“Ah, well,” said Garnier, “there are rogues in every trade, and that old man is a rogue. _Mon Dieu!_ I am not straitlaced; but there are two things I cannot stand by and see: an old man drunk, and an old man following a woman. Do not think of him, but tell me now, what does it feel like to be a Prince? Oh, I should like to be a Prince just for an hour! I would dress myself in ermine and walk down the Rue de Rivoli. Ah! you are laughing, but I would. I would call my servants and give them orders, just to hear them call me M. le Prince. I would call at Melmenotte’s, and walk about the atelier trailing my skirts. _Mon Dieu!_ yes, I should like to be a Prince just for an hour.” “And then?” “Oh, I would kick off my togs and come back and be an artist. Just as you will kick off your togs and go back to be a Prince; one always returns to one’s trade.” “You think I will go back to be a Prince?” “Why, of course.” “Would you advise me to?” “Why, of course, when you are tired of your atelier you will put on your crown.” “I have no crown,” said Toto; “but I will no doubt return and put on a tall hat. What troubles me is Célestin.” “Ah! Célestin!” “She does not know who I am.” Garnier frowned slightly. “She would not have loved me, I think, if I had told her, poor child! She has a great awe of titled people; she makes hats for them. She will never do that again, anyhow.” “Still,” said Garnier, “you ought to have told her.” “Why? I don’t see why.” “You have told me, yet you would hide what I know from that angel of light. That is not as it should be. Take it as a man. How would you like Mlle. Célestin to deceive you? The thing is impossible, but, still——” “Perhaps you are right; and I wish I had never met her.” Garnier frowned again. “You do not love her, then?” “Oh, yes; I do. It is not that, but my mother, and all the people I know. Not that I care a button—not a button; let them all go to the devil.” “Ah, now you speak like a man! And will you tell Célestin all that you have told to me?” “I will. I will tell her this evening.” But when evening came, and he sat alone with Célestin on the couch in the lamplight, and when he took her hand saying “I want to tell you something; I ought to have told it to you before,” the words dried up; he could not tell her of his position in the world; besides, he knew her inevitable answer, “What matter, so long as we love each other?” It always came when difficulties arose—if the beef was understewed or the wine sour, if the cats kept them awake or if the door of Dodor’s cage got jammed. “Célestin, I ought to have told you before; but do you know that, though we live here in this atelier and are happy enough, God knows—do you know that I am—awfully poor?” “What matter? What does anything matter, so long as we love each other?” sighed Célestin. “I will tell you all about myself some day,” said Toto. “I have not told you I have a mother.”