cancelled for the entire rights in perpetuity.  Now as it is not possible for me to refund the amount of my notes and interest, namely, three thousand two hundred and forty francs, I must,—­unless you intend to step between those usurers and me,—­I must yield to them.  They are not content with my word of honor; they first obtained the notes, then they had them protested, and now I am threatened with arrest for debt.  If I could manage to pay them back, those scoundrels would have doubled their money.  If I accept their terms they will make a fortune out of my book and I shall get almost nothing; one of them is a paper-maker, and God knows how they may keep down the costs of publication.  They will have my name, and that alone will sell ten thousand copies for them.”

“But, monsieur, how could you, a former magistrate!—­”

“How could I help it?  Not a friend, not a claim that I could make!  And yet I saved many heads, if I made some fall!  And, then, my daughter, my daughter! whose nurse I am, whose companion I must be; so that I can work but a few hours snatched from sleep.  Ah, young man! none but the wretched can judge the wretched!  Sometimes I think I used to be too stern to misery.”

“Monsieur, I do not ask your name.  I cannot provide three thousand francs, especially if I pay Halpersohn and your lesser debts; but I will save you if you will promise me not to part with your book without letting me know.  It is impossible for me to arrange a matter as important as this without consulting others.  My backers are powerful, and I can promise you success if you, in return, will promise me absolute secrecy, even to your children, and keep your promise.”

“The only success I care for is the recovery of my poor Vanda; for such sufferings as hers extinguish every other feeling in a father’s heart.  As for fame, what is that to one who sees an open grave before him?”

“I will come and see you this evening; they expect Halpersohn at any time, and I shall go there day after day until I find him.”

“Ah, monsieur! if you should be the cause of my daughter’s recovery, I would like,—­yes, I would like to give you my work!”

“Monsieur,” said Godefroid, “I am not a publisher.”

The old man started with surprise.

“I let that old Vauthier think so in order to discover the traps they were laying for you.”

“Then who are you?”

“Godefroid,” replied the initiate; “and since you allow me to offer you enough to make the pot boil, you can call me, if you like, Godefroid de Bouillon.”

The old man was far too moved to laugh at a joke.  He held out his hand to Godefroid, and pressed that which the young man gave him in return.

“You wish to keep your incognito?” he said, looking at Godefroid sadly, with some uneasiness.

“If you will allow it.”

“Well, as you will.  Come to-night, and you shall see my daughter if her condition permits.”