over his well-groomed person. He
was young, good-looking, his nails were beautifully polished, his
pantaloons fitted him without a wrinkle. These were of a soft putty
shade; his coat was bottle-green, and his hat of the latest modish
shape. A perfect exquisite, in fact.

And he came to the point without much preamble.

"M.--er--Ratichon," he said, "I have heard of you through a friend,
who tells me that you are the most unscrupulous scoundrel he has ever
come across."

"Sir--!" I began, rising from my seat in indignant protest at the
coarse insult. But with an authoritative gesture he checked the flow
of my indignation.

"No comedy, I pray you, Sir," he said. "We are not at the Theatre
Moliere, but, I presume, in an office where business is transacted
both briefly and with discretion."

"At your service, Monsieur," I replied.

"Then listen, will you?" he went on curtly, "and pray do not
interrupt. Only speak in answer to a question from me."

I bowed my head in silence. Thus must the proud suffer when they
happen to be sparsely endowed with riches.

"You have no doubt heard of Mlle. Goldberg," M. Rochez continued after
a moment's pause, "the lovely daughter of the rich usurer in the Rue
des Medecins."

I had heard of Mlle. Goldberg. Her beauty and her father's wealth were
reported to be fabulous. I indicated my knowledge of the beautiful
lady by a mute inclination of the head.

"I love Mlle. Goldberg," my client resumed, "and I have reason for the
belief that I am not altogether indifferent to her. Glances, you
understand, from eyes as expressive as those of the exquisite Jewess
speak more eloquently than words."

He had forbidden me to speak, so I could only express concurrence in
the sentiments which he expressed by a slight elevation of my left
eyebrow.

"I am determined to win the affections of Mlle. Goldberg," M. Rochez
went on glibly, "and equally am I determined to make her my wife."

"A very natural determination," I remarked involuntarily.

"My only trouble with regard to pressing my court is the fact that my
lovely Leah is never allowed outside her father's house, save in his
company or that of his sister--an old maid of dour mien and sour
disposition, who acts the part of a duenna with dog-like tenacity.
Over and over again have I tried to approach the lady of my heart,
only to be repelled or roughly rebuked for my insolence by her
irascible old aunt."

"You are not the first lover, Sir,"