were far away.
“Your dear mother,” continued the nun, “this good lady that you love so much, no doubt trusted in her religion. Do you wish to endanger her salvation? If she could speak in the midst of her cruel sufferings —”
The advocate was on the point of replying, when the servant announced that a gentleman, who would not give his name, wished to speak with him on business.
“I will come,” he said quickly.
“What do you decide, sir?” persisted the nun.
“I leave you free, sister, to do as you may judge best.”
The worthy woman began to recite her lesson of thanks, but to no purpose. Noel had disappeared with a displeased look; and almost immediately she heard his voice in the next room, saying: “At last you have come, M. Clergeot, I had almost given you up!”
The visitor, whom the advocate had been expecting, is a person well known in the Rue St. Lazare, round about the Rue de Provence, the neighbourhood of Notre Dame de Lorette, and all along the exterior Boulevards, from the Chaussee des Martyrs to the Rond–Point of the old Barriere de Clichy.
M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin’s father was a shopkeeper. Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, he lends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consents to receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.
The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty is generally appreciated. He has never been known to seize a debtor’s goods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, and tear from him bit by bit what is his due.
He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire. He has no shop, and yet he sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the law scarcely considers merchandise. Anything to be useful or neighbourly. He often asserts that he is not very rich. It is possibly true. He is whimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold. Free with his money when one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with a mortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever does not meet with his approval. However, he often risks his all on the most unlucky cards.
His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality, actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter upon professions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such as lawyers and doctors.
He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their future talent. Slight pledges! His discernment, it should be said, however, enjoys a great reputation. It is rarely at fault. A pretty girl furnished by Clergeot is sure to go far. For an artist to be in Clergeot’s debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmest criticism.
Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance for her lover.
Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kind attentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat, and asking after his health. Clergeot went into details. His teeth were still good; but his sight was beginning to fail. His legs were no longer so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired. The chapter of complaints ended —“You know,” said he, “why I have called. Your bills fall due today; and I am devilishly in need of money. I have one of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total, twenty-two thousand francs.”
“Come, M. Clergeot,” replied Noel, “do not let us have any joking.”
“Excuse me,” said the usurer; “I am not joking at all.”
“I rather think you are though. Why, it’s just eight days ago today that I wrote to tell you that I was not prepared to meet the bills, and asked for a renewal!”
“I recollect very well receiving your letter.”
“What do you say to it, then?”
“By my not answering the note, I supposed that you would understand that I could not comply with your request; I hoped that you would exert yourself to find the amount for me.”
Noel allowed a gesture of impatience to escape him.
“I have not done so,” he said; “so take your own course. I haven’t a sou.”
“The devil. Do you know that I have renewed these bills four times already?”
“I know that the interest has been fully and promptly paid, and at a rate which cannot make you regret the investment.”
Clergeot never likes talking about the interest he received. He pretends that it is humiliating.
“I do not complain; I only say that you take things too easily with me. If I had put your signature in circulation all would have been paid by now.”
“Not at all.”
“Yes, you would have found means to escape being sued. But you say to yourself: ‘Old Clergeot is a good fellow.’ And that is true. But I am so only when it can do me no harm. Now, today, I am absolutely in great need of my money. Ab — so — lute — ly,” he added, emphasising each syllable.
The old fellow’s decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.
“Must I repeat it?” he said; “I am completely drained, com-plete — ly!”
“Indeed?” said the usurer; “well, I am sorry for you; but I shall have to sue you.”
“And what good will that do? Let us play above board, M. Clergeot. Do you care to increase the lawyers’ fees? You don’t do you? Even though, you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime? You will obtain judgment against me. Well, what then? Do you think of putting in an execution? This is not my home; the lease is in Madame Gerdy’s name.”
“I know all that. Besides, the sale of everything here would not cover the amount.”
“Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy! Bad speculation, I warn you, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money.”
“Good!” cried the worthy money-lender. “Now you are talking nonsense! You call that being frank. Pshaw! If you supposed me capable of half the cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer, ready for me.”
“A mistake! I should not know where to get it, unless by asking Madame Gerdy, a thing I would never do.”
A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot, interrupted Noel.
“It would be no good doing that,” said the usurer; “mamma’s purse has long been empty; and if the dear creature should die now — they tell me she is very ill — I would not give two hundred napoleons for the inheritance.”
The advocate turned red with passion, his eyes glittered; but he dissembled, and protested with some spirit.
“We know what we know,” continued Clergeot quietly. “Before a man risks his money, he takes care to make some inquiries. Mamma’s remaining bonds were sold last October. Ah! the Rue de Provence is an expensive place! I have made an estimate, which is at home. Juliette is a charming woman, to be sure; she has not her equal, I am convinced; but she is expensive, devilish expensive.”
Noel
