“Claparon has bit it in under the name of one of his creditors, a little toad named Sauvaignou. Desroches, the lawyer, has taken the case, and you’ll get a notice to-morrow. This affair will oblige Claparon, Dutocq, and me to raise funds. What would become of me without Claparon! So I forgive him--yes, I forgave him, and though you may not believe it, my dear friend, I actually kissed him! Change your terms.” The last three words were horrible to hear, especially when illustrated by the face of the speaker, who amused himself by playing a scene from the “Legataire,” all the while studying attentively the Provencal’s character. “Oh, Cerizet!” cried Theodose; “I, who wished to do you so much good!” “Don’t you see, my dear fellow,” returned Cerizet, “that between you and me there ought to be _this_,--” and he struck his heart,--“of which you have none. As soon as you thought you had a lever on us, you have tried to knock us over. I saved you from the horrors of starvation and vermin! You’ll die like the idiot you are. We put you on the high-road to fortune; we gave you a fine social skin and a position in which you could grasp the future--and look what you do! _Now_ I know you! and from this time forth, we shall go armed.” “Then it is war between us!” exclaimed Theodose. “You fired first,” returned Cerizet. “If you pull me down, farewell to your hopes and plans; if you don’t pull me down, you have in me an enemy.” “That’s just what I said yesterday to Dutocq; but, how can we help it? We are forced to choose between two alternatives--we must go according to circumstances. I’m a good-natured fellow myself,” he added, after a pause; “bring me your twenty-five thousand francs to-morrow morning and Thuillier shall keep the house. We’ll continue to help you at both ends, but you’ll have to pay up, my boy. After what has just happened that’s pretty kind, isn’t it?” And Cerizet patted Theodose on the shoulder, with a cynicism that seemed to brand him more than the iron of the galleys. “Well, give me till to-morrow at mid-day,” replied the Provencal, “for there’ll be, as you said, some manipulation to do.” “I’ll try to keep Claparon quiet; he’s in such a hurry, that man!” “To-morrow then,” said Theodose, in the tone of a man who decides his course. “Good-night, friend,” said Cerizet, in his nasal tone, which degraded the finest word in the language. “There’s one who has got a mouthful to suck!” thought Cerizet, as he watched Theodose going down the street with the step of a dazed man. When la Peyrade reached the rue des Postes he went with rapid strides to Madame Colleville’s house, exciting himself as he walked along, and talking aloud. The fire of his roused passions and the sort of inward conflagration of which many Parisians are conscious (for such situations abound in Paris) brought him finally to a pitch of frenzy and eloquence which found expression, as he turned into the rue des Deux-Eglises, in the words:-- “I will kill him!”