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"
Andre-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."
Andre-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."
Andre-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 Andre-Louis.


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