“Ah, have no fear!” said De Nani, making another entry in his tablets. “Toto will not object to my knowing his address; he knows that I am a safe man, a man to be trusted—ahu, _ventre St. Gris_! Could I tell you, M. Maillard——” “Gaillard.” “Paillard,” continued De Nani, who, now that he had obtained all or nearly all the information he wanted, began to put on frills and forget names. “Could I tell you, M. Paillard, how I love this dear Toto, you might with your genius make from it a little poem; it transcends the love of David for Jonathan, this affection of mine for Toto. He is so joyous, he is so young, he is such a charming host. You remember that delightful dinner where we first made acquaintance; I feel I can never repay Toto for that piece of hospitality. But I will try, as far as in me lies—I will try.” “I tell you what,” said Gaillard, putting on his hat and lighting a cigarette: “you would do Toto a great service if you could induce him to leave that wretched hole he is in, and give up art and all that nonsense.” “And Célestin?” “Yes; she is worse than art. Between you and me, I don’t know how he can stand it, living with an illiterate woman like that; she has not two ideas in her head. I don’t believe she can read, and, what is worse, I don’t believe she wants to. They do their own cooking. Imagine a man of Toto’s position in the world—faugh! it makes me ill.” This was an untruth—cooking was rarely done in the atelier of Toto, for Célestin was the worst cook in the world, excepting perhaps Toto; but it was true enough for De Nani. “And this Célestin—what was she before Toto took her from the mud?” “She was a hat-maker—she is still. Trims hats and that sort of thing.” “Whilst Toto paints those delightful pictures of his?” “Yes. But the worst is, he cannot sell them,—I know by his face,—and he is frightfully hard up.” “Soon,” said De Nani, with a horrid leer, “our friend Toto will cast his brushes aside, and live upon the diligence of this pretty Célestin. It is what all these artists do when unsuccessful. We must save him from this.” “I wish you would.” “Before to-morrow evening,” said De Nani, “I hope to cure this charming Toto of his fever for fame and his hunger for art. Who is this? Why, it is M. Wolf. I must bid you now good-day, M. Gaillard, as I have some matters of importance to transact with M. Wolf.” Wolf came in, hat in hand and spectacles gleaming, as Gaillard went out. De Nani removed the remains of the _déjeuner_ from the table onto the floor, and greeted the newcomer. “You are just the man I want,” said the Marquis. “I have an interview to write, and I want you to assist me. I have all the facts. That is right, take a seat and a pen.”