“My dear young friend,” said he, with an air of superior wisdom, “she did not want you very much, else she would have had you. Even I have had to use all my astuteness to keep from being gobbled up by widows. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty where widows are concerned. But if you won’t listen to my proposition in that respect, I am sure you will to one upon another subject. I intend, next month, reorganising my breweries into a stock company, and I have positive assurances that the shares will command a premium. If you and your friend Fontaine can raise ten thousand francs within the next week, I can let you in on the ground floor; and within three weeks you will make fifty thousand francs each.” “You shall have my cheque to-morrow morning,” promptly answered Marsac, who had not a sou to his credit or in hand. Old Duval then began to examine the room. The supper-table seemed to strike him favourably, but the room did not. “It seems to me,” he said, “that--ahem--your friend might have better quarters. This is pretty high up.” “Yes,” answered Marsac, “but we remain here on account of the widow, the Comtesse de Fleury; and our surroundings are more valuable than you think, perhaps. We have been collectors in our time, I assure you. Do you see that sofa?” “Yes,” said Monsieur Duval, punching the poor old sofa; “but it’s moth-eaten. It ought to be mended here.” “It would be sacrilege to touch that sofa. It belonged to Peter the Great. He made that hole in it. I forget exactly what we paid for it, but it is insured for forty thousand francs.” Monsieur Duval’s mouth came wide open with surprise. “And this mirror,” kept on Marsac, pursuing his advantage. “It is cracked--but by whom? By Madame Pompadour. One day, the King was very disobliging to her, and she flew into a passion. She picked up a--” Here Marsac halted, but his eye travelling round the room fell on their rusty bellows; he resumed glibly: “She picked up a pair of bellows, and threw them at the King. His Majesty dodged, and smash went the bellows against the mirror,--and here are the veritable bellows. The mirror and bellows are worth, together, about twenty-five thousand francs.” Old Duval examined them with the highest respect. “I see,” said he, “they are immensely valuable.” “And do you see this violin?” Marsac handed the old brewer the violin. “Ah!” cried Monsieur Duval, delighted to show he knew something about violins, “a Stradivarius, perhaps?” “My dear sir,” said Marsac, in a tone of pity, “that violin was old when Stradivarius was young. It is the identical instrument that Nero fiddled on when Rome was burning!” This reduced Monsieur Duval to an amazed silence, during which they heard laughter and voices on the stairs, and the door opened, admitting Fontaine and two remarkably pretty girls. [Illustration]