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Updated: May 25, 2025
M. Fortunat did not reply at once; but he drew the note with which he had provided himself from his pocket, and displayed it. "I am a huissier's clerk," he then exclaimed; "and I called in reference to this little matter a note of hand for five hundred and eighty-three francs, value received in goods, signed Vantrasson, and made payable to the order of a person named Barutin."
He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by a pin to a huissier's protest, thus proving conclusively that it had been dishonored. M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, and with a satisfied air exclaimed: "It is here that I must strike; it is here if Casimir hasn't deceived me that I shall find the indispensable information I need."
Drunken men cling tenaciously to their friends; and M. Fortunat was asking himself what strategy he could employ, when the waiter entered, and said: "There's a very light-complexioned man here, who looks as if he were a huissier's clerk. He wishes to speak with you, gentlemen." "Ah! it's Chupin!" exclaimed the valet. "He is a friend. Let him come in, and bring us another glass.
As she hated the huissier, a vulgar man who thought of nothing but the good things that the Veuve Figasso could put into his stomach, and as her besotted mother starved them both in order to fulfil the huissier's demands, and as she derived no compensating joy from her dressmaking, she had found, thanks to a friend, a positron as figurante in a Marseilles Revue, and, voila there she was free, independent, and, since she had talent and application, was now earning her six francs a day.
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