One of his uncles, a flour merchant at Chartres, came habitually twice a year to Paris to settle accounts with his correspondents.  A sum of twelve hundred francs, locked up in a drawer, was stolen from him, and, accompanied by his nephew, he went to inform the police.  On investigation being made, it was found that the chest of drawers had been broken at the top.  As at the time of the theft of the seventy-nine Louis from the abbe, Derues was the only person known to have entered his uncle’s room.  The innkeeper swore to this, but the uncle took pains to justify his nephew, and showed his confidence shortly after by becoming surety for him to the extent of five thousand livres.  Derues failed to pay when the time expired, and the holder of the note was obliged to sue the surety for it.

He made use of any means, even the most impudent, which enabled him to appropriate other people’s property.  A provincial grocer on one occasion sent him a thousand-weight of honey in barrels to be sold on commission.  Two or three months passed, and he asked for an account of the sale.  Derues replied that he had not yet been able to dispose of it advantageously, and there ensued a fresh delay, followed by the same question and the same reply.  At length, when more than a year had passed, the grocer came to Paris, examined his barrels, and found that five hundred pounds were missing.  He claimed damages from Derues, who declared he had never received any more, and as the honey had been sent in confidence, and there was no contract and no receipt to show, the provincial tradesman could not obtain compensation.

As though having risen by the ruin of Madame Legrand and her four children was not enough, Derues grudged even the morsel of bread he had been obliged to leave her.  A few days after the fire in the cellar, which enabled him to go through a second bankruptcy, Madame Legrand, now undeceived and not believing his lamentations, demanded the money due to her, according to their agreement.  Derues pretended to look for his copy of the contract, and could not find it.  “Give me yours, madame,” said he; “we will write the receipt upon it.  Here is the money.”

The widow opened her purse and took out her copy; Derues snatched it, and tore it up.  “Now,” he exclaimed, “you are paid; I owe you nothing now.  If you like, I will declare it on oath in court, and no one will disbelieve my word.”

“Wretched man,” said the unfortunate widow, “may God forgive your soul; but your body will assuredly end on the gallows!”

It was in vain that she complained, and told of this abominable swindle; Derues had been beforehand with her, and the slander he had disseminated bore its fruits.  It was said that his old mistress was endeavouring by an odious falsehood to destroy the reputation of a man who had refused to be her lover.  Although reduced to poverty, she left the house where she had a right to remain rent free, preferring the hardest and dreariest life to the torture of remaining under the same roof with the man who had caused her ruin.