Consequently he felt a sudden emotion when, on the morning of the 29th, as he was leaving his house to go to the brasserie, the concierge handed him a yellow envelope with the heading of the Talloire house. What did this long envelope contain? Supposing he had miscalculated? If, instead of the expected profits, it were to tell him of losses? He walked to the high door of the house and tore the envelope open when he was behind it. It contained only a single sheet of paper, striped zebra-like with columns, figures, abbreviated words, and the trembling of his hands further increased the chaos. Two trade expressions caught his eye, on the left: Dr.; on the right: Cr. Above these he read: M. CYPRIEN RAINDAL _His account in settlement of April 30 with M. Talloire, Broker, 96 rue de Choiseul._ "Hm! I must be cool! Do I win or do I lose?" the uncle murmured, while his eyes scanned the page. He noticed at last a little gathering of figures in a corner, with, next to the word _Total_, the mention: _Creditor_: 7700 fr. "Seven thousand, seven hundred francs!" he muttered, his heart beating fast against his ribs. "From 7700 I take out the 5000 I put in.... There remains 2700! Two thousand, seven hundred francs profit! There must be some mistake.... And yet I must be right; whoever receives, he owes; whoever owes, he receives.... I am the creditor.... I win." Yet a doubt lurked in his mind, despite this certainty. He wanted to free himself from it at once, to know, and it was nothing but the fear of importuning the agent that prevented him from rushing to the rue de Choiseul. This distressful feeling was met with a sudden remembrance of the Marquis' advice, "to bother Pums ten times rather than one." The solution was clear, since Pums himself had offered his services beforehand. Uncle Cyprien jumped into a cab. All the way, in order to prop up his own faith, he repeated in rhythmic time: "Who receives owes!... who owes receives!... Nevertheless, this axiom did not altogether reassure him. Only the jovial reception Pums gave him restored Cyprien's serenity. "Well!" the banker exclaimed, when he saw his protégé. "It seems to me that we have no cause to complain.... If my calculations are right, M. Raindal, you have made about 500 francs!" Silently, Raindal pushed his paper forward. "Here you are!" "Ah!" exclaimed Pums, as he looked at the figures. "Two thousand, seven hundred francs profit!... You are going well for a beginner!... Bravo! Congratulations! Of course, it goes without saying that you are keeping your position?" "I beg your pardon?" M. Raindal asked, with an anxious expression. "I mean to say that I take it you will leave your profit on the same securities." Cyprien thought a while, then asked very meekly: "Could I not draw some of it out?" "Anything you like! This money belongs to you. You are its lord and master.... Don't be afraid.... Name your figure!"