"Oblige me by doing nothing of the kind," said my father, very
decisively. "It would displease me extremely."

The Chevalier counted out the eight little pink cards, and ranged them
in a row beside my father's desk.

"Count them, Monsieur, if you please," said he, his eyes wandering
involuntarily towards the sovereign.

My father did so with much gravity, and handed over the money.

The Chevalier consigned it, with trembling fingers, to a small canvas
bag, which looked very empty, and which came from the deepest recesses
of his pocket.

"Monsieur," said he, "my thanks are in my heart. I will not fatigue you
with them. Good-morning."

He bowed again, for perhaps the twentieth time; lingered a moment at the
threshold; and then retired, closing the door softly after him.

My father rubbbed his head all over, and gave a great yawn of
satisfaction.

"I am so much obliged to you, sir," I said, eagerly.

"What for?"

"For having bought those tickets. It was very kind of you."