to spend," said Godefroid, with a significant
grimace.

Just then a gentle rap was heard at the door of the outer room.
Godefroid, glad of the interruption, having got all he wanted to know
out of Madame Vauthier, went to open it.

"What is said, is said, Madame Vauthier," he remarked as he did so. The
visitor was Monsieur Bernard.

"Ah! Monsieur Bernard," cried the widow when she saw him, "I've got a
letter downstairs for you."

The old man followed her down a few steps. When they were out of hearing
from Godefroid's room she stopped.

"No," she said, "I haven't any letter; I only wanted to tell you to
beware of that young man; he belongs to a publishing house."

"That explains everything," thought the old man.

He went back to his neighbor with a very different expression of
countenance.

The look of calm coldness with which Monsieur Bernard now entered the
room contrasted so strongly with the frank and cordial air he had worn
not an instant earlier that Godefroid was forcibly struck by it.

"Pardon me, monsieur," said the old man, stiffly, "but you have shown
me many favors, and a benefactor creates certain rights in those he
benefits."

Godefroid bowed.

"I, who for the last five years have endured a passion like that of
our Lord, I, who for thirty-six years represented social welfare,
government, public vengeance, have, as you may well believe, no
illusions--no, I have nothing left but anguish. Well, monsieur, I was
about to say that your little act in closing the door of my wretched
lair, that simple little thing, was to me the glass of water Bossuet
tells of. Yes, I did find in my heart, that exhausted heart which cannot
weep, just as my withered body cannot sweat, I did find a last drop of
the elixir which makes us fancy in our youth that all human beings
are noble, and I came to offer you my hand; I came to bring you that
celestial flower of belief in good--"

"Monsieur Bernard," said Godefroid, remembering the kind old Alain's
lessons. "I have done nothing to obtain your gratitude. You are quite
mistaken."

"Ah, that is frankness indeed!" said the former magistrate. "Well, it
pleases me. I was about to reproach you; pardon me, I now esteem you.
So you are a publisher, and you have come here to get my work away from
Barbet, Metivier, and Morand? All is now explained. You are making me
advances in money as they did, only you do it with some grace."

"Did Madame Vauthier just tell you that I wa