"Thank you, neighbour; but I am not in spirits,--my heart is too heavy,--another time with pleasure. But the evening when poor Germain leaves his prison, I invite myself, and afterwards you shall take me to the theatre. Is that a bargain?"
"It is, neighbour; and I assure you I will not forget the engagement. But you refuse me this to-day?"
"Yes, M. Rodolph. I should be a very dull companion, without saying a word about the time it would occupy me; for, you see, at this moment, I really cannot afford to be idle, or waste one single quarter of an hour."
"Then, for to-day I renounce the pleasure."
"There is my parcel, neighbour. Now go out first, and I will lock the door."
"Here's a capital pen for you; and now for the parcel."
"Mind you don't rumple it; it is _pout-de-soie_, and soon creases. Hold it in your hand,--carefully,--there, in that way; that's it. Now go, and I will show you a light."
And Rodolph descended the staircase, followed by Rigolette.
At the moment when the two neighbours were passing by the door of the porter's lodge they saw M. Pipelet, who, with his arms hanging down, was advancing towards them from the bottom of the passage, holding in one hand the sign which announced his Partnership of Friendship with Cabrion, and in the other the portrait of the confounded painter. Alfred's despair was so overwhelming that his chin touched his breast, so that the wide crown of his bell-shaped hat was easily seen. Seeing him thus, with his head lowered, coming towards Rodolph and Rigolette, he might have been compared to a ram, or a brave Breton, preparing for combat.
Anastasie soon appeared on the threshold of the lodge, and exclaimed, at her husband's appearance:
"Well, dearest old boy, here you are! And what did the commissary say to you? Alfred, Alfred, mind what you're doing, or you'll poke your head against my king of lodgers. Excuse him, M. Rodolph. It is that vagabond of a Cabrion, who uses him worse and worse. He'll certainly turn my dear old darling into a donkey! Alfred, love, speak to me!"
At this voice, so dear to his heart, M. Pipelet raised his head. His features were impressed with a bitter agony.
"What did the commissary say to you?" inquired Anastasie.