Serge looked contemptuously at Cayrol, and put on his hat with supreme insolence.

“Pardon me, my dear fellow; as a banker you are excellent when you have any money to spare, but as a moralist you are highly ridiculous.”

And, turning on his heel, he quitted the office, leaving Cayrol quite abashed.  He passed along the corridor switching his cane with suppressed rage.  Madame Desvarennes had, with one word, dried up the source from which he had been drawing most of the money which he had spent during the last three months.  He had to pay a large sum that evening at the club, and he did not care to apply to the money-lenders of Paris.

He went down the stairs wondering how he would get out of this scrape!  Go to Madame Desvarennes and humble himself as Cayrol advised?  Never!  He regretted, for a moment, the follies which had led him into this difficulty.  He ought to have been able to live on two hundred thousand francs a year!  He had squandered money foolishly, and now the inexhaustible well from which he had drawn his treasure was closed by an invincible will.

He was crossing the gateway, when a well-known voice struck his ear, and he turned round.  Herzog, smiling in his enigmatical manner, was before him.  Serge bowed, and wanted to pass on, but the financier put his hand on his arm, saying: 

“What a hurry you are in, Prince.  I suppose your pocketbook is full of notes, and you are afraid of being plundered.”

And with his finger, Herzog touched the silver mounted pocketbook, the corner of which was peeping out of the Prince’s pocket.  Panine could not control a gesture of vexation, which made the financier smile.

“Am I wrong?” asked Herzog.  “Can our friend Cayrol have refused your request?  By-the-bye, did you not quarrel with Madame Desvarennes yesterday?  Whoever was it told me that?  Your mother-in-law spoke of cutting off all your credit, and from your downcast look I guess that fool Cayrol has obeyed the orders he has received.”

Serge, exasperated and stamping with rage, wanted to speak, but it was no easy matter interrupting Herzog.  Besides, there was something in the latter’s look which annoyed Serge.  His glance seemed to be fathoming the depths of Panine’s pockets, and the latter instinctively tightened his arms across his chest, so that Herzog might not see that his pocketbook was empty.

“What are you talking about?” asked Serge, at last, with a constrained smile.

“About things which must greatly interest you,” said Herzog, familiarly.  “Come, be sincere.  Cayrol has just refused you a sum of money.  He’s a simpleton!  How much do you want?  Will a hundred thousand francs do just now?”

And writing a few words on a check, the financier handed it to Serge, adding: 

“A man of your position should not be in any difficulty for such a paltry sum!”

“But, sir,” said Serge, astonished, and pushing away Herzog’s hand.