"there is not
a customer in the place. Vantrasson and his wife are alone." This
circumstance was by no means displeasing to M. Fortunat, as could be
seen by his expression of face. "So, m'sieur," continued Chupin, "you
need have no fears. I'll remain here and watch, while you go in."

M. Fortunat did so. On hearing the door open and shut, the woman laid
down her work. "What can I do for monsieur?" she asked, in a wheedling
voice.

M. Fortunat did not reply at once; but he drew the note with which
he had provided himself from his pocket, and displayed it. "I am a
huissier's clerk," he then exclaimed; "and I called in reference to this
little matter--a note of hand for five hundred and eighty-three francs,
value received in goods, signed Vantrasson, and made payable to the
order of a person named Barutin."

"An execution!" said the woman, whose voice suddenly soured.
"Vantrasson, wake up, and come and see about this."

This summons was unnecessary. On hearing the words "note of hand,"
the man had lifted his head; and at the name of Barutin, he rose and
approached with a heavy, uncertain step, as if he had not yet slept
off his intoxication. He was younger than his wife, tall, with a
well-proportioned and athletic form. His features were regular, but the
abuse of alcohol and all sorts of excesses had greatly marred them, and
their present expression was one of ferocious brutishness. "What's that
you are talking about?" he asked in a harsh, grating voice. "Is it to
mock people that you come and ask for money on the 15th of October--rent
day? Where have you seen any money left after the landlord has made his
round? Besides, what is this bill? Give it me to look at."

M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly; he did not intrust the paper
to Vantrasson's hand, but held it a little distance from him, and then
read it aloud.

When he had finished: "That note fell due eighteen months ago," declared
Vantrasson. "It is worth nothing now."

"You are mistaken--a note of this kind is of value any time within five
years after the day it goes to protest."

"Possibly; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I am
released----"

"Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred and
eighty-three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin's
sale, and who has given my employer orders to prosecute----"

The blood had risen to Vantrasson's face. "And what of that? Do you
suppose I've never been su