“There’s no need. The conversation ends there.” “A great pity.” He gave me back the note-book, and in a tone of voice that was almost playful: “I should have liked to know what Eudolfe says when he has read the note-book.” “Exactly. I want to know myself.” “Eudolfe is a ridiculous name. Couldn’t you have christened him something else?” “It’s of no importance.” “Nor what he answers either. And what becomes of him afterwards?” “I don’t know yet. It depends upon you. We shall see.” “Then if I understand right, _I_ am to help you go on with your book. No, really, you must admit that....” He stopped as if he had some difficulty in expressing his ideas. “That what?” I said to encourage him. “You must admit that you’d be pretty well sold,” he went on, “if Eudolfe....” He stopped again. I thought I understood what he meant and finished his sentence for him: “If he became an honest boy?... No, my dear.” And suddenly the tears rose to my eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder. But he shook it off: “For after all, if he hadn’t been a thief, you wouldn’t have written all that.” It was only then that I understood my mistake. In reality, George was flattered at having occupied my thoughts for so long. He felt interesting. I had forgotten Profitendieu; it was George who reminded me of him. “And what did your _juge d’instruction_ say to you?” “He commissioned me to warn you that he knew you were circulating false coins....” George changed colour again. He understood denials would be useless, but he muttered indistinctly: “I’m not the only one.” “... and that if you and your pals don’t stop your traffickings at once, he’ll be obliged to arrest you.” George had begun by turning very pale. Now his cheeks were burning. He stared fixedly in front of him and his knitted brows drew two deep wrinkles on his forehead. “Good-bye,” I said, holding out my hand. “I advise you to warn your companions as well. As for you, you won’t be offered a second chance.” He shook my hand silently and left the room without looking round. On re-reading the pages of _The Counterfeiters_ which I showed George, I thought them on the whole rather bad. I transcribe them as George read them, but all this chapter must be rewritten. It would be better decidedly to speak to the child. I must discover how to touch him. Certainly, at the point he has reached, it would be difficult to bring Eudolfe (George is right; I must change his name) back into the path of honesty. But I mean to bring him back; and whatever George may think, this is what is most interesting, because it is most difficult. (Here am I reasoning like Douviers!) Let us leave realistic novelists to deal with the stories of those who drift.