"It was all this that helped me to my destruction. He ate, this
devilish Italian, like three, and I too, I was so hungry,--forgive
me, sir,--I did my share. But by the time we reached the cheese, a
fine, ripe Camembert, had our coffee, and one thimbleful of green
Chartreuse, I was _plein jusqu'au bec_, gorged up to the beak."

"And what of your duty, your service, pray?"

"I did think of it, monsieur, but then, he, the Italian, was just
the same as myself. He was a colleague. I had no fear of him, not
till the very last, when he played me this evil turn. I suspected
nothing when he brought out his pocketbook,--it was stuffed full,
monsieur; I saw that and my confidence increased,--called for the
reckoning, and paid with an Italian bank-note. The waiter looked
doubtful at the foreign money, and went out to consult the
manager. A minute after, my man got up, saying:

"'There may be some trouble about changing that bank-note. Excuse
me one moment, pray.' He went out, monsieur, and piff-paff, he was
no more to be seen."

"Ah, _nigaud_ (ass), you are too foolish to live! Why did you
not follow him? Why let him out of your sight?"

"But, monsieur, I was not to know, was I? I was to accompany him,
not to watch him. I have done wrong, I confess. But then, who was
to tell he meant to run away?"

M. Floçon could not deny the justice of this defence. It was only