Part 30 (1/2)

With that, he hastily took his leave of the three young men and went home.

Darena at this time occupied a small, but attractive apartment on Rue Neuve-Breda. Thanks to Poterne's transactions with the young marquis, of which Darena received a share of the profits, he had been in funds for some time. His man of business occupied a small room above his apartment.

”Is Poterne in my rooms?” asked Darena, as he pa.s.sed the concierge.

”In yours or else in his, monsieur,” was the reply; ”he's upstairs. I just saw him go in with the little boy who's been coming to see him every day for a fortnight.”

”Aha! so a little boy comes to see him every morning? About how old a boy?”

”Oh! perhaps ten or twelve years old; but he's got a very sharp face. He ain't handsome, but in spite of that, he's got such a sly expression that you'd almost call him good-looking.”

”What in the deuce can Poterne be doing with this boy?” said Darena to himself as he went upstairs. ”Can it be his son? Oh, no! a man like him never acknowledges a child; he would have to take care of him. It's probably some urchin whom he has hired to do his errands and polish his boots; but I supposed that he did all that himself.”

Darena entered his room, and, not finding Poterne there, went up another flight and knocked at the door of his agent's chamber.

Instantly there was a great commotion inside; it was as if chairs were being upset, and closet doors opened and shut. At last Monsieur Poterne's shrill, unmusical voice inquired:

”Who's there?”

”Parbleu! it's I. Let me in, you old scoundrel.”

”Why don't you let me know who it is at once?” asked Poterne, as he opened the door. ”I was very busy--your knock disturbed me--as I didn't know who it was.”

Darena glanced about the room, which was in great disorder; then, fastening his eyes on Poterne, who seemed to be anxious to set things to rights, he said:

”You weren't alone here, you had a small boy with you. What devilish mystery are you brewing now, with this child? Come, answer quickly; I am in no joking mood, I promise you!”

Monsieur Poterne's only reply was to call out:

”Come, Bruno, come; you can show yourself; it was my intimate friend, there's no danger!”

Instantly a closet opened and a small boy of twelve years or more emerged and rolled across the floor, uttering a shrill noise not unlike the cry of a savage. The singularity of his behavior was intensified by the fact that he was clad from head to foot in a sort of greenish skin, hairy in spots; that that skin, which covered his hands and feet as well, ended at those extremities in something like claws; and that a very slender and exceedingly long tail depended from his posterior. His face alone was uncovered.

”What in the devil is this?” asked Darena, examining the boy, who went through a mult.i.tude of leaps and capers on the floor, and seemed perfectly accustomed to walking on his hands.

Monsieur Poterne emitted a hollow rumble, as if he were laughing internally, and replied:

”This is a monkey I am training.”

”A monkey! For whom, pray?”

”For our young marquis. I wanted to sell him a large and handsome monkey, but I had no desire to put out the money for one. I had noticed this little bootblack at the corner; the rascal always did what errands I gave him, to my entire satisfaction; I saw that he was a bright little devil, so I proposed to him to play the monkey, for a handsome remuneration. I bought this orang-outang's costume, which is very lifelike; Bruno comes here every morning and puts it on; then he practises jumping and capering. He is doing very well, and he's more amusing than a real monkey. I have a mask, but I haven't made up my mind whether to have him wear one. As he is horribly ugly, I think that, by staining his face and gluing hair on his eyebrows and chin, I could make a fine monkey of him! Ha! ha!”

Darena threw himself into a chair; he could not help laughing with his agent, as he rejoined:

”This is shocking! it is horrible! and yet I cannot help laughing!

Really, this idea of manufacturing a monkey--Poterne, it's a pity that you are such a vile knave, for you have much imagination. But let us suppose that Cherubin has bought this counterfeit monkey--is Monsieur Bruno inclined to remain an animal all his life?”

”Why, no,” replied Poterne; ”once in the house, he will cleverly choose the moment to take flight; he will escape in one way or another--by the chimney, if need be; for he has been a sweep, and he is perfectly at home climbing chimneys. That part of it doesn't concern me, you see; I sell a monkey and get my money; it isn't my fault if you let him escape.