"What do you want with him?" asked the man, without looking up from his
work. "Do you wish to enter your name? We have now vacancies for three
bookkeepers, a cashier, a confidential clerk--six other good situations.
Can you give good references?"

These words seemed to be uttered by rote.

"I beg your pardon," returned Paul; "but I should like to see M.
Mascarin. One of his friends sent me here."

This statement evidently impressed the official, and he replied almost
politely, "M. Mascarin is much occupied at present, sir; but he will
soon be disengaged. Pray be seated."

Paul sat down on a bench, and examined the man who had just spoken
with some curiosity. M. Mascarin's partner was a tall and athletic man,
evidently enjoying the best of health, and wearing a large moustache
elaborately waxed and pointed. His whole appearance betokened the old
soldier. He had, so he asserted, served in the cavalry, and it was
there that he had acquired the _soubriquet_ by which he was
known--Beaumarchef, his original name being David. He was about
forty-five, but was still considered a very good-looking fellow. The
entries that he was making in the ledger did not prevent him from
keeping up a conversation with the woman standing by him. The woman,
who seemed to be a cross between a cook and a market-woman, might be
described as a thoroughly jovial soul. She seasoned her conversation
with pinches of snuff, and spoke with a strong Alsatian brogue.

"Now, look here," said Beaumarchef; "do you really mean to say that you