people. But if the place was
gloomy, the borrowers seemed to take their misfortunes good-humoredly.
They were mostly students and women, talking gayly as they waited
for their turns. The Count de Tremorel advanced with his watch,
chain, and a brilliant diamond that he had taken from his finger.
He was seized with the timidity of misery, and did not know how to
open his business. A young woman pitied his embarrassment.

[* The public pawnbroker establishment of Paris, which has
branch bureaus through the city.]

"See," said she, "put your articles on this counter, before that
window with green curtains."

A moment after he heard a voice which seemed to proceed from the
next room:

"Twelve hundred francs for the watch and ring."

This large amount produced such a sensation as to arrest all the
conversation. All eyes were turned toward the millionnaire who was
going to pocket such a fortune. The millionnaire made no response.

The same woman who had spoken before nudged his arm.

"That's for you," said she. "Answer whether you will take it or
not."

"I'll take it," cried Hector.

He was filled with a joy which made him forget the night's torture.
Twelve hundred francs! How many days it would last! Had he not
heard there were clerks who hardly got that in a year?

Hector waited a long time, when one of the clerks, who was writing
at a desk, called out:

"Whose are the twelve hundred francs?"

The count stepped forward.

"Mine," said he.

"Your name?"

Hector hesitated. He would never give his name aloud in such a
place as this. He gave the first name that occurred to him.

"Durand."

"Where are your papers?"

"What papers?"

"A passport, a receipt for lodgings, a license to hunt--"

"I haven't any."

"Go for them, or bring two well-known witnesses."

"But--"

"There is no 'but.' The next--"

Hector was provoked by the clerk's abrupt manner.

"Well, then," said he, "give me back the jewelry."

The clerk looked at him jeeringly.

"Can't be done. No goods that are registered, can be returned
without proof of rightful possession." So saying, he went on with
his work. "One French shawl, thirty-five francs, whose is it?"

Hector meanwhile went out of the establishment. He had never
suffered so much, had never imagined that one could suffer so much.
After this ray of hope, so abruptly put out, the clouds lowered
over him thicker and more hopelessly. He was worse off than the
shipwre