“Whether I believe in God or not, is no business of yours.  I do not intend to be questioned.  Answer me first:  where have you seen my daughter?”

“In my father’s shop, and in this house, when I brought jewelry for Mademoiselle Julie.”

“Who told you her name was Julie?  What are we coming to, great heavens!  But be her name Julie or Javotte, do you know what is wanted in any one who aspires to the hand of the daughter of a fermier-general?”

“No, I am completely ignorant of it, unless it is to be as rich as she.”

“Something more is necessary, my boy; you must have a name.”

“Well! my name is Croisilles.”

“Your name is Croisilles, poor wretch!  Do you call that a name?”

“Upon my soul and conscience, sir, it seems to me to be as good a name as Godeau.”

“You are very impertinent, sir, and you shall rue it.”

“Indeed, sir, do not be angry; I had not the least idea of offending you.  If you see in what I said anything to wound you, and wish to punish me for it, there is no need to get angry.  Have I not told you that on leaving here I am going straight to drown myself?”

Although M. Godeau had promised himself to send Croisilles away as gently as possible, in order to avoid all scandal, his prudence could not resist the vexation of his wounded pride.  The interview to which he had to resign himself was monstrous enough in itself; it may be imagined, then, what he felt at hearing himself spoken to in such terms.

“Listen,” he said, almost beside himself, and determined to close the matter at any cost.  “You are not such a fool that you cannot understand a word of common sense.  Are you rich?  No.  Are you noble?  Still less so.  What is this frenzy that brings you here?  You come to worry me; you think you are doing something clever; you know perfectly well that it is useless; you wish to make me responsible for your death.  Have you any right to complain of me?  Do I owe a son to your father?  Is it my fault that you have come to this?  Mon Dieu!  When a man is going to drown himself, he keeps quiet about it—­”

“That is what I am going to do now.  I am your very humble servant.”

“One moment!  It shall not be said that you had recourse to me in vain.  There, my boy, here are three louis d’or:  go and have dinner in the kitchen, and let me hear no more about you.”

“Much obliged; I am not hungry, and I have no use for your money.”

So Croisilles left the room, and the financier, having set his conscience at rest by the offer he had just made, settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and resumed his meditations.