"Ah! ten thousand names of devils! It isn't so brilliant here as at the famous tavern of the Loup de Mer--eh, Plumard? This place is a regular hole!" "It's large enough for what we have to spend!" muttered the second clerk, removing his cap to scratch the bit of plaster which was still attached to his scalp, and which, by dint of patience and by working with his nails, he had succeeded in reducing to about the size of a crown piece. Bahuchet--the reader will ere this have recognized the two Basochians--approached the table next to Léodgard's, saying: "Let us sit here, my dear boy; we shall be very comfortable here; we shall be able to see a little something--that is, if our proximity does not annoy his lordship?" These last words were addressed to the count, who, having pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, simply moved his head; whereupon the two clerks took their seats at the next table. "What shall I serve you, gentlemen?" the host asked the new-comers. "He calls us _gentlemen_!" muttered Plumard. "The shrewd knave flatters us, hoping to induce us to spend more; but he will have nothing to show for his compliments and his reverences!--We have no choice--eleven sous between us; that is rather meagre, but we can't go beyond it!" The host was still waiting. Bahuchet beckoned to him to come nearer. "Listen carefully, good host, and do not exceed our order; we came here simply to eat a morsel--between our meals. Serve us three sous' worth of bread, six of wine, and two of good meat." The host made a wry face and replaced his cap on his head. "What kind of good meat do you expect me to serve for two sous?" he retorted.--"Make it six at least, messieurs, and you shall have a dish." "We will not add a single denier--we have our reasons for it. Go, cabaretier, and serve it hot." "Hot! you will have cheese!--I am not in the habit of serving it hot!" "Ah! poor Bahuchet! where are your days of bluster?" muttered Plumard, digging his nails into his plaster. "What would you have, Plumard? The days follow, but do not resemble one another!--Your skull is the only thing that persists in not changing; it is infernally obstinate about it." "Do you remember, Bahuchet, when we regaled ourselves on the costume of my uncle the clothes dealer?--Ha! ha! thirty pistoles--no less; and what a spree we had at Le Roule, for two or three days!" "I should say so; they had to take you to the hospital; you nearly died of indigestion.--Those were the good times!" "To be sure, that great idiot of a Gascon chevalier was the cause of our having a scene with my uncle afterward!" "Yes, but your uncle could never make us give back the money.--Ah! here comes our banquet. Fichtre! the good meat they are bringing can be smelt a long way off!" "It's cheese--very well done." The two clerks concluded to attack their breakfast. They stuffed themselves with bread and cheese. But after a moment Bahuchet observed, with a sigh: