IV

AT half-past seven o'clock, when Mathieu arrived at the restaurant on the
Place de la Madeleine where he was to meet his employer, he found him
already there, drinking a glass of madeira with his customer, M.
Firon-Badinier. The dinner was a remarkable one; choice viands and the
best wines were served in abundance. But Mathieu was struck less by the
appetite which the others displayed than by Beauchene's activity and
skill. Glass in hand, never losing a bite, he had already persuaded his
customer, by the time the roast arrived, to order not only the new
thresher but also a mowing machine. M. Firon-Badinier was to take the
train for Evreux at nine-twenty, and when nine o'clock struck, the other,
now eager to be rid of him, contrived to pack him off in a cab to the
St.-Lazare railway station.

For a moment Beauchene remained standing on the pavement with Mathieu,
and took off his hat in order that the mild breezes of that delightful
May evening might cool his burning head.

"Well, that's settled," he said with a laugh. "But it wasn't so easily
managed. It was the Pommard which induced the beggar to make up his mind.
All the same, I was dreadfully afraid he would make me miss my
appointment."

These remarks, which escaped him amid his semi-intoxication, led him to
more confidential talk. He put on his hat again, lighted a fresh cigar,
and took Mathieu's arm. Then they walked on slowly through the
passion-stirred throng and the nightly blaze of the Boulevards.

"There's plenty of time," said Beauchene. "I'm not expected till