Monsieur Choucru now came upon the scene; a short, rosy, round-faced
little man in a white flat cap and bibbed apron--like an elderly cherub
that had taken to cookery. He hung back upon the threshold, wiping his
forehead, and evidently unwilling to show himself in his shirt-sleeves.

"Here, _mon bon_," cried Madame, who was by this time crimson with
gratified vanity, and in a fever of curiosity; "this way--the gentleman
is waiting to speak to you!"

Monsieur, the cook and proprietor, shuffled his feet to and fro in the
doorway, but came no nearer.

"_Parbleu_!" he said, "if M'sieur's business is not urgent."

"It is extremely urgent, Monsieur Choucru," replied Müller; "and,
moreover, it is not so much my business as it is yours,"

"Ah bah! if it is my business, then, it may stand over till to-morrow,"
replied the little man, impatiently. "To-day I have eighty dinners on
hand, and with M'sieur's permission"....

But Müller strode to the door and caught him by the shoulder.

"No, Monsieur Choucru," he said sternly, "I will not let you ruin
yourself by putting off till to-morrow what can only be done to-day. I
have come here, Monsieur Choucru, to offer you fame. Fame and fortune,
Monsieur Choucru!--and I will not suffer you, for the sake of a few
miserable dinners, to turn your back upon the most brilliant moment of
your life!"