Serge sprang after him, exclaiming: “You shall not leave this room until you have given me the means of rectifying this disaster.” “Then let us talk sensibly, as boon companions,” said Herzog. “I know of a marvellous move by which we can get out of the difficulty. Let us boldly call a general meeting. I will explain the thing, and amaze everybody. We shall get a vote of confidence for the past, with funds for the future. We shall be as white as snow, and the game is played. Are you in with me?” “Enough,” replied the Prince, intensely disgusted. “It does not suit me to do a yet more shameful thing in order to get out of this trouble. It is no use arguing further; we are lost.” “Only the weak allow themselves to be lost!” exclaimed the financier. “The strong defend themselves. You may give in if you like; I won’t. Three times have I been ruined and three times have I risen again. My head is good! I am down now. I shall rise again, and when I am well off, and have a few millions to spare, I will settle old debts. Everybody will be astonished because they won’t expect it, and I shall be more thought of than if I had paid up at the time.” “And if you are not allowed to go free?” asked Serge. “What if they arrest you?” “I shall be in Aix-la-Chapelle to-night,” said Herzog. “From there I shall treat with the shareholders of the Universal Credit. People judge things better at a distance. Are you coming with me?” “No,” replied Serge, in a low voice. “You are wrong. Fortune is capricious, and in six months we may be richer than we ever have been. But as you have decided, let me give you a piece of advice which will be worth the money you have lost. Confess all to your wife; she can get you out of this difficulty.” The financier held out a hand to Serge which he did not take. “Ah! pride!” murmured Herzog. “After all it is your right--It is you who pay!” Without answering a word the Prince went out. At that same hour, Madame Desvarennes, tired by long waiting, was pacing up and down her little drawing-room. A door opened and Marechal, the long-looked for messenger, appeared. He had been to Cayrol’s, but could not see him. The banker, who had shut himself up in his private office where he had worked all night, had given orders that no one should interrupt him. And as Madame Desvarennes seemed to have a question on her lips which she dared not utter, Marechal added that nothing unusual seemed to have happened at the house. But as the mistress was thanking her secretary, the great gate swung on its hinges, and a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Marechal flew to the window, and uttered one word, “Cayrol!” Madame Desvarennes motioned to him to leave her, and the banker appeared on the threshold.