"M. Herschstein," Schleifmann went on, more vigorously, "that excellent Herschstein.... Ho, ho! here is one I recommend to your notice.... A patriarch's gray beard, fat cheeks, the head of a pleasant grandfather, as good as gold.... This does not prevent him from being one of the heads of the black band.... You know, the clan of German financiers who daily speculate against the French bonds.... Ah! many legends, many lies are told concerning the Jews.... But, alas, this is not an invention; the foul black band does exist! And it is on the cards that your comrade Schleifmann will be one of those, when the people take a fancy, on the first day of the riots, to go and find out, under their very noses, what they are brewing in that corner!" "Good man!" M. Raindal said with emotion. "M. Herschstein, then ... and Madame ... a tall, lanky woman with a narrow mind, who thinks she can wipe out these crimes by throwing money to all the poor people and contributing to charitable works...." Schleifmann hit the table with his fist. "Charity! The damned fool. It's charity she'll get on the day when her rascally husband has had us all expelled from here!" "Hush, hush! Calm yourself, Schleifmann!" Uncle Cyprien whispered. He knew now he could rely on the Galician, as one could trust a roaring, flaming fire. "Calm yourself, my friend!... Who else, did you say?" "M. de Marquesse!..." Schleifmann continued. "Another pretty fellow!... A consulting engineer.... Adviser! Ha, ha! Legal adviser, I have no doubt!... Already two societies which he "advised" have ended before a magistrate.... But he gets on just the same!... People say that his wife helps him.... Not that she is good-looking ... a head like a horse.... But men are so stupid in that set.... For the sake of an aristocratic name, my dear friend, they would entertain a mare." "How delightful!" Cyprien remarked, his lips twisted in a disgusted pout. "Then there is my countryman Pums, a dark little man with a black mustache, the face of a gypsy, and his wife, a small red-headed woman.... But she is pretty, this one! plump, with a turned-up nose ... regular painter's meat!" "What's that?" Cyprien asked. "Yes, it is my name for these ladies, because of their inclination towards artists.... Any painter has but to stoop down to pick them up, like a 'rag and bones' man in a heap of rubbish." "And so you think that Mme. Chambannes herself...." Schleifmann stopped him quickly. "No, no! not at all.... Quite the contrary!" He added maliciously: "Mme. Chambannes leads a regular life, absolutely regular...." Thereupon he took up the normal thread of his ideas: "Let us go back to our people.... The Marquis de Meuze and his son, the Comte de Meuze." "Ah!" said M. Raindal with irony.... "Sham nobility, are they?"