“Can you not guess it?”

“How should I guess it?”

“Think well.  Does no one occur to you?”

“No, no one,” said Quennebert, with the utmost innocence.

“Have you no friends?”

“One or two.”

“Would they not be glad to help you?”

“They might.  But I have mentioned the matter to no one.”

“To no one?”

“Except you.”

“Well?”

“Well, Madame Rapally—­I hope I don’t understand you; it’s not possible; you would not humiliate me.  Come, come, it’s a riddle, and I am too stupid to solve it.  I give it up.  Don’t tantalise me any longer; tell me the name.”

The widow, somewhat abashed by this exhibition of delicacy on the part of Maitre Quennebert, blushed, cast down her eyes, and did not venture to speak.

As the silence lasted some time, it occurred to the notary that he had been perhaps too hasty in his supposition, and he began to cast round for the best means of retrieving his blunder.

“You do not speak,” he said; “I see it was all a joke.”

“No,” said the widow at last in a timid voice, “it was no joke; I was quite in earnest.  But the way you take things is not very encouraging.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pray, do you imagine that I can go on while you glare at me with that angry frown puckering your forehead, as if you had someone before you who had tried to insult you?”

A sweet smile chased the frown from the notary’s brow.  Encouraged by the suspension of hostilities, Madame Rapally with sudden boldness approached him, and, pressing one of his hands in both her own, whispered—­

“It is I who am going to lend you the money.”

He repulsed her gently, but with an air of great dignity, and said—­

“Madame, I thank you, but I cannot accept.”

“Why can’t you?”

At this he began to walk round and round the room, while the widow, who stood in the middle, turned as upon a pivot, keeping him always in view.  This circus-ring performance lasted some minutes before Quennebert stood still and said—­

“I cannot be angry with you, Madame Rapally, I know your offer was made out of the kindness of your heart,—­but I must repeat that it is impossible for me to accept it.”

“There you go again!  I don’t understand you at all!  Why can’t you accept?  What harm would it do?”

“If there were no other reason, because people might suspect that I confided my difficulties to you in the hope of help.”

“And supposing you did, what then?  People speak hoping to be understood.  You wouldn’t have minded asking anyone else.”

“So you really think I did come in that hope?”

“Mon Dieu!  I don’t think anything at all that you don’t want.  It was I who dragged the confidence from you by my questions, I know that very well.  But now that you have told me your secret, how can you hinder me from sympathising with you, from desiring to aid you?  When I learned your difficulty, ought I to have been amused, and gone into fits of laughter?  What! it’s an insult to be in a position to render you a service!  That’s a strange kind of delicacy!”