He became excited at the sound of his words, like a horse at the jingle of his bells. And, more and more beside himself: “That is just what your creditors wished,” he pursued. “They thought I would be afraid of a row, and that I would ‘come down.’ It is a system of blackmailing, like any other. An account is opened to some young rascal; and, when the amount is reasonably large, they take it to the family, saying, ‘Money, or I make row.’ Do you think it is to you, who are penniless, that they give credit? It’s on my pocket that they were drawing,--on my pocket, because they believed me rich. They sold you at exorbitant prices every thing they wished; and they relied on me to pay for trousers at ninety francs, shirts at forty francs, and watches at six hundred francs.” Contrary to his habit, Maxence did not offer any denial. “I expect to pay all I owe,” he said. “You!” “I give my word I will!” “And with what, pray?” “With my salary.” “You have a salary, then?” Maxence blushed. “I have what I earn at my employer’s.” “What employer?” “The architect in whose office M. Chapelain helped me to find a place.” With a threatening gesture, M. Favoral interrupted him. “Spare me your lies,” he uttered. “I am better posted than you suppose. I know, that, over a month ago, your employer, tired of your idleness, dismissed you in disgrace.” Disgrace was superfluous. The fact was, that Maxence, returning to work after an absence of five days, had found another in his place. “I shall find another place,” he said. M. Favoral shrugged his shoulders with a movement of rage.