s, idiotic correspondence!"

He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent
himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow.

"_Bigre!_" he cried, with a galvanic start.

And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor's cap was
on his head in the turn of a hand.

"Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run," he cried. "It is always late. I
go to Paris. I shall telegraph."

"Henri! what is wrong?" cried his wife.

"Ottoman Bonds!" came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie and
Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had gone
to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone to Paris with a
pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a black blouse, a country
nightcap, and twenty francs in his pocket. The fall of the house was but
a secondary marvel; the whole world might have fallen and scarce left his
family more petrified.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY

On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself,
was brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie and the
boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged his
toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand as he
entered, and sank speechless on the nearest chair. Madame turned direct
to Casimir.

"What is wrong?" she cried.

"Well," replied Casimir, "what have I told you all along? It has come. It
is a clean shave this time; so you may as well bear up and make the best
of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my soul!"

"Are we--are we--ruined?" she gasped.

The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. "Ruined," he replied, "you are
ruined by your sinister husband."

Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then he
turned to Jean-Marie. "You hear?" he said. "They are ruined; no more
pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes me, my friend,
that you had best be packing; the present speculation is about worked
out." And he nodded to him meaningly.

"Never!" cried Desprez, springing up. "Jean-Marie, if you prefer to leave
me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your hundred
francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent to stay"--the
Doctor wept a little--"Casimir offers me a place--as clerk," he resumed.
"The emoluments are slender, but they will be enough for three. It is too
much already to have lost my fortune; mus