“Call it eight hundred thousand francs,” broke in Mascarin.  “Say I drew the same amount as you did.  We have spent ours, and Catenac has saved his, and grown rich; hence my distrust.  Our interests are no longer identical.  He certainly comes here every month, but it is only to claim his share; he consents to take his share of the profits, but shirks the risks.  It is fully ten years since he brought in any business.  I don’t trust him at all.  He always declines to join in any scheme that we propose, and sees danger in everything.”

“He would not betray us, however.”

Mascarin took a few moments for reflection.  “I think,” said he, “that Catenac is afraid of us.  He knows that the ruin of me would entail the destruction of the other two.  This is our only safeguard; but if he dare not injure us openly, he is quite capable of working against us in secret.  Do you remember what he said the last time he was here?  That we ought to close our business and retire.  How should we live? for he is rich and we are poor.  What on earth are you doing, Hortebise?” he added, for the physician, who had the reputation of being worth an enormous amount, had taken out his purse, and was going over the contents.

“I have scarcely three hundred and twenty-seven francs!” answered he with a laugh.  “What is the state of your finances?”

Mascarin made a grimace.  “I am not so well off as you; and besides,” he continued in a low voice, as though speaking to himself, “I have certain ties which you do not possess.”

For the first time during this interview a cloud spread over the doctor’s countenance.

“Great Heavens!” said he, “and I was depending on you for three thousand francs, which I require urgently.”

Mascarin smiled slyly at the doctor’s uneasiness.  “Don’t worry,” he answered.  “You can have that; there ought to be some six or eight thousand francs in the safe.  But that is all, and that is the last of our common capital,—­this after twenty years of toil, danger, and anxiety, and we have not twenty years before us to make a fresh fortune in.”

“Yes,” continued Mascarin, “we are getting old, and therefore have the greater reason for making one grand stroke to assure our fortune.  Were I to fall ill to-morrow, all would go to smash.”

“Quite true,” returned the doctor, with a slight shudder.

“We must, and that is certain, venture on a bold stroke.  I have said this for years, and woven a web of gigantic proportions.  Do you now know why at this last moment I appeal to you, and not to Catenac for assistance?  If only one out of two operations that I have fully explained to you succeeds, our fortune is made.”

“I follow you exactly.”

“The question now is whether the chance of success is sufficiently great to warrant our going on with these undertakings.  Think it over and let me have your opinion.”