"Towards vhich you haf gifen me tventy: so dere is a palance of a huntred and thirdy-vive. Towards dese huntred and thirdy-vive, you said you would gif me tventy per month. Two months haf gone py: so dat makes forty you owe me." "Exactly forty, my dear sir--you reckon like Barême." "Veil, I can reckon all right." The situation was growing embarrassing. Had we opened my poor mother's banking account and scratched together every farthing, we should certainly not have been able to find the forty francs demanded. Just at that moment the door opened. "Is M. Dumas in?" asked a hoarse, raucous voice. "Yes, M. Dumas is here," I replied in a bad temper. "What do you want with him?" "I don't want him." "Who does, then?" "An Englishman at M. Cartier's." "An Englishman?" I repeated. "Yes, an Englishman, who is very anxious to see you." That was my own state of mind too! The Englishman could not be more anxious to see me than I was to get away from Bamps. "My dear Bamps," I said to him, "wait for me; I will come back. We will settle up our account on my return." "Be qvick back; I must depard dis efening." "Set your mind at rest about that: I shall be back in an instant." I took up my cap and followed the stable lad, who had told my mother, to her great surprise, that he had orders not to go back without me. Cartier, at whose house was the Englishman who demanded to see me, was an old friend of our family, the proprietor of the _Boule d'or,_ a hotel situated at the extreme east of the town, on the road to Soissons. The diligences stopped at his house. There was therefore nothing surprising that the Englishman who was asking for me should be staying there: what did astonish me was that this Englishman should want me. When I appeared in the kitchen, old Cartier, who was warming himself, according to his usual habit, in the chimney corner, came up to me. "Look sharp," he said: "I believe I am going to pull off a good thing for you." "Come now, that would be very welcome," I replied; "I was never in greater need of a lucky windfall." "Well, follow me." And Cartier, walking in front of me, led me to a little parlour where travellers dined. Just as we opened the door, we heard a voice saying, with a strong English accent-- "Take care, mine host: the dog does not know me, and will run out." "Never fear, milord," replied Cartier: "I am bringing his master." Every innkeeper considers an Englishman has the right to the title of milord; so they use the title unsparingly: true, it usually pays them to do so. "Ah! come in, sir," said the Englishman, trying to rise, by leaning both his elbows on the arms of his chair. He could not succeed. Seeing this, I hastened to say to him-- "Pray do not disturb yourself, monsieur."