Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/180

Rodolphe was alarmed for a moment, and at the sight of the cocked-hat and the coat thought that he had a police-officer before him.

But the sight of the tolerably well-filled bag made him perceive his mistake.

“Ah! I have it,” thought he, “it is something on account of my inheritance, this man comes from the West Indies. But in that case why is he not black?”

And making a sign to the man, he said, pointing to the bag, “ I know all about it. Put it down there. Thanks.”

The man was a messenger of the Bank of France. He replied to Rodolphe’s request by holding before his eyes a small strip of paper covered with writing and figures in various colored inks.

“You want a receipt,” said Rodolphe. “That is right. Pass me the pen and ink. There, on the table.”

“No, I have come to take money,” replied the messenger. “An acceptance for a hundred and fifty francs. It is the 15th of April.”

“Ah!” observed Rodolphe, examining the acceptance. “Pay to the order of ——— Birmann. It is my tailor. Alas,” he added, in melancholy tones casting his eyes alternately upon a frock coat thrown on the bed and upon the acceptance, “causes depart but effects return. What, it is the 15th of April? It is extraordinary, I have not yet had any strawberries this year.”

The messenger, weary of delay, left the room, saying to Rodolphe, “You have till four o’clock to pay.”

“There is no time like the present,” replied Rodolphe. “The humbug,” he added regretfully, following the cocked hat with his eyes, “he has taken away his bag.”

Rodolphe drew the curtains of his bed and tried to retrace the path to his inheritance, but he made a mistake on the road and proudly entered into a dream in which