Poterne, who had listened very attentively to Daréna, reflected for some moments on what he had heard, and replied at last:
“If the young man has no love-affairs on hand, it is probably because he has not yet met a woman who has really attracted him. Those dancers of yours who seemed to be throwing themselves at his head--that’s not the way to captivate a wholly inexperienced heart, which wants illusions, ardent passion. Never fear, I’ll find what he needs, and before long I will involve him in a most romantic and complicated intrigue.”
“Remember that you cannot show your face before Chérubin, who is quite capable of kicking you downstairs. He is in a terrible rage with you, I warn you.”
“Oh! don’t be alarmed; if I appear before him, I will take good care that he doesn’t recognize me.”
“Poterne, if you succeed in arousing a passionate love in our young man’s heart, I will give you back my esteem.”
“Oh, yes! I shall succeed! But first, you must give me time to find a pretty girl, and then to learn whether--I say, Bruno! Bruno! where are you going, you little rascal?”
During the foregoing conversation between Daréna and Poterne, the small boy, who had understood that he was not to play the part of a monkey, as he had been led to expect, had resumed his ordinary garb; but, when he had finished his toilet, Monsieur Bruno, presuming that no one was paying any heed to him, rolled the monkey’s skin around the mask, put it under his arm, and left the room.
“My skin! my monkey’s skin, Bruno!” cried Monsieur Poterne, running out to the landing. “Ah! you little vagabond! don’t you mean to give it back to me?”
But Monsieur Bruno, who had become very skilful in gymnastic exercises, thanks to the lessons he had taken in playing the monkey, ran down the stairs so rapidly that he was at the foot before Poterne had covered three stairs. The latter ran after the little thief none the less; and while Daréna returned to his room, laughing at the episode, Monsieur Poterne ran through the street after the bootblack, crying:
“My skin! my skin! stop that little scamp--he’s stolen my skin!”
On returning home, Chérubin sent for Jasmin and said to him:
“If Monsieur Poterne should ever dare to appear here again, I order you to have him thrown out of doors; you may even go so far as to order the concierge to thrash him; but you must not undertake it yourself, for you are too old and he would return the compliment.”