“A room, do you say?  I call it a dog kennel.”

“You have your breakfast and dinner every day regularly.”

“I know that, and half a bottle of wine at each meal, which has so much water in it that it cannot even stain the tablecloth.”

“You are an ungrateful young hound,” exclaimed Beaumarchef, “and forget that, in addition to this, he has set you up in business as a hot chestnut seller.”

“Good old business!  I am allowed to stand all day under the gateway, roasted on one side, and frozen on the other, and gain, perhaps twenty sous.”

“You know that in summer he has promised to set you up in the fried potato line.”

“Thank ye for nothing; I don’t like the smell of grease.”

“What is it you want, then?”

“Nothing.  I feels that I ought to be a gentleman at large.”

Beaumarchef cast a furious glance at the shameless youth, and told him that he would report everything to his master.  The boy, however, did not seem to care a pin.

“I intends to see Master Mascarin myself presently,” remarked Chupin.

“You are an idiot.”

“Why so?  Do you think I didn’t live better before I had anything to do with this blooming old cove?  I never worked then.  I used to sing in front of the pubs, and easily made my three francs a day.  My pal and I soon check ’em though, and then off we went to the theatre.  Sometimes we’d make tracks for Ivry, and take our doss in a deserted factory, into which the crushers never put their noses.  In the winter we used to go to the glass houses and sleep in the warm ashes.  All these were good times, while now—­”

“Well, what have you to grumble at now?  Don’t I hand you a five-franc piece every day that you are at work?”

“But that ain’t good enough.  Come, don’t get shirty; all I asks is a rise of salary.  Only say either Yes or No; and if you say No, why, I sends in my resignation.”

Beaumarchef would have given a five-franc piece out of his own pocket for Mascarin to have heard the boy’s impertinence.

“You are a young rascal!” said he, “and keep the worst of company.  There is no use in denying it, for a hang-dog fellow, calling himself Polyte, has been here asking after you.”

“My company ain’t any business of yours.”

“Well, I give you warning, you will come to grief.”

“How?” returned Toto Chupin sulkily.  “How can I come to grief?  If old Mascarin interferes, I’ll shut up his mouth pretty sharp.  I wish you and your master wouldn’t poke their noses into my affairs.  I’m sick of you both.  Don’t you think I’m up to you?  When you make me follow some one for a week at a time, it isn’t to do ’em a kindness, I reckon.  If things turn out badly, I’ve only to go before a beak and speak up; I should get off easily enough then; and if I do so, you will be sorry for not having given me more than my five francs a day.”