“My dear Poterne, how impatient you are! we must give the lovers time to breakfast and to abandon themselves to the joys of love. Deuce take it! everybody must amuse himself, after all; and consider, Poterne, that by leaving them together longer, you will inevitably take them _in flagrante delicto!_ That is much the shrewder way. You are supposed to be the husband; your wife has been spirited away, and you find her in her ravisher’s arms; you bellow and roar and swear that you will kill them both--your wife especially! Chérubin pleads for mercy for her, and you refuse to accord it unless he signs notes of hand for sixty thousand francs.--You have some stamped paper, haven’t you?” “Oh! I have all that I need. But suppose the young marquis defends himself, suppose he refuses to sign?” “Nonsense! a mere boy! You must threaten him with prosecution for abducting your wife; you will have your dagger, and you can still insist on killing her; Chérubin is too generous not to try to save her.” “I agree with you there.” “In all this, Monsieur Poterne, take good care not to hurt anybody! Your dagger isn’t sharp, I trust?” “Oh, no! there’s no danger.” “And when you speak, assume some kind of an accent, so that he won’t recognize you.” “I will be careful, and I will do a great deal in pantomime.” Everything being arranged, the gentlemen breakfasted and conversed at great length; ordered a pipe and cigars, and smoked to pass the time away. More than two hours passed. Poterne replaced his green spectacles on his nose, saying: “Now I can go and finish up our business.” He rose; Daréna did the same. “Yes, it is time; let us go.” “But I don’t need you,” said Poterne; “besides, you mustn’t go into the house with me, it would be imprudent. If Chérubin should see you, he would call on you to help him.” “I know all that, you old sharper; but you don’t imagine, I presume, that I am going to let you go off all alone with notes for sixty thousand francs in your pocket? No, my dear fellow, I love you too dearly to lose sight of you. I propose to watch you into the house; I know that it has but one door; I shall keep my eye on that door, and if it should occur to you to run away too fast, I promise you that you will soon be overtaken.” “Oh! monsieur le comte! you have suspicions that hurt me terribly!” “Why, no, it’s simply _savoir-vivre_, it’s the way of the world, that’s all! Off we go.” The two worthies passed the city wall to the outer boulevards, and walked toward Barrière de la Chopinette. When they were within three hundred feet of the house where he had left Chérubin, Daréna stopped and said to his companion: “Now, go on alone, illustrious Poterne, and manage the business gracefully; remember that the whole thing must be carried through with the courtesy and formality which betray men of breeding.” Poterne went on to the house and knocked softly at the door, which Bruno opened. “Are they upstairs?” queried Poterne in a low voice. “Yes.”