"Excuse me, monsieur," he said. "Will you be good enough to tell me where I can find M. Pums?" The other looked at him, dumfounded.... M. Pums, on such a day, at such a time! As if he had nothing else to do! Wait, wait a bit, old man, they are going to give it to you; they'll show you M. Pums!... And, of a sudden, on a wink from the blonde young man, with repeated shouts of "M. Pums! M. Pums!" a frantic rush sent the unfortunate Schleifmann forward. "M. Pums! M. Pums!" The Galician passed from hand to hand, from group to group, thrown from _Gold_ to _Cash_, from _Cash_ to _Gold_, from _Gold_ to _Values_, from _Values_ to _External_, from _External_ to _Turkish_. All of them, despite the tragic hour, despite the anguish of that day's operations, sought relief for their nerves in that brutal game, relaxed their hearts and arms by molesting the old intruder.... "M. Pums! M. Pums!" He landed in a corner of the circular hall; his gold-rimmed spectacles all awry, his hat thrown on the floor in a final cuff. A little messenger, in a bottle-green livery, took pity on his distress. "Here, monsieur!" he said, picking up Schleifmann's hat. "You want M. Pums!... I work at the bank.... M. Pums is at his office, 72 rue Vivienne." "Thank you, youngster!" the Galician stammered. "Thanks very much, my boy!" Slowly, looking back at every step for fear of a treacherous blow, and polishing his poor hat with his sleeve, he walked down the steps. * * * * * The hall of the bank was crowded with solicitors when the Galician entered. There were agents, bucket-shop brokers, financial go-betweens of all kinds, some seated, their eyes on their shoes, in a defeated attitude, others standing talking by groups in corners or near the windows, with the measured accents one uses in the room of the dying. Alone, the usher in green livery, seated behind his oak rostrum, seemed indifferent to the cares of those about him and read placidly the serial story in the _Petit Journal_. He barely moved his eyelids to decipher the card which Schleifmann pushed before him and fell back to his paper, saying, "Very good, monsieur.... Please take a seat!" "I do not want a seat!" said Schleifmann, who was holding himself in hand. "I am asking you to take my card to M. Pums, and at once, do you hear?" "Impossible, sir.... _Monsieur le sous-Directeur_ is attending a conference. He has given orders that no one should come in until he rings...." Then he added, pointing to the gathered agents and brokers: "Besides, all these gentlemen here are ahead of you." "I don't know whether these gentlemen ..." and here the Galician's voice became more haughty, "are ahead of me.... But I ask you once more to hand my card.... You will tell M. Pums that it is a serious matter, that a man's life is in danger."