The congratulations of this ignorant man were sincere, and offered from pure kindness of heart; but they impressed Prosper painfully, and he cut them short by abruptly asking: 

“Madame of course has left:  can you tell me where she has gone?”

“Dear me, no, monsieur.  The day of your arrest, she sent for a hack, got into it with her trunks, and disappeared; and no one has seen or heard of her since.”

This was another blow to the unhappy cashier.

“And where are my servants?”

“Gone, monsieur; your father paid and discharged them.”

“I suppose you have my keys?”

“No, monsieur; when your father left here this morning at eight o’clock, he told me that a friend of his would take charge of your rooms until you should return.  Of course you know who he is—­a stout gentleman with red whiskers.”

Prosper was stupefied.  What could be the meaning of one of his father’s friends being in his rooms?  He did not, however, betray any surprise, but quietly said: 

“Yes:  I know who it is.”

He quickly ran up the stairs, and knocked at his door.

It was opened by his father’s friend.

He had been accurately described by the porter.  A fat man, with a red face, sensual lips, brilliant eyes, and of rather coarse manners, stood bowing to Prosper, who had never seen him before.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur,” said he to Prosper.

He seemed to be perfectly at home.  On the table lay a book, which he had taken from the bookcase; and he appeared ready to do the honors of the house.

“I must say, monsieur,” began Prosper.

“That you are surprised to find me here?  So I suppose.  Your father intended introducing me to you; but he was compelled to return to Beaucaire this morning; and let me add that he departed thoroughly convinced, as I myself am, that you never took a cent from M. Fauvel.”

At this unexpected good news, Prosper’s face lit up with pleasure.

“Here is a letter from your father, which I hope will serve as an introduction between us.”

Prosper opened the letter; and as he read his eyes grew brighter, and a slight color returned to his pale face.

When he had finished, he held out his hand to the large gentleman, and said: 

“My father, monsieur, tells me you are his best friend; he advises me to have absolute confidence in you, and follow your counsel.”

“Exactly.  This morning your father said to me, ’Verduret’—­that is my name—­’Verduret, my son is in great trouble, he must be helped out.’  I replied, ‘I am ready,’ and here I am to help you.  Now the ice is broken, is it not?  Then let us go to work at once.  What do you intend to do?”

This question revived Prosper’s slumbering rage.  His eyes flashed.

“What do I intend to do?” he said, angrily:  “what should I do but seek the villain who has ruined me?”