himself up to his full height; but Risler was determined, and all Bibi's
arguments met the same refusal--"Later, in two or three years, I don't
say something may not be done."

The actor fought for a long time, yielding his ground inch by inch.
He proposed revising his estimates. The thing might be done cheaper.
"It would still be too dear for me," Risler interrupted. "My name
doesn't belong to me. It is a part of the firm. I have no right to
pledge it. Imagine my going into bankruptcy!" His voice trembled as he
uttered the word.

"But if everything is in my name," said Delobelle, who had no
superstition. He tried everything, invoked the sacred interests of art,
went so far as to mention the fascinating actresses whose alluring
glances--Risler laughed aloud.

"Come, come, you rascal! What's that you're saying? You forget that
we're both married men, and that it is very late and our wives are
expecting us. No ill-will, eh?--This is not a refusal, you understand.
--By the way, come and see me after the inventory. We will talk it over
again. Ah! there's Pere Achille putting out his gas.--I must go in.
Good-night."

It was after one o'clock when the actor returned home. The two women
were waiting for him, working as usual, but with a sort of feverish
activity which was strange to them. Every moment the great scissors that
Mamma Delobelle used to cut the brass wire were seized with strange fits
of trembling, and Desiree's little fingers, as she mounted an insect,
moved so fast that it made one dizzy to watch them. Even the long
feathers of the little birds scattered about on the table before her