"No; you have a thousand louis for every one that I possess." "But I have nothing solid--no lands, no estates except my chateau in Var." His panic had by no means subsided, and presently he found himself on the verge of tears--a pitiable, despicable object. The Vicomte--soothing and benevolent--went on to explain more fully the position of his own affairs. He told us that on information received from a sure source he had months earlier concluded that the Emperor's illness was of a more serious nature than the general public believed. "You, my dear friend," he said, "engaged as you have been in the affairs of the outside world--the Suez Canal, Mexico, the Colonies--have perhaps omitted to watch matters nearer home. While looking at a distant mountain one may fall over a little stone--is it not so?" He had, he informed us, withdrawn his small interest in such securities as depended upon the stability of the Government, but that for men occupying a public position, either by accident of birth or--and he bowed in his pleasant way towards the Baron--by the force of their genius, to send their money out of France by the ordinary financial channels would excite comment, and perhaps hasten the crisis that all good patriots would fain avoid. He talked thus collectedly and fairly while the Baron Giraud could but wipe his forehead with a damp handkerchief and gasp incoherent exclamations of terror. "I could realize a couple of million," said the financier, "in two days, but there is much that I cannot sell just now--the fall of the government makes it necessary to hold much that I could have sold at a profit a fortnight ago." The Vicomte was playing with a quill pen. How well I knew the action! It seemed that the millionaire was recovering from his shock, of which re-establishment the outward and visible sign was a dawning gleam of cunning in the eyes. "But I have no one I can trust," he said; and I almost laughed, so well the words bespoke the man. "It is different for you," he added; "you have--Monsieur." And he glanced keenly at me. Indeed, we were a queer trio; and I began to think that I was as big a scoundrel as my maiden aunts maintained. "I would trust Mr. Howard with all my possessions," said the old Vicomte, looking at me almost affectionately; "but in this matter I have found another messenger, less valuable to me personally, less necessary to my comfort and daily happiness, but equally trustworthy." "And if I gave him twenty million francs to take abroad for me--?" suggested the great financier. "Then, my friend, we should be in the same boat--that is all." "_Your_ boat," said the Baron, with an unpleasant laugh. Monsieur de Clericy shrugged his shoulders and smiled. This grave political crisis had rejuvenated him, and he seemed to rise to meet each emergency with a buoyancy that sat strangely on white hairs.