"Let me make your affinities known to each other," said Tricotrin. "My
brother Nicolas--my brother Adolphe. Brother Adolphe has received a
scenario of the tragedy already, and he has a knack of inventing
brilliant 'curtains.'"

Behind Pitou's back he winked at Petitpas, as if to say, "He little
suspects what a surprise you have in store for him!"

"Oh--er--I am grieved to hear of your trouble, monsieur Pitou," said
Petitpas feebly.

"What? 'Grieved'? Come, that isn't all about it!" cried Tricotrin, who
attributed his restraint to nothing but diffidence. In an undertone he
added, "Don't be nervous, dear boy. Your invitation won't offend him in
the least!"

Petitpas breathed heavily. He aspired to prove himself a true bohemian,
but his heart quailed at the thought of such expense. Two suppers, two
beds, and two little breakfasts as a supplement to his bill would be no
joke. It was with a very poor grace that he stammered at last, "I hope
you will allow me to suggest a way out, monsieur Pitou? A room at my
hotel seems to dispose of the difficulty."

"Hem?" exclaimed Pitou. "Is that room a mirage, or are you serious?"

"'Serious'?" echoed Tricotrin. "He is as serious as an English
adaptation of a French farce." He went on, under his breath, "You
mustn't judge him by his manner, I can see that he has turned a little
shy. Believe me, he is the King of Trumps."