“Yes,” he said, “I have just the sum you name; and I, for that very reason, refuse to have anything further to do with your schemes. I have an income of sixty thousand francs; that is to say, sixty thousand good reasons for receiving no further risks. You envy me my good fortune, but did we not all start penniless? I have taken care of my money, while you have squandered yours. Hortebise has lost his patients, while I have increased the number of my clients; and now you want me to tread the dangerous road again. Not I; go your way, and leave me to go home.” Again he took up his hat, but a wave of the hand from Mascarin detained him. “Suppose,” said he coldly, “that I told you that your assistance was necessary to me.” “I should say so much the worse for you.” “But suppose I insist?” “And how can you insist? We are both in the same boat, and sink or swim together.” “Are you certain of that?” “So certain that I repeat from this day I wash my hands of you.” “I am afraid you are in error.” “How so?” “Because for twelve months past; I have given food and shelter to a girl of the name of Clarisse. Do you by any chance know her?” At the mention of this name, the lawyer started, as a man starts who, walking peacefully along, suddenly sees a deadly serpent coiled across his path. “Clarisse,” stammered he, “how did you know of her? who told you?” But the sarcastic sneer upon the lips of his two confederates wounded his pride so deeply, that in an instant he recovered his self-possession. “I am getting foolish,” said he, “to ask these men how they learned my secret. Do they not always work by infamous and underhand means?” “You see I know all,” remarked Mascarin, “for I foresaw the day would come when you would wish to sever our connection, and even give us up to justice, if you could do so with safety to yourself. I therefore took my precautions. One thing, however, I was not prepared for, and that was, that a man of your intelligence should have played so paltry a game, and even twelve months back thought of betraying us. It is almost incredible. Do you ever read the _Gazette des Tribunaux_? I saw in its pages yesterday a story nearly similar to your own. Shall I tell it to you? A lawyer who concealed his vices beneath a mantle of joviality and candor, brought up from the country a pretty, innocent girl to act as servant in his house. This lawyer occupied his leisure time in leading the poor child astray, and the moment at last came when the consequences of her weakness were too apparent. The lawyer was half beside himself at the approaching scandal. What would the neighbors say? Well, to cut the story short, the infant was suppressed,--you understand, suppressed, and the mother turned into the street.” “Baptiste, have mercy!”