“Well! that person with his foolish jokes, has done, without knowing it, a great injury to Jacques Rennepont.”

“What! because I called you Rodin instead of Charlemagne?” cried Rose Pompon, much regretting the pleasantry which she had carried on at the instigation of Ninny Moulin.  “But really, sir,” she added, “what can this joke have to do with the service that you were, about to render Jacques?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you, my child.  In truth, I am very sorry for poor Jacques.  Believe me, I am; but do let me pass.

“Listen to me, sir, I beg,” said Rose-Pompon; “if I told you the name of the person who told me to call you Rodin, would you interest yourself again for Jacques?”

“I do not wish to know any one’s secrets, my dear child.  In all this, you have been the echo of persons who are, perhaps, very dangerous; and, notwithstanding the interest I feel for Jacques Rennepont, I do not wish, you understand, to make myself enemies.  Heaven forbid!”

Rose-Pompon did not at all comprehend Rodin’s fears, and upon this he had counted; for after a second’s reflection, the young girl resumed:  “Well, sir—­this is too deep for me; I do not understand it.  All I know is, that I am truly sorry if I have injured a good young man by a mere joke.  I will tell you exactly how it happened.  My frankness may be of some use.”

“Frankness will often clear up the most obscure matters,” said Rodin, sententiously.

“After all,” said Rose-Pompon, “it’s Ninny’s fault.  Why does he tell me nonsense, that might injure poor Cephyse’s lover?  You see, sir, it happened in this way.  Ninny Moulin who is fond of a joke, saw you just now in the street.  The portress told him that your name was Charlemagne.  He said to me:  ’No; his name is Rodin.  We must play him a trick.  Go to his room, Rose-Pompon, knock at the door, and call him M. Rodin.  You will see what a rum face he will make.’  I promised Ninny Moulin not to name him; but I do it, rather than run the risk of injuring Jacques.”

At Ninny Moulin’s name Rodin had not been able to repress a movement of surprise.  This pamphleteer, whom he had employed to edit the “Neighborly Love,” was not personally formidable; but, being fond of talking in his drink, he might become troublesome, particularly if Rodin, as was probable, had often to visit this house, to execute his project upon Sleepinbuff, through the medium of the Bacchanal Queen.  The socius resolved, therefore, to provide against this inconvenience.

“So, my dear child,” said he to Rose-Pompon, “it is a M. Desmoulins that persuaded you to play off this silly joke?”

“Not Desmoulins, but Dumoulin,” corrected Rose.  “He writes in the pewholders’ papers, and defends the saints for money; for, if Ninny Moulin is a saint, his patrons are Saint Drinkard and Saint Flashette, as he himself declares.”

“This gentleman appears to be very gay.”