Mascarin grew impatient at this unnecessary exhibition of cowardice, but he concealed his feelings as best he could.

“No, no,” answered he; “I only wished to show you the worst side of the affair.”

“There is only one side.”

“Not so, for it is only a supposition that Tantaine had made away with money entrusted to him, and we are not certain of it.  And we only surmise that he has been arrested, and thrown the blame on you.  Before giving up the game, would it not be best to be satisfied on these points?”

Paul felt a little reassured.

“I say nothing,” continued Mascarin, “of the influence I exercise over Tantaine, and which may enable me to compel him to confess the truth.”

Weak natures like Paul’s are raised in a moment from the lowest depths of depression to the highest pitch of exultation, and he already considered that he was saved.

“Shall I ever be able to prove my gratitude to you?” said he impulsively.

Mascarin’s face assumed a paternal expression.

“Perhaps you may,” answered he; “and as a commencement you must entirely forget the past.  Daylight dispels the hideous visions of the night.  I offer you a fresh lease of life; will you become a new man?”

Paul heaved a deep sigh.  “Rose,” he murmured; “I cannot forget her.”

Mascarin frowned.  “What,” said he, “do you still let your thoughts dwell on that woman?  There are people who cringe to the hand that strikes them, and the more they are duped and deceived, the more they love.  If you are made of this kind of stuff, we shall never get on.  Go and find your faithless mistress, and beg her to come back and share your poverty, and see what she will say.”

These sarcasms roused Paul.  “I will be even with her some day,” muttered he.

“Forget her; that is the easiest thing for you to do.”

Even now Paul seemed to hesitate.  “What,” said his patron reproachfully, “have you no pride?”

“I have, sir.”

“You have not, or you would never wish to hamper yourself with a woman like Rose.  You should keep your hands free, if you want to fight your way through the battle of life.”

“I will follow your advice, sir,” said Paul hurriedly.

“Very soon you will thank Rose deeply for having left you.  You will climb high, I can tell you, if you will work as I bid you.”

“Then,” stammered Paul, “this situation at twelve thousand francs a year——­”

“There never has been such a situation.”

A ghastly pallor overspread Paul’s countenance, as he saw himself again reduced to beggary.

“But, sir,” he murmured, “will you not permit me to hope—­”

“For twelve thousand francs!  Be at ease, you shall have that and much more.  I am getting old.  I have no ties in the world—­you shall be my adopted son.”