He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and composedly seated himself opposite to his late master.

Monsieur Bonelle was a thin old man, with a pale sharp face and keen features.  At first he eyed his visitor from the depths of his vast arm-chair; but, as if not, satisfied with this distant view, he bent forward, and laying both hands on his thin knees, he looked up into Ramin’s face with a fixed and piercing gaze.  He had not, however, the power of disconcerting his guest.

“What did you come here for?” he at length asked.

“Merely to have the extreme satisfaction of seeing how you are, my good old friend.  Nothing more.”

“Well, look at me—­and then go.”

Nothing could be so discouraging:  but this was an Excellent Opportunity, and when Monsieur Ramin had an excellent opportunity in view, his pertinacity was invincible.  Being now resolved to stay, it was not in Monsieur Bonelle’s power to banish him.  At the same time he had tact enough to render his presence agreeable.  He knew that his coarse and boisterous wit had often delighted Monsieur Bonelle of old, and he now exerted himself so successfully as to betray the old man two or three times into hearty laughter.  “Ramin,” said he at length, laying his thin hand on the arm of his guest, and peering with his keen glance into the mercer’s purple face, “you are a funny fellow, but I know you; you cannot make me believe you have called just to see how I am, and to amuse me.  Come, be candid for once; what do you want?”

Ramin threw himself back in his chair, and laughed blandly, as much as to say, “Can you suspect me?”

“I have no shop now out of which you can wheedle me,” continued the old man; “and surely you are not such a fool as to come to me for money.”

“Money!” repeated the draper, as if his host had mentioned something he never dreamt of.  “Oh, no!”

Ramin saw it would not do to broach the subject he had really come about, too abruptly, now that suspicion seemed so wide awake—­the opportunity had not arrived.

“There is something up, Ramin, I know; I see it in the twinkle of your eye; but you can’t deceive me again.”

“Deceive you?” said the jolly schemer, shaking his head reverentially.  “Deceive a man of your penetration and depth?  Impossible!  The bare supposition is flattery.  My dear friend,” he continued, soothingly, “I did not dream of such a thing.  The fact is, Bonelle, though they call me a jovial, careless, rattling dog, I have a conscience; and, somehow, I have never felt quite easy about the way in which I became your successor down-stairs.  It was rather sharp practice, I admit.”

Bonelle seemed to relent.

“Now for it,” said the Opportunity-hunter to himself—­“By-the-bye,” (speaking aloud,) “this house must be a great trouble to you in your present weak state?  Two of your lodgers have lately gone away without paying—­a great nuisance, especially to an invalid.”