“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.”

“Oh! a very good fellow.”

“But stop,” resumed Rodin, appearing to recollect himself; “ain’t he a man about thirty-six or forty, fat, with a ruddy complexion?”

“Ruddy as a glass of red wine,” said Rose-Pompon, “and with a pimpled nose like a mulberry.”

“That’s the man—­M.  Dumoulin.  Oh! in that case, I am quite satisfied, my dear child.  The jest no longer makes me uneasy; for M. Dumoulin is a very worthy man—­only perhaps a little too fond of his joke.”

“Then, sir, you will try to be useful to Jacques?  The stupid pleasantry of Ninny Moulin will not prevent you?”

“I hope not.”

“But I must not tell Ninny Moulin that you know it was he who sent me to call you M. Rodin—­eh, sir?”

“Why not?  In every case, my dear child, it is always better to speak frankly the truth.”

“But, sir, Ninny Moulin so strongly recommended me not to name him to you—­”

“If you have named him, it is from a very good motive; why not avow it?  However, my dear child, this concerns you, not me.  Do as you think best.”

“And may I tell Cephyse of your good intentions towards Jacques?”

“The truth, my dear child, always the truth.  One need never hesitate to say what is.”

“Poor Cephyse! how happy she will be!” cried Rose-Pompon, cheerfully; “and the news will come just in time.”