M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin’s father was a shopkeeper.  Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, he lends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consents to receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.

The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty is generally appreciated.  He has never been known to seize a debtor’s goods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, and tear from him bit by bit what is his due.

He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire.  He has no shop, and yet he sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the law scarcely considers merchandise.  Anything to be useful or neighbourly.  He often asserts that he is not very rich.  It is possibly true.  He is whimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold.  Free with his money when one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with a mortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever does not meet with his approval.  However, he often risks his all on the most unlucky cards.

His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality, actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter upon professions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such as lawyers and doctors.

He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their future talent.  Slight pledges!  His discernment, it should be said, however, enjoys a great reputation.  It is rarely at fault.  A pretty girl furnished by Clergeot is sure to go far.  For an artist to be in Clergeot’s debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmest criticism.

Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance for her lover.

Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kind attentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat, and asking after his health.  Clergeot went into details.  His teeth were still good; but his sight was beginning to fail.  His legs were no longer so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired.  The chapter of complaints ended—­“You know,” said he, “why I have called.  Your bills fall due to-day; and I am devilishly in need of money.  I have one of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total, twenty-two thousand francs.”

“Come, M. Clergeot,” replied Noel, “do not let us have any joking.”

“Excuse me,” said the usurer; “I am not joking at all.”

“I rather think you are though.  Why, it’s just eight days ago to-day that I wrote to tell you that I was not prepared to meet the bills, and asked for a renewal!”

“I recollect very well receiving your letter.”

“What do you say to it, then?”

“By my not answering the note, I supposed that you would understand that I could not comply with your request; I hoped that you would exert yourself to find the amount for me.”