Noel allowed a gesture of impatience to escape him.

“I have not done so,” he said; “so take your own course.  I haven’t a sou.”

“The devil.  Do you know that I have renewed these bills four times already?”

“I know that the interest has been fully and promptly paid, and at a rate which cannot make you regret the investment.”

Clergeot never likes talking about the interest he received.  He pretends that it is humiliating.

“I do not complain; I only say that you take things too easily with me.  If I had put your signature in circulation all would have been paid by now.”

“Not at all.”

“Yes, you would have found means to escape being sued.  But you say to yourself:  ‘Old Clergeot is a good fellow.’  And that is true.  But I am so only when it can do me no harm.  Now, to-day, I am absolutely in great need of my money.  Ab—­so—­lute—­ly,” he added, emphasising each syllable.

The old fellow’s decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.

“Must I repeat it?” he said; “I am completely drained, com—­plete—­ly!”

“Indeed?” said the usurer; “well, I am sorry for you; but I shall have to sue you.”

“And what good will that do?  Let us play above board, M. Clergeot.  Do you care to increase the lawyers’ fees?  You don’t do you?  Even though, you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime?  You will obtain judgment against me.  Well, what then?  Do you think of putting in an execution?  This is not my home; the lease is in Madame Gerdy’s name.”

“I know all that.  Besides, the sale of everything here would not cover the amount.”

“Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy!  Bad speculation, I warn you, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money.”

“Good!” cried the worthy money-lender.  “Now you are talking nonsense!  You call that being frank.  Pshaw!  If you supposed me capable of half the cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer, ready for me.”

“A mistake!  I should not know where to get it, unless by asking Madame Gerdy, a thing I would never do.”

A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot, interrupted Noel.

“It would be no good doing that,” said the usurer; “mamma’s purse has long been empty; and if the dear creature should die now,—­they tell me she is very ill,—­I would not give two hundred napoleons for the inheritance.”

The advocate turned red with passion, his eyes glittered; but he dissembled, and protested with some spirit.

“We know what we know,” continued Clergeot quietly.  “Before a man risks his money, he takes care to make some inquiries.  Mamma’s remaining bonds were sold last October.  Ah! the Rue de Provence is an expensive place!  I have made an estimate, which is at home.  Juliette is a charming woman, to be sure; she has not her equal, I am convinced; but she is expensive, devilish expensive.”