Van Klopen made a few mysterious signs in the margin of his ledger.

“On the 6th of this month the Countess de Mussidan gave us an order—­a perfectly plain dress for her daughter.  Her account is a very heavy one, and the Count has warned us that he will not pay it.”

“Never mind that.  Go on with the order, put press for payment.”

“On the 7th a new customer came—­Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter of Martin Rigal, the banker.”

When Paul heard this name, he could not repress a start, of which, however, Mascarin affected to take no notice.

“My good friend,” said he, turning to Van Klopen, “I confide this young lady to you; give her your whole stock if she asks for it.”

By the look of surprise which appeared upon the tailor’s face, Paul could see that Mascarin was not prodigal of such recommendations.

“You shall be obeyed,” said Van Klopen, with a bow.

“On the 8th a young gentleman of the name of Gaston de Gandelu was introduced by Lupeaux, the jeweller.  His father is, I hear, very wealthy, and he will come into money on attaining his majority, which is near at hand.  He brought with him a lady,” continued the tailor, “and said her name was Zora de Chantemille, a tremendously pretty girl.”

“That young man is always in my way,” said Mascarin.  “I would give something to get him out of Paris.”

Van Klopen reflected for a moment.  “I don’t think that would be difficult,” remarked he; “that young fellow is capable of any act of folly for that fair girl.”

“I think so too.”

“Then the matter is easy.  I will open an account with him; then, after a little, I will affect doubts as to his solvency, and ask for a bill; and we shall then place our young friend in the hands of the Mutual Loan Society, and M. Verminet will easily persuade him to write his name across the bottom of a piece of stamped paper.  He will bring it to me; I will accept it, and then we shall have him hard and fast.”

“I should have proposed another course.”

“I see no other way, however,” He suddenly stopped, for a loud noise was heard in the ante-room, and the sound of voices in loud contention.

“I should like to know,” said Van Klopen, rising to his feet, “who the impudent scoundrel is, who comes here kicking up a row.  I expect that it is some fool of a husband.”

“Go and see what it is,” suggested Mascarin.

“Not I!  My servants are paid to spare me such annoyances.”

Presently the noise ceased.

“And now,” resumed Mascarin, “let us return to our own affairs.  Under the circumstances, your proposal appears to be a good one.  How about writing in another name?  A little forgery would make our hands stronger.”  He rose, and taking the tailor into the window recess, again whispered to him.