“In short, you don’t think I offer you enough?” “On the contrary, sir--but you don’t allow me to finish. I love money, don’t I? But no matter, I don’t want to be paid for this business. I don’t want either my board or my expenses, not a penny--nothing. I’ll serve you, but for my own sake, for my own pleasure--gratis.” M. Fortunat could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. Chupin, who was as eager for gain as an old usurer--Chupin, as grasping as avarice itself, refuse money! This was something which he had never seen before, and which he would no doubt never see again. Victor had become very much excited; his usually pale cheeks were crimson, and in a harsh voice, he continued: “It’s a fancy of mine--that’s all. I have eight hundred francs hidden in my room, the fruit of years of work. I’ll spend the last penny of it if need be; and if I can see Coralth in the mire, I shall say, ‘My money has been well expended.’ I’d rather see that day dawn than be the possessor of a hundred thousand francs. If a horrible vision haunted you every night, and prevented you from sleeping, wouldn’t you give something to get rid of it? Very well! that brigand’s my nightmare. There must be an end to it.” M. de Coralth, who was a man of wide experience, would certainly have felt alarmed if he had seen his unknown enemy at the present moment, for Victor’s eyes, usually a pale and undecided blue, were glittering like steel, and his hands were clinched most threateningly. “For he was the cause of all my trouble,” he continued, gloomily. “I’ve told you, sir, that I was guilty of an infamous deed once upon a time. If it hadn’t been for a miracle I should have killed a man--the king of men. Ah, well! if Monsieur Andre had broken his back by falling from a fifth-floor window, my Coralth would be the Duc de Champdoce to-day. And shall he be allowed to ride about in his carriage, and deceive and ruin honest people? No--there are too many such villains at large for public safety. Wait a little, Coralth--I owe you something, and I always pay my debts. When M. Andre saved me, though I richly deserved to have my throat cut, he made no conditions. He only said, ‘If you are not irredeemably bad you will be honest after this.’ And he said these words as he was lying there as pale as death with his shoulder broken, and his body mangled from his fall. Great heavens! I felt smaller than--than nothing before him. But I swore that I would do honor to his teachings--and when evil thoughts enter my mind, and when I feel a thirst for liquor, I say to myself, ‘Wait a bit, and--and M. Andre will take a glass with you.’ And that quenches my thirst instantly. I have his portrait at home, and every night, before going to bed, I tell him the history of the day--and sometimes I fancy that he smiles at me. All this is very absurd, perhaps, but I’m not ashamed of it. M. Andre and my good mother, they are my supports, my crutches, and with them I’m not