as a cat jumps off a wall, and, leaving the guests of the
Hotel guideless, to the indignation of Monsieur Bocardon, whom he had
served this trick several times before, paid his good landlady, Madam
Bidoux, what he owed her, took a third-class ticket to London, bought,
lunatic that he was, a ripe Brie cheese, a foot in diameter, a present
to myself, which he carried in his hand most of the journey, and turned
up at my house at eight o'clock the next morning with absolutely empty
pockets and the happiest and most fascinating smile that ever irradiated
the face of man. As a matter of fact, he burst his way past my
scandalized valet into my bedroom and woke me up.

"Here I am, my dear friend, and here is something French you love that I
have brought you," and he thrust the Brie cheese under my nose.

"-- -- --," said I.

If you were awakened by a Brie cheese, an hour before your time, you
would say the same. Aristide sat at the foot of the bed and laughed till
the tears ran down his beard.

As soon as it was decent I sent him into the city to interview
Blessington. Three hours afterward he returned more radiant than ever.
He threw himself into my arms; before I could disentagle myself, he
kissed me on both cheeks; then he danced about the room.

"_Me voici_," he said, "accredited representative of the great Maison
Dulau et Compagnie. I have hundreds of pounds a year. I go about. I
watch. I control. I see that the Great British Public can assuage its
thirst with the pure juice of the grape and not with the dregs of a
laboratory. I test vintages. I count barrels. I enter them in books. I
smile at Algerian wine growers and say, 'Ha! ha! none of your _petite
piquette frelatee_ for me but good sound wine.' It is diplomacy. It is
as simple as kissing hands. And I have a sustained income. Now I can be
_un bon bourgeois_ instead of a stray cat. And all due to you, _mon cher
ami_. I am grateful--_voyons_--if anybody ever says Aristide Pujol is
ungrateful, he is a liar. You believe me! Say you believe me."

He looked at me earnestly.

"I do, old chap," said I.

I had known Aristide for some years, and in all kinds of little ways he
had continuously manifested his gratitude for the trifling service I had
rendered him, at our first meeting, in delivering him out of the hands
of the horrific Madam Gougasse. That gratitude is the expectation of
favors to come was, in the case of Aristide, a cynical and inapplicable
proposition.