“What does it signify to you who they are?  Mind your own business, and be off!”

Andre had had some little experience of this delightful class of street arab, of which Toto Chupin was so favorable a specimen, and knew their habits, customs, and language.

“Come, my chicken,” said he, “spit it out, it won’t blister your tongue, to answer a man who asks a civil question.”

“Well, then, I saw ’em, sharp enough, and what then?”

“Why, that I should like to have their names if they have such an article belonging to ’em!”

Toto raised his cap and scratched his head, as if to stimulate his brains, and as he brushed up his thick head of dirty yellow hair, he eyed Andre cunningly.

“And suppose I know the blokes’ names and tells ’em out to you, what will you stand?” asked he.

“Ten sous.”

The delightful youth puffed out his cheeks, then expelled the pent-up wind by a sudden slap, as a mark of his disgust at the meanness of the offer.

“Pull up your braces, my lord,” said he sarcastically, “or you’ll be losing the contents of your breeches pockets.  Ten sous, indeed!  Perhaps you’d like me to lend ’em to yer?”

Andre smiled pleasantly.

“Did you think, my little man, that I was going to offer you twenty thousand shiners?” asked he.

“Won again!” cried Toto; “I laid myself a new hat that you weren’t a fool, and I have collared the stakes.”

“Why do you think I am not a fool?”

“Because a fool would have begun by offering me five francs and gone up slick to ten, while you began at a modest figure.”

The painter smiled.

“But you were too old a bird to be caught like that,” continued the lad; and as he spoke, he stopped, and contracted his brow as if in deep perplexity.  Of course he was acquainted with the names, but ought he to give them?  Instantly he scented an enemy.  Harmless people did not usually ask questions of itinerant chestnut venders, and to open his mouth might be to injure Mascarin, Beaumarchef, or the guileless Tantaine.

This last thought determined the lad.

“Keep your ten sous, my pippin,” said the boy; “I’ll tell you what you want to know all gratis and for nothing, because I’ve taken a real fancy to the cut of your mug.  The tall chap was Mascarin, the fat un Doctor Hortebise, and t’other—­stop, let me think it out in my knowledge box; ah!  I have it, he was Verminet.”

Andre was so delighted that, drawing from his pocket a five-franc piece, he tossed it to the boy.

“Thanks, my noble lord,” said Chupin, and was about to add something more in a similar vein, when he glanced down the street.  His look changed in an instant, and he fixed his eyes upon the painter’s face with a very strange expression.

“What is the matter, my lad?” asked Andre, surprised at this sudden change.

“Nothing,” answered Chupin; “nothing at all; only as you seem a decentish sort of chap, I should recommend you to keep your wits about you, and to look out for squalls.”