“Yes, and a fine opportunity you have chosen!” exclaimed Andrea; “you speak to me before my servant.”
“How can I help that, my boy? I speak to you when I can catch you. You have a quick horse, a light tilbury, you are naturally as slippery as an eel; if I had missed you to-night, I might not have had another chance.”
“You see, I do not conceal myself.”
“You are lucky; I wish I could say as much, for I do conceal myself; and then I was afraid you would not recognize me, but you did,” added Caderousse with his unpleasant smile. “It was very polite of you.”
“Come,” said Andrea, “what do want?”
“You do not speak affectionately to me, Benedetto, my old friend, that is not right — take care, or I may become troublesome.” This menace smothered the young man’s passion. He urged the horse again into a trot. “You should not speak so to an old friend like me, Caderousse, as you said just now; you are a native of Marseilles, I am” —
“Do you know then now what you are?”
“No, but I was brought up in Corsica; you are old and obstinate, I am young and wilful. Between people like us threats are out of place, everything should be amicably arranged. Is it my fault if fortune, which has frowned on you, has been kind to me?”
“Fortune has been kind to you, then? Your tilbury, your groom, your clothes, are not then hired? Good, so much the better,” said Caderousse, his eyes sparkling with avarice.
“Oh, you knew that well enough before speaking to me,” said Andrea, becoming more and more excited. “If I had been wearing a handkerchief like yours on my head, rags on my back, and worn-out shoes on my feet, you would not have known me.”
“You wrong me, my boy; now I have found you, nothing prevents my being as well-dressed as any one, knowing, as I do, the goodness of your heart. If you have two coats you will give me one of them. I used to divide my soup and beans with you when you were hungry.”
“True,” said Andrea.
“What an appetite you used to have! Is it as good now?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Andrea, laughing.
“How did you come to be dining with that prince whose house you have just left?”
“He is not a prince; simply a count.”
“A count, and a rich one too, eh?”
“Yes; but you had better not have anything to say to him, for he is not a very good-tempered gentleman.”
“Oh, be easy! I have no design upon your count, and you shall have him all to yourself. But,” said Caderousse, again smiling with the disagreeable expression he had before assumed, “you must pay for it — you understand?”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I think that with a hundred francs a month” —
“Well?”
“I could live” —
“Upon a hundred francs!”
“Come — you understand me; but that with” —
“With?”
“With a hundred and fifty francs I should be quite happy.”
“Here are two hundred,” said Andrea; and he placed ten gold louis in the hand of Caderousse.
“Good!” said Caderousse.
“Apply to the steward on the first day of every mouth, and you will receive the same sum.”
“There now, again you degrade me.”
“How so?”
“By making me apply to the servants, when I want to transact business with you alone.”
“Well, be it so, then. Take it from me then, and so long at least as I receive my income, you shall be paid yours.”
“Come, come; I always said you were a line fellow, and it is a blessing when good fortune happens to such as you. But tell me all about it?”
“Why do you wish to know?” asked Cavalcanti.
“What? do you again defy me?”
“No; the fact is, I have found my father.”
“What? a real father?”
“Yes, so long as he pays me” —
“You’ll honor and believe him — that’s right. What is his name?”
“Major Cavalcanti.”
“Is he pleased with you?”
“So far I have appeared to answer his purpose.”
“And who found this father for you?”