were more reasonable and satisfactory.  I obtained a prize at the Academy.  At the same time I delivered, at a moderate price, lectures in anatomy at schools on the outskirts of the city; I gave lessons; I undertook all the anonymous work of the book trade and of journalism that I could find.  I slept five hours a day, and in four years I had decreased my debt seven thousand francs.  If my upholsterer wished to be paid I could have it arranged, but that was not his intention.  He wishes to take his furniture that is not worn out, and to keep the money that he has received.  If I do not pay these three thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into the street.  To tell the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but those who owe it to me are not in Paris, or will pay in January.  Behold my situation!  I am desperate because there is no one to whom I can apply; those whom I have asked for money have not listened to me; I have told you that I have no relatives, and neither have I any friends—­perhaps because I am not amiable.  And then I thought of you.  You know me.  You know that people say I have a future before me.  At the end of three months I shall be a doctor in the hospitals; my competitors admit that I shall not miss admission; I have undertaken some experiments that will, perhaps, give me fame.  Will you give me your hand?”

Glady extended it toward him.  “I thank you for having applied to me; it is a proof of confidence that touches me.”  He pressed the hand that he had taken with some warmth.  “I see that you have divined the sentiments of esteem with which you have inspired me.”

Saniel drew a long breath.

“Unfortunately,” continued Glady, “I cannot do what you desire without deviating from my usual line of conduct.  When I started out in life I lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money.  I then took an oath to refuse every one.  It is an oath that I cannot break.  What would my old friends say if they learned that I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?”

“Who would know it?”

“My conscience.”

They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed.

“At last here are some cabs,” Glady said.  “Pardon me for leaving you, but I am in a hurry.”

CHAPTER III

A LAST RESORT

Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the sidewalk, slightly dazed.  It was only when the door closed that he understood.

“His conscience!” he murmured.  “Behold them!  Tartufes!”

After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the bridge of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man who does not know where he is going.  Presently he stopped, and, leaning his arms on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its small waves fringed with white foam.  The rain had ceased, but the wind blew in squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the red and green lights of the omnibus boats sway in the darkness.  The passers-by came and went, and more than one examined him from the corner of the eye, wondering what this tall man was doing there, and if he intended to throw himself into the water.