n this very room, fifteen years ago, you were
intrusted to me by your father; and ever since that day have I had cause
to congratulate myself on possessing so faithful and efficient a
clerk. Yes, it is fifteen years since you came to me. I was then just
commencing the foundation of my fortune. You have seen it gradually
grow, step by step, from almost nothing to its present height. As my
wealth increased, I endeavored to better your condition; you, who,
although so young, are the oldest of my clerks. At each inventory of my
fortune, I increased your salary."

Never had Prosper heard him express himself in so feeling and paternal a
manner. Prosper was silent with astonishment.

"Answer," pursued M. Fauvel: "have I not always been like a father to
you? From the first day, my house has been open to you; you were treated
as a member of my family; Madeleine and my sons looked upon you as a
brother. But you grew weary of this peaceful life. One day, a year ago,
you suddenly began to shun us; and since then----"

The memories of the past thus evoked by the banker seemed too much for
the unhappy cashier; he buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly.

"A man can confide everything to his father without fear of being
harshly judged," resumed M. Fauvel. "A father not only pardons, he
forgets. Do I not know the terrible temptations that beset a young man
in a city like Paris? There are some inordinate desires before which the
firmest principles must give way, and which so pervert our moral sense
as to render us incapable of judging between right and wrong. Speak,
Prosper, Speak!"

"What do you wish me to say?"

"The truth. When an honorable man yields, in an hour of weakness, to
temptation, his first step toward atonement is confession. Say to me,
Yes, I have been tempted, dazzled: the sight of these piles of gold
turned my brain. I am young: I have passions."

"I?" murmured Prosper. "I?"

"Poor boy," said the banker, sadly; "do you think I am ignorant of the
life you have been leading since you left my roof a year ago? Can you
not understand that all your fellow-clerks are jealous of you? that they
do not forgive you for earning twelve thousand francs a year? Never have
you committed a piece of folly without my being immediately informed of
it by an anonymous letter. I could tell the exact number of nights
you have spent at the gaming-table, and the amount of money you have
squandered. Oh, envy has good eyes and a q