this company, it occurred to him that nowhere could he be better hidden for the present, until the quest for him should have died down.
"Sir," he said, "the indebtedness is on my side. It is not every day one has the felicity to sit down with so illustrious and engaging a company."
Binet's little eyes peered suspiciously at the young man, in quest of irony. He found nothing but candour and simple good faith.
"I part from you reluctantly," André-Louis continued. "The more reluctantly since I do not perceive the absolute necessity for parting."
"How?" quoth Binet, frowning, and slowly withdrawing the hand which the other had already retained rather longer than was necessary.
"Thus," André-Louis explained himself. "You may set me down as a sort of knight of rueful countenance in quest of adventure, with no fixed purpose in life at present. You will not marvel that what I have seen of yourself and your distinguished troupe should inspire me to desire your better acquaintance. On your side you tell me that you are in need of some one to replace your Figaro—your Félicien, I think you called him. Whilst it may be presumptuous of me to hope that I could discharge an office so varied and so onerous..."
"You are indulging that acrid humour of yours again, my friend," Binet interrupted him. "Excepting for that," he added, slowly, meditatively, his little eyes screwed up, "we might discuss this proposal that you seem to be making."
"Alas! we can except nothing. If you take me, you take me as I am. What else is possible? As for this humour—such as it is—which you decry, you might turn it to profitable account."
"How so?"
"In several ways. I might, for instance, teach Léandre to make love."
