I been entirely the rogue you think me, I could have sold you on Saturday last? I want you to understand me, my dear Parvissimus."
"I beg that you'll not apologize. You would be more tiresome than ever."
"Of course you will be gibing. You never miss a chance to gibe. It'll bring you trouble before you're done with life. Come; here we are back at the inn, and you have not yet given me your decision."
André-Louis looked at him. "I must yield, of course. I can't help myself."
M. Binet released his arm at last, and slapped him heartily upon the back. "Well declared, my lad. You'll never regret it. If I know anything of the theatre, I know that you have made the great decision of your life. To-morrow night you'll thank me."
André-Louis shrugged, and stepped out ahead towards the inn. But M. Binet called him back.
"M. Parvissimus!"
He turned. There stood the man's great bulk, the moonlight beating down upon that round fat face of his, and he was holding out his hand.
"M. Parvissimus, no rancour. It is a thing I do not admit into my life. You will shake hands with me, and we will forget all this."
André-Louis considered him a moment with disgust. He was growing angry. Then, realizing this, he conceived himself ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as that sly, scoundrelly Pantaloon. He laughed and took the outstretched hand.
"No rancour?" M. Binet insisted.
"Oh, no rancour," said André-Louis.
