"Oh, heaven! oh, heaven! can I believe my eyes?" sang Mouillot; "'tis he! 'tis he in very truth! he has not gone to Russia or the Marquesas, as we supposed!" "And he is dressed like several milords," observed Balivan. "And he has come to withdraw his olive from circulation." "Yes, messieurs," rejoined Tobie; "I am rich--very rich; my aunt is dead--that respectable lady of whom I have often spoken to you, and with whom I expected to go into partnership. She is dead, and I am her heir; she left me a magnificent business." "In what line?" "In all lines. I may go on with the business; I have not decided yet. As for that unlucky olive, it isn't my fault that I haven't redeemed it sooner; I don't know Monsieur Varinet's address." "You ought to have asked us." "I never meet you anywhere." "Bah! what a flimsy excuse! we are at this café every morning. But, never mind; if you are anxious to pay Varinet, he is to join us here soon." "Oh! then I'll wait for him." "And do you know that poor Albert----" "Is dead; yes, I know it." "Killed in a duel--and no one knows by whom! Isn't it a most extraordinary thing?" Tobie pursed his lips, frowned, and gazed at the ceiling, murmuring: "Ah! things happen sometimes in the world that one can't talk about; but people always end by discovering the truth! You surely can understand that the man who killed Albert is not likely to go about boasting of it, because he is probably much affected himself." And Tobie took out his handkerchief and blew his nose several times, trying to make them think that he was weeping. Mouillot and Balivan stared at each other in amazement; and the former muttered, under his breath: "Nonsense! it isn't possible!" Tobie was only at his fifth roll, when Monsieur Varinet arrived with Dupétrain. The first bowed very coolly to Pigeonnier, but that gentleman made haste to say to him: "I owe you no end of apologies, monsieur, for remaining in your debt so long; but chance seemed to have determined to keep us apart; however, as I have found you at last, I will, with your permission, settle my account with you." Varinet lost no time in taking out his purse, overjoyed to be rid of the olive stone, which he produced and handed to Tobie, saying: "Here is your fetich, monsieur." "I don't recognize it," said Tobie, scrutinizing the olive. "You have left it in my hands so long, monsieur," retorted the young man with the white eyelashes, with some asperity, "that it has had ample time to change. If you had redeemed it the next day, as the custom is with gambling debts, it wouldn't have shrunk to its present size." Tobie had nothing to say; he took out his wallet, and opened it in such a way that they could all see a number of banknotes, one of which he handed to Varinet, saying: "One more or less doesn't make much show when you have plenty." "That wallet of yours would put Célestin to rights just now," said Mouillot. "Why so?"