It was not quite nine o'clock, but it had been dark for some time when the young men left Tortoni's café and bent their steps toward Place des Italiens. They had just started, when Mouillot said: "One moment, messieurs! we have forgotten something. Here, take this." And he gave each of his friends an olive. "An olive!" "What's this for?" "Why, can't you guess? We are going to watch for Tobie, one at each corner of the square; and as soon as we see him, we will all descend on him, each presenting our olive and demanding five hundred francs." "Very good! splendid!" "Poor Tobie! This experience will be enough to disgust him with olives, and I'll bet that he won't stuff his pockets with them again when he dines out." They soon reached Place des Italiens, where they separated, each going to one corner. They agreed that, when Tobie appeared, they would wait until he reached the middle of the square, and then advance upon him at the same time, so that the four olives, accompanied by as many demands for five hundred francs, might be presented simultaneously. Five minutes passed. Tobie did not appear. Five more minutes passed. The young men coughed loudly from time to time, as if to assure one another that they were still there. To while away the time, Albert thought of Madame Baldimer, whom he was to call upon very soon. He enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure he was about to afford her by presenting her with that shawl, which she coveted, and he hoped that his gallantry would be lovingly rewarded. Célestin also thought about his relations with the lovely widow, saying to himself from time to time: "Tobie will not come! he probably suspected something, or was afraid. We shall lose our olives." Mouillot stamped impatiently, muttering: "This is getting to be an infernal bore. I believe it's going to rain, too. The sell is on us, after all! Sacrebleu! messieurs! I say there! do you like this? For my part, I've had about enough." Balivan was engrossed by the portrait of a woman which he was soon to begin, and he was wondering whether he would paint it against a dark or a light background, in a salon or in a garden. Several more minutes passed. A very fine rain began to fall. Albert, Célestin, and Mouillot were about to desert their posts, when shouts of: "Murder! police! help!" arose in the middle of the square. The three young men ran toward the place from which the cries came, and found Balivan holding a short man by the arm. "It's no use for you to yell," he was saying; "you owe me five hundred francs for this olive!" "What in the devil are you doing, you fool?" cried Mouillot; "let the gentleman alone, will you! It isn't Tobie!" The man whom Balivan had seized was a respectable bourgeois, who was loitering about in front of the Opéra-Comique, intending to buy a check and see the last play.