ike two friends."

Buvat looked at Dubois with an air of stupefaction, which, at any other
time, would have had the effect of making him burst out laughing, but
now he did not seem to notice it, and taking a chair himself, he
repeated with his hand the invitation which he had given with his voice.
There was no means of drawing back; the good man approached trembling,
and sat down on the edge of his chair; put his hat on the ground, took
his cane between his legs, and waited. All this, however, was not
executed without a violent internal struggle as his face testified,
which, from being white as a lily when he came in, had now become as red
as a peony.

"My dear M. Buvat, you say that you make copies?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"And that brings you in--?"

"Very little, monseigneur, very little."

"You have, nevertheless, a superb handwriting, M. Buvat."

"Yes, but all the world does not appreciate the value of that talent as
your eminence does."

"That is true, but you are employed at the library?"----"I have that
honor."

"And your place brings you--?"

"Oh, my place--that is another thing, monseigneur; it brings me in
nothing at all, seeing that for five years the cashier has told us at
the end of each month that the king was too poor to pay us."

"And you still remained in the service of his majesty? that was well
done, M. Buvat; that was well done."

Buvat rose, saluted Dubois, and reseated himself.

"And, perhaps, all the while you have a family to support--a wife,
children?"

"No, monseigneur; I am a bachelor."

"But you have parents, at all events?"

"No, monseigneur; but I have a ward, a charming young person, full of
talent, who sings like Mademoiselle Berry, and who draws like Greuze."

"Ah, ah! and what is the name of your ward, M. Buvat?"

"Bathilde--Bathilde du Rocher, monseigneur; she is a young person of
noble family, her father was squire to Monsieur the Regent, when he was
still Duc de Chartres, and had the misfortune to be killed at the battle
of Almanza."

"Thus I see you have your charges, my dear Buvat."

"Is it of Bathilde that you speak, monseigneur? Oh no, Bathilde is not a
charge; on the contrary, poor dear girl, she brings in more than she
costs. Bathilde a charge! Firstly, every month M. Papillon, the colorman
at the corner of the Rue Clery, you know, monseigneur, gives her eighty
francs for two drawings; then--"

"I should say, my dear Buvat, that you are not rich."