but my master was the biggest masher of the lot. Madame was the only woman at table. Well, by ten o’clock, they had all had their whack of drink, and then they told the porter to keep the courtyard clear. What do you think they did then? Why, they threw plates, glasses, knives, forks, and dishes bang out of the window. That is a regular swell fashion, so the waiter at Potier’s told me, and was introduced into Paris by a Russian.” Mascarin closed his eyes and answered languidly, “Go on.” “Well, sir, there was one gent who was a blot on the whole affair. He was tall, shabbily dressed, and with no manners at all. He seemed all the time to be sneering at the rest. But didn’t Madame make up to him just. She kept heaping up his plate and filling his glass. When the others got to cards, he sat down by my mistress, and began to talk.” “Could you hear what they said?” “I should think so. I was in the bedroom, and they were near the door.” “Dear me,” remarked Mascarin, appearing much shocked, “surely that was not right?” “I don’t care a rap whether it was right or not. I like to hear all about the people whom I engage with. They were talking about a M. Paul, who had been Madame’s friend before, and whom the gentleman also knew. Madame said that this Paul was no great shakes, and that he had stolen twelve thousand francs.” Mascarin pricked up his ears, feeling that his patience was about to meet its reward. “Can you tell me the gentleman’s name, to whom Madame said all this?” asked he. “Not I. The others called him ‘The painter.’” This explanation did not satisfy Mascarin. “Look here, my good girl,” said he, “try and find out the fellow’s name. I think he is an artist who owes me money.” “All right! Rely on me; and now I must be off, for I have breakfast to get ready, but I’ll call again to-morrow;” and with a curtsy she left the room. Mascarin struck his hand heavily on the table. “Hortebise has a wonderful nose for sniffing out danger,” said he. “This Rose and the young fool who is ruining himself for her must both be suppressed.” Beaumarchef again made a motion of executing a thrust with the rapier. “Pooh, pooh!” answered his master; “don’t be childish. I can do better than that. Rose calls herself nineteen, but she is more, she is of age, while Gandelu is still a minor. If old Gandelu had any pluck, he would put Article 354 in motion.” “Eh, sir?” said Beaumarchef, much mystified. “Look here. Before twenty-four hours have elapsed I must know everything as to the habits and disposition of Gandelu senior. I want to know on what terms he is with his son.” “Good. I will set La Candele to work.” “And as the young fellow will doubtless need money, contrive to let him know of our friend Verminet, the chairman of the Mutual Loan Society.” “But that is M. Tantaine’s business.”