“Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic,” cried the fair Heloise.  “What is it all about?”

“Madame drops down upon us like—­”

“Like a dancer,” said Heloise; “let me prompt you,—­missus!”

“Come, I am busy,” said Gaudissart.  “The joke has gone far enough.  Heloise, this is M. Pons’ confidential servant; she had come to tell me that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected to live.  I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit.”

“It would ruin him,” said Gaudissart.  “He might find next day that he owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse to admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own.  No, look here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon prize——­”

He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly appeared.

“Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.—­Sit down, madame.”

“Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!” exclaimed Heloise.  “How stupid!  There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don’t cry.—­I say, now,” she continued, taking the manager into a corner, “you want to make me take the leading part in the ballet in Ariane, you Turk.  You are going to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable—­”

“Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war.”

“I shall bring your children on the scene!  I will borrow some somewhere.”

“I have owned up about the attachment.”

“Do be nice, and give Pons’ post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace.”

“But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back again.”

“Oh, as to that, no, sir,” said La Cibot.  “He began to wander in his mind last night, and now he is delirious.  It will soon be over, unfortunately.”

“At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!” pleaded Heloise.  “He has the whole press on his side—­”

Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand francs in his hand.

“Give it to madame here,” said Gaudissart.  “Good-day, my good woman; take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see him to-morrow, or sometime—­as soon as I can, in short.”

“A drowning man,” said Heloise.

“Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre.  May God bless you!”

“To what account shall I post this item?” asked the cashier.

“I will countersign the order.  Post it to the bonus account.”

Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, and heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: 

“Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the Mohicans in twelve days?  If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons’ place.”