“That’s right. Be discreet. But I can take a hint. One word more. Beware of the storm; your little woman has a suspicion of the truth. You are right; it wouldn’t do to be seeking money now. The slightest inquiry would be sufficient to enlighten your father-in-law as to your financial position, and you would lose the damsel. Marry and settle down. But get rid of Juliette, or I won’t give five francs for the fortune. So it is settled: prepare a new bill for twenty-four thousand francs, and I will call for it when I bring you the old ones on Monday.” “You haven’t them with you, then?” “No. And to be frank, I confess that, knowing well I should get nothing from you, I left them with others at my lawyer’s. However, you may rest easy: you have my word.” M. Clergeot made a pretence of retiring; but just as he was going out, he returned quickly. “I had almost forgotten,” said he; “while you are about it, you can make the bill for twenty-six thousand francs. Your little woman ordered some dresses, which I shall deliver to-morrow; in this way they will be paid for.” The advocate began to remonstrate. He certainly did not refuse to pay, only he thought he ought to be consulted when any purchases were made. He didn’t like this way of disposing of his money. “What a fellow!” said the usurer, shrugging his shoulders; “do you want to make the girl unhappy for nothing at all? She won’t let you off yet, my friend. You may be quite sure she will eat up your new fortune also. And you know, if you need any money for the wedding, you have but to give me some guarantee. Procure me an introduction to the notary, and everything shall be arranged. But I must go. On Monday then.” Noel listened, to make sure that the usurer had actually gone. When he heard him descending the staircase, “Scoundrel!” he cried, “miserable thieving old skinflint! Didn’t he need a lot of persuading? He had quite made up his mind to sue me. It would have been a pleasant thing had the count come to hear of it. Vile usurer! I was afraid, one moment, of being obliged to tell him all.” While inveighing thus against the money-lender, the advocate looked at his watch. “Half-past five already,” he said. His indecision was great. Ought he to go and dine with his father? Could he leave Madame Gerdy? He longed to dine at the de Commarin mansion; yet, on the other hand, to leave a dying woman! “Decidedly,” he murmured, “I can’t go.” He sat down at his desk, and with all haste wrote a letter of apology to his father. Madame Gerdy, he said, might die at any moment; he must remain with her. As he bade the servant give the note to a messenger, to carry it to the count, a sudden thought seemed to strike him. “Does madame’s brother,” he asked, “know that she is dangerously ill?” “I do not know, sir,” replied the servant, “at any rate, I have not informed him.” “What, did you not think to send him word? Run to his house quickly. Have him sought for, if he is not at home; he must come.”