Irritated beyond endurance by what he termed his
stupidity, he was trying to decide whether he should enter the
cafe or not, when he saw M. Wilkie take his bill from the hands of
a waiter, glance at it, and throw a louis on the table. His
companion had drawn out his pocketbook for the ostensible purpose
of paying for the coffee he had taken; but Wilkie, with a cordial
gesture, forbade it, and made that magnificent, imperious sign to
the waiter, which so clearly implies: "Take nothing! All is paid!
Keep the change." Thereupon the servant gravely retired, more than
ever convinced of the fact that vanity increases the fabulous
total of Parisian gratuities by more than a million francs a year.
"My gallant youths are coming out," thought Chupin. "I must keep
my ears open." And approaching the door, he dropped on one knee,
and pretended to be engaged in tying his shoestrings. This is one
of the thousand expedients adopted by spies and inquisitive
people. And when a man is foolish enough to tell his secrets in
the street, he should at least be wise enough to distrust the
people near him who pretend to be absorbed in something else; for
in nine cases out of ten these persons are listening to him,
possibly for pay, or possibly from curiosity.
However, the young men whom Chupin was watching were far from
suspecting that they were under surveillance. M. Wilkie came out
first, talking very loud, as often happens when a man has just
partaken of a good dinner, and is blessed with an excellent
digestion.
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