“My bill for three thousand francs falls due to-morrow.” “Very likely.” “But I can’t meet it.” “That is not my affair.” “I have come to beg you will renew it for two months, or say one month, on whatever terms you like.” “In two months,” answered the man brutally, “you will be no more able to pay than you are to-day. If you can’t pay it, it will be noted.” “Merciful powers! then my husband will learn all.” “Just so; that will be what I want; for he will then have to pay me.” The wretched woman grew deadly pale. “My husband will pay you,” said she; “but I shall be lost.” “That is not my lookout. I have partners whose interests I have to consult.” “Do not say that, sir! He has paid my debts once, and if he should be angry and take my children from me--Dear M. Van Klopen, be merciful!” She wrung her hands, and the tears coursed down her cheeks; but the tailor was perfectly unmoved. “When a woman has a family of children, one ought to have in a needlewoman by the hour.” She did not desist from her efforts to soften him, and, seizing his hand, strove to carry it to her lips. “Ah! I shall never dare to go home,” wailed she; “never have the courage to tell my husband.” “If you are afraid of your own husband, go to some one else’s,” said he roughly; and tearing himself from her, he followed Mascarin and Paul. “Did you hear that?” asked he, as soon as he had closed the door of his room with an angry slam. “These things occasionally occur, and are not particularly pleasant.” Paul looked on in disgust. If he had possessed three thousand francs, he would have given them to this unhappy woman, whose sobs he could still hear in the passage. “It is most painful,” remarked he. “My dear sir,” said the tailor, “you attach too much importance to these hysterical outbursts. If you were in my place, you would soon have to put their right value on them. As I said before, I have to look after my own and my partners’ interests. These dear creatures care for nothing but dress; father, husband, and children are as nothing in comparison. You cannot imagine what a woman will do in order to get a new dress, in which to outshine her rival. They only talk of their families when they are called on to pay up.” Paul still continued to plead for some money for the poor lady, and the discussion was getting so warm that Mascarin felt bound to interfere. “Perhaps,” said he, “you have been a little hard.” “Pooh,” returned the tailor; “I know my customer; and to-morrow my account will be settled, and I know very well where the money will come from. Then she will give me another order, and we shall have the whole comedy over again. I know what I am about.” And taking Mascarin into the window, he made some confidential communication, at which they both laughed heartily.