Cobb laughed.  “Is that all that is troubling you?” he asked.

“All!” Savinien shrugged his immense shoulders desolately.  “All!  That was merely the commencement,” he said.  “And even that did not finish there.”

“I hope Rigobert didn’t get any of it back,” said Cobb.

“He did his best,” replied Savinien.  “In a minute or two he collected his wits and addressed himself to the situation.  It was worth seeing.  He shook his depression from him like a dog shaking water from its coat, and sat up.  Enterprise, determination, ruthlessness were eloquent in his countenance; I felt like a child before such a combination of qualities.  Then he began to talk.  He has an air, that brigand; he can cock his head so as to deceive a bailiff; he can wear a certain nobility of countenance; and with it all he can importune like a beggar.  He has a horrid and plausible fluency; he is deaf to denials; he drugs you with words and robs you before you recover consciousness.  He had got the length of quoting my own verses to me, and I felt myself going, when deliverance arrived.  A stout man paused on the pavement, surveying us both, then came towards us.

“‘Monsieur Rigobert,’ he said, with that fashion of politeness which one dreads, ‘I am on my way to your address.’”

“‘Do not let me detain you,’ replied Rigobert unpleasantly.

“‘But,’ said the other, ’this was the day you appointed, M’sieur.  You said, ‘Bring your bill to me on the 13th, and I will pay it.’  Here is the bill.’”

“He plunged his hand into his breast pocket and fumbled with papers.  Rigobert examined me rapidly.  But the spell was broken, and I was myself again master of my emotions, and of the thousand francs.  He saw that it was hopeless—­and rose.

“‘Monsieur,’ he said to the tradesman, ’this is not a time to talk to me of business.  I have just suffered a painful bereavement.’”

“He made a gesture with his hand, mournful and resigned, and walked away, while the tradesman gazed after him.  And there was I—­rich and safe!  I felt a warmth that pervaded me.  I settled my hat on my head and reached for my cane.  It was then that the truly significant thing occurred—­the clue, as it were.  My hand, as I took my cane, brushed against my liqueur glass upon the table; it fell, rolled to the edge, and disappeared.  The waiter dived for it, while I waited to pay for the breakage.  His foolish German face came up over the edge of the table, crumpled in a smile.

“‘It is all right,’ he said.  ‘The glass is not broken.’”

“It was then, my friend, that I began to perceive how things were with me.  Dimly at first, but, as the day proceeded, with growing clearness.  I became aware that I stood in the shadow of some strange fate.  Small ills, chances of trifling misfortune, stood aloof, and let me pass unharmed; I was destined to be the prey of a mightier evil.  When I light my cigarette, do my matches blow out in the wind?  No, they burn with the constancy of an altar candle.  If I leave my gloves in a cab, as happened yesterday, do I lose them?  No, the cabman comes roaring down the street at my back to catch me and restore them.  A thousand such providences make up my day.  This morning, just before I encountered you, the chief and most signal of them all occurred.”