“Come into my office.”

They were in a small room filled with papers that had only an old desk and three chairs for furniture; it communicated with the office of the business man, which was larger, but furnished with the same simplicity and strewn with scraps of paper that had a mouldy smell.

“My clerk is ill just now,” Caffie said, “and when I am alone I do not like to open the door.”

After giving this excuse he offered Saniel a chair, and, seating himself before his desk, lighted by a lamp from which he had taken the shade, he said: 

“Doctor, I am ready to listen to you.”

He replaced the shade on the lamp.

Saniel made his request concisely, without the details that he had entered into with Glady.  He owed three thousand francs to the upholsterer who had furnished his apartment, and as he could not pay immediately he was in danger of being prosecuted.

“Who is the upholsterer?” Caffie asked, while holding his left jaw with his right hand.

“Jardine, Boulevard Haussmann.”

“I know him.  It is his trade to take back his furniture in this way, after three quarters of the sum has been paid, and he has become rich at it.  How much money have you already paid of this ten thousand francs?”

“Including the interest and what I have paid in instalments, nearly twelve thousand francs.”

“And you still owe three thousand?”

“Yes.”

“That is nice.”

Caffie seemed full of admiration for this manner of proceeding.

“What guarantee have you to offer for this loan of three thousand francs?”

“No other than my present position, I confess, and above all, my future.”

At Caffie’s request he explained his plans and prospects for the future, while the business man, with his cheek resting on his hand, listened, and from time to time breathed a stifled sigh, a sort of groan.

“Hum! hum!” he said when Saniel finished his explanation.  “You know, my dear friend, you know: 

   To fools alone the future’s smile unchangeable appears,
   For Friday’s laughter Sunday’s sun may change to bitter tears.”

“It is Sunday with you, my dear sir.”

“But I am not at the end of my life nor at the end of my energy, and I assure you that my energy makes me capable of many things.”

“I do not doubt it; I know what energy can do.  Tell a Greek who is dying of hunger to go to heaven and he will go

     Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit.”

“But I do not see that you have started for heaven.”

A smile of derision, accompanied by a grimace, crossed Caffies face.  Before becoming the usurer of the Rue Sainte-Anne, whom every one called a rascal, he had been attorney in the country, deputy judge, and if unmerited evils had obliged him to resign and to hide the unpleasant circumstances in Paris, he never lost an opportunity to prove that by education he was far above his present position.  Finding this new client a man of learning, he was glad to make quotations that he thought would make him worthy of consideration.