“It is a great deal,” said he, succeeding by desperate efforts in hiding his emotion; “it is enormous.  M. Gerdy, however, has resources.”

“He!” interrupted the usurer, shrugging his shoulders.  “Not even that!” he added, snapping his fingers; “He is utterly cleaned out.  But, if he owes you money, do not be anxious.  He is a sly dog.  He is going to be married; and I have just renewed bills of his for twenty-six thousand francs.  Good-bye, M. Tabaret.”

The usurer hurried away, leaving the poor old fellow standing like a milestone in the middle of the pavement.  He experienced something of that terrible grief which breaks a father’s heart when he begins to realize that his dearly loved son is perhaps the worst of scoundrels.

And, yet, such was his confidence in Noel that he again struggled with his reason to resist the suspicions which tormented him.  Perhaps the usurer had been slandering his friend.  People who lend their money at more than ten per cent are capable of anything.  Evidently he had exaggerated the extent of Noel’s follies.

And, supposing it were true?  Have not many men done just such insane things for women, without ceasing to be honest?

As he was about to enter his house, a whirlwind of silk, lace, and velvet, stopped the way.  A pretty young brunette came out and jumped as lightly as a bird into the blue brougham.

Old Tabaret was a gallant man, and the young woman was most charming, but he never even looked at her.  He passed in, and found his concierge standing, cap in hand, and tenderly examining a twenty franc piece.

“Ah, sir,” said the man, “such a pretty young person, and so lady-like!  If you had only been here five minutes sooner.”

“What lady? why?”

“That elegant lady, who just went out, sir; she came to make some inquiries about M. Gerdy.  She gave me twenty francs for answering her questions.  It seems that the gentleman is going to be married; and she was evidently much annoyed about it.  Superb creature!  I have an idea that she is his mistress.  I know now why he goes out every night.”

“M.  Gerdy?”

“Yes, sir, but I never mentioned it to you, because he seemed to wish to hide it.  He never asks me to open the door for him, no, not he.  He slips out by the little stable door.  I have often said to myself, ’Perhaps he doesn’t want to disturb me; it is very thoughtful on his part, and he seems to enjoy it so.’”

The concierge spoke with his eyes fixed on the gold piece.  When he raised his head to examine the countenance of his lord and master, old Tabaret had disappeared.

“There’s another!” said the concierge to himself.  “I’ll bet a hundred sous, that he’s running after the superb creature!  Run ahead, go it, old dotard, you shall have a little bit, but not much, for it’s very expensive!”

The concierge was right.  Old Tabaret was running after the lady in the blue brougham.