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Rh "No, Monsieur Xavier."

"Why, yes . . . whym yes . . . Anthime Fumeau?'

"I assure you that I do not."

"A fat fellow, very young, very red-faced, ultra-stylish, the finest teams in Paris. Fumeau an income of three millions. Tartlet the Kid? Why, yes, you know him."

"But I tell you that I do not know him."

"You astonish me! Why, everybody knows him. Don't you know the Fumeau biscuit? The young fellow who had a judicial adviser appointed for him two months ago? Don't you remember?"

"Not at all, I swear to you, Monsieur Xavier."

"Never mind, little turkey. Well, I played a good one on Fumeau last year,—a very good one. Guess what? You do not guess?"

"How do you expect me to guess, since I do not know him?"

"Well, it was this, my little baby. I introduced Fumeau to my mother. Upon my word! What do you think of that for a discovery? And the funniest part of it is that in two months mamma succeeded in blackmailing Fumeau to the tune of three hundred thousand bones. What a godsend that, for papa's works! Oh! they know a thing or two; they are up to snuff! But for that, the house would have gone up. We were over head and ears in debt. The priests themselves were refusing to