Noel could bear it no longer:  and his anger burst forth.

“Enough,” he cried decidedly.  “Do as you please, M. Clergeot, but have done with your advice.  I prefer the lawyer’s plain prose.  If I have committed follies, I can repair them, and in a way that would surprise you.  Yes, M. Clergeot, I can procure twenty-two thousand francs; I could have a hundred thousand to-morrow morning, if I saw fit.  They would only cost me the trouble of asking for them.  But that I will not do.  My extravagance, with all due deference to you, will remain a secret as heretofore.  I do not choose that my present embarrassed circumstances should be even suspected.  I will not relinquish, for your sake, that at which I have been aiming, the very day it is within my grasp.”

“He resists,” thought the usurer; “he is less deeply involved than I imagined.”

“So,” continued the advocate, “put your bills in the hands of your lawyer.  Let him sue me.  In eight days, I shall be summoned to appear before the Tribunal de Commerce, and I shall ask for the twenty-five days’ delay, which the judges always grant to an embarrassed debtor.  Twenty-five and eight, all the world over, make just thirty-three days.  That is precisely the respite I need.  You have two alternatives:  either accept from me at once a new bill for twenty-four thousand francs payable in six weeks, or else, as I have an appointment, go off to your lawyer.”

“And in six weeks,” replied the usurer, “you will be in precisely the same condition you are to-day.  And forty-five days more of Juliette will cost—­”

“M.  Clergeot,” interrupted Noel, “long before that time, my position will be completely changed.  But I have finished,” he added rising; “and my time is valuable.”

“One moment, you impatient fellow!” exclaimed the good-natured banker, “you said twenty-four thousand francs at forty-five days?”

“Yes.  That is about seventy-five per cent,—­pretty fair interest.”

“I never cavil about interest,” said M. Clergeot; “only—­” He looked slyly at Noel scratching his chin violently, a movement which in him indicated how insensibly his brain was at work.  “Only,” he continued, “I should very much like to know what you are counting upon.”

“That I will not tell you.  You will know it ere long, in common with all the world.”

“I have it!” cried M. Clergeot, “I have it!  You are going to marry!  You have found an heiress, of course, your little Juliette told me something of the sort this morning.  Ah! you are going to marry!  Is she pretty?  But no matter.  She has a full purse, eh?  You wouldn’t take her without that.  So you are going to start a home of your own?”

“I did not say so.”

“That’s right.  Be discreet.  But I can take a hint.  One word more.  Beware of the storm; your little woman has a suspicion of the truth.  You are right; it wouldn’t do to be seeking money now.  The slightest inquiry would be sufficient to enlighten your father-in-law as to your financial position, and you would lose the damsel.  Marry and settle down.  But get rid of Juliette, or I won’t give five francs for the fortune.  So it is settled:  prepare a new bill for twenty-four thousand francs, and I will call for it when I bring you the old ones on Monday.”