“Oh! nothing amuses you when you are in one of your _days of humor_, as the English say.--Well, tell me, will you buy my little house in Faubourg Saint-Antoine? I will sell it to you for thirty thousand francs.” “No, I should blush to accept such an offer. Your house is worth nearly twice that, and I do not care to take advantage of your need of money to buy it at a low price.” “Oh! mon Dieu! that isn’t the question at all! If the bargain is satisfactory to me, why shouldn’t you take advantage of it? I make you the offer before a notary, and it seems to me that your conscience should be tranquil. I don’t like the house; it is occupied by water carriers, Savoyards, the commonest of the common people! What the devil do you suppose I can do with it? They move without paying, or else they stay and don’t pay; they insult whoever goes to ask them for money, or they threaten to beat you! Such tenants are delightful!” “But you have a principal tenant who looks after all those details.” “No, no, I tell you that I want to sell, that is the quickest way out of it; it’s too much of a nuisance to me! And then, there’s another inconvenience: if I have among my tenants a pretty grisette or two, or a pretty face, why, you understand--I give them a receipt after obtaining, not their money, but something else. Upon my honor, I am not fitted for a landlord, my heart is too susceptible!” “You are arranging your affairs in such a way that you won’t be a landlord much longer,” said the notary, shaking his head, “you are not reasonable, Monsieur Daréna. Only six years ago your father left you a very pretty fortune!” “Of which I have nothing left but the little house that I want to sell,” said Daréna, laughingly. “Well, that is the fate of all fortunes; they vanish, but one constructs another! I am never disturbed, for my part!--Well, Monfréville won’t take my house, and so Monsieur d’Hurbain must sell it for me. But pray admit your old Jasmin! I am curious to see this fossil!” “In whose service is this model retainer?” asked Monfréville. “He was in the service of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, who died ten or eleven years ago.” “The Marquis de Grandvilain!” cried Daréna, throwing himself into a chair and laughing until the tears came. “What delicious names they have!” “Grandvilain!” muttered Monfréville, “why, I knew the old marquis; my father was a friend of his. He used often to speak of a party at his house, of a display of fireworks to celebrate the birth of a son; of a frying-pan that was thrown into the air, and of saucepan covers that wounded several people.” “Nonsense! nonsense! it is impossible! Monfréville is making fun of us!” said Daréna, stretching himself out in his chair.