Two days after this conversation, Tobie, who had become a constant attendant at balls, receptions, concerts, and the theatre, since he had inherited his Aunt Abraham's property, found himself face to face with Monsieur Plays and his wife in the foyer of the Opéra. Madame Plays stopped, cast a withering glance at Tobie, and nudged her husband. "There he is," she said. "Who?" queried Monsieur Plays. "The insolent wretch who amused himself at my expense, and whom you must punish!" Monsieur Plays turned pale as death, and clung to his wife's arm, muttering: "My corns hurt me terribly! the weather will change to-morrow; it's a sure sign of rain!" "I'm not talking about your corns, monsieur; there's the young man who was responsible for my carrying a cigar in my bosom two months, and I must have satisfaction, monsieur. I will sit here on this bench, and I shan't lose sight of you. Go and challenge Monsieur Pigeonnier; if you don't, never hope to enter my boudoir again! you understand, monsieur; now, go!" The superb Herminie seated herself at one end of the foyer, sustaining with much self-possession the glances bestowed upon her by the men who were walking back and forth there during the entr'acte. As for Monsieur Plays, who was compelled to go and pick a quarrel with a fellow creature--he would have preferred, at that moment, to be at Algiers, or on the railroad. Tobie had recognized the happy couple; and he continued to stroll about the foyer, looking at himself in the mirrors, and trying to keep his monocle in his eye. Suddenly a timid voice addressed him; he turned, and saw Monsieur Plays, whose manner was anything but provocative, and who saluted him very courteously, saying: "Have I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier?" "Why, it's Monsieur Plays! Delighted to meet you! How's your health, Monsieur Plays?" "Very good, thanks; but I am suffering a good deal with my corns. My boots hurt me. Have you any?" "Boots?" "No, corns." "That species of discomfort is entirely unknown to me." "Ah! you are very lucky!" At this point, Monsieur Plays turned, and saw his wife looking daggers at him; he remembered what she demanded of him, and continued in an undertone: "My dear Monsieur Pigeonnier, I must tell you that my wife has sent me to you, because she thinks you--you made sport of her when you told her that you had killed Monsieur Albert Vermoncey in a duel. Women take offence at trifles, you know; and Herminie is very sensitive. You gave her a cigar, too. In short, she's furious with you. So far as I am concerned, I am sure that you had no intention to be disrespectful to her, but she insists that I shall demand satisfaction. It's perfect nonsense; we must arrange it somehow----" Tobie assumed a most solemn air, and interrupted Monsieur Plays. "Your excellent wife is right, perfectly right, and I am not surprised that she has told you to kill me. Indeed, I agree with her."