al to you the cause of the persecutions directed against
Mademoiselle Mirouet."

"Can I put a stop to them?"

"Yes."

"Can I avenge them?"

"On their author, yes--on his tool, no."

"Why not?"

"Because--I am the tool."

Savinien turned pale.

"I have just seen Ursula--" said Goupil.

"Ursula?" said the lover, looking fixedly at the clerk.

"Mademoiselle Mirouet," continued Goupil, made respectful by Savinien's
tone; "and I would undo with my blood the wrong that has been done; I
repent of it. If you were to kill me, in a duel or otherwise, what good
would my blood do you? can you drink it? At this moment it would poison
you."

The cold reasoning of the man, together with a feeling of eager
curiosity, calmed Savinien's anger. He fixed his eyes on Goupil with a
look which made that moral deformity writhe.

"Who set you at this work?" said the young man.

"Will you swear?"

"What,--to do you no harm?"

"I wish that you and Mademoiselle Mirouet should not forgive me."

"She will forgive you,--I, never!"

"But at least you will forget?"

What terrible power the reason has when it is used to further
self-interest. Here were two men, longing to tear one another in pieces,
standing in that courtyard within two inches of each other, compelled to
talk together and united by a single sentiment.

"I will forgive you, but I shall not forget."

"The agreement is off," said Goupil coldly. Savinien lost patience. He
applied a blow upon the man's face which echoed through the courtyard
and nearly knocked him down, making Savinien himself stagger.

"It is only what I deserve," said Goupil, "for committing such a folly.
I thought you more noble than you are. You have abused the advantage I
gave you. You are in my power now," he added with a look of hatred.

"You are a murderer!" said Savinien.

"No more than a dagger is a murderer."

"I beg your pardon," said Savinien.

"Are you revenged enough?" said Goupil, with ferocious irony; "will you
stop here?"

"Reciprocal pardon and forgetfulness," replied Savinien.

"Give me your hand," said the clerk, holding out his own.

"It is yours," said Savinien, swallowing the shame for Ursula's sake.
"Now speak; who made you do this thing?"

Goupil looked into the scales as it were; on one side was Savinien's
blow, on the other his hatred against Minoret. For a second he was
undecided; then a voice said to him: "You will be notary!" and he
answered:--

"Pardon