When I mentioned the word "double" my sculptor was startled, and drew my attention to the fact that our friend always occupied two houses, one on the right and the other on the left bank of the river. Moreover, I learn that my mysterious friend lives a double life in this sense, that, after he has spent the evening in half-philosophic, half-religious discussions with me, he is always seen late at night in Bullier's dancing-saloon.
There is a sure means of proving the identity of these two "doubles," as the _Revue des Revues_ contains a facsimile letter of Francis Schlatter. "Come to dinner to-night," I suggested. "I will dictate to him Schlatter's letter; if the two handwritings, and especially the signatures, resemble each other, it will be a proof."
At dinner the same evening everything is confirmed, the handwriting and signatures are identical. A little surprised, the artist submits to our examination; at last he asks: "What is your object in this?"
"Don't you remember that doctor in America last year."
He remembers, and I show him the portrait and facsimile.
He laughs sceptically, and remains quite calm and indifferent. That is all.
Some days later I am sitting with my mysterious friend, with our glasses of absinthe, on the terrace of the Café de Versailles, when a fellow in workman's clothes, with a malicious aspect, suddenly stops before the café, then rushes through the customers, and bawls at my friend in his loudest voice: "At last I have you, you sharper, who fleeced me! What is the meaning of it? First of all, you order a cross for thirty francs, and then you disappear. Son of a dog! Do you think a cross like that makes itself?"
He continued to rage. The café waiters vainly attempted to remove him; he threatened to fetch the police, while the unfortunate accused, motionless, dumb, and prostrate, like a condemned man, remained exposed to the gaze of a circle of artists who all knew him more or less. When the commotion was over, I asked him with a bewildered mind, as if I had witnessed a witches' sabbath: "What cross worth thirty francs? I don't understand a word of the business?"
"It was a model of Joan of Arc's cross which I was going to use for my picture of the crucified woman."