French
of Rome, presented himself at M. Morrel's. Emmanuel received him; this
young man was alarmed by the appearance of every new face, for every new
face might be that of a new creditor, come in anxiety to question the
head of the house. The young man, wishing to spare his employer the pain
of this interview, questioned the new-comer; but the stranger declared
that he had nothing to say to M. Emmanuel, and that his business was
with M. Morrel in person. Emmanuel sighed, and summoned Cocles. Cocles
appeared, and the young man bade him conduct the stranger to M. Morrel's
apartment. Cocles went first, and the stranger followed him. On the
staircase they met a beautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen, who looked
with anxiety at the stranger.

"M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?" said the
cashier.

"Yes; I think so, at least," said the young girl hesitatingly. "Go and
see, Cocles, and if my father is there, announce this gentleman."

"It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle," returned the
Englishman. "M. Morrel does not know my name; this worthy gentleman has
only to announce the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French
of Rome, with whom your father does business."

The young girl turned pale and continued to descend, while the stranger
and Cocles continued to mount the staircase. She entered the office
where Emmanuel was, while Cocles, by the aid of a key he possessed,
opened a door in the corner of a landing-place on the second staircase,
conducted the stranger into an ante-chamber, opened a second door, which
he closed behind him, and after having left the clerk of the house of
Thomson & French alone, returned and signed to him that he could enter.
The Englishman entered, and found Morrel seated at a table, turning over
the formidable columns of his ledger, which contained the list of his
liabilities. At the sight of the stranger, M. Morrel closed the ledger,
arose, and offered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen him
seated, resumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthy
merchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this history,
was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time and sorrow
had ploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his look, once so firm and
penetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as if he feared being
forced to fix his attention on some particular thought or person. The
Englishman looked at him with an air of