iting a receipt.

'Here,' said Delessert, re-entering with a roll of soiled paper in his
hand, 'here are your six hundred francs, well counted.'

The notary reclasped his note-book, and returned it to his pocket;
Pierre Nadaud resumed possession of the receipt paper.

'You are not aware, then, friend Delessert,' said the notary, 'that
creditors are no longer compelled to receive assignats in payment?'

'How? What do you say?'

'Pierre,' continued M. Destouches, 'read the extract from _Le bulletin
des Lois_, published last week.' Pierre did so with a ringing
emphasis, which would have rendered it intelligible to a child; and
the unhappy debtor fully comprehended that his paper-money was
comparatively worthless! It is needless to dwell upon the fury
manifested by Delessert, the cool obduracy of the notary, or the
cynical comments of the clerk. Enough to say, that M. Destouches
departed without his money, after civilly intimating that legal
proceedings would be taken forthwith. The son strove to soothe his
father's passionate despair, but his words fell upon unheeding ears;
and after several hours passed in alternate paroxysms of stormy rage
and gloomy reverie, the elder Delessert hastily left the house, taking
the direction of Strasbourg. Le Bossu watched his father's retreating
figure from the door until it was lost in the clouds of blinding snow
that was rapidly falling, and then sadly resumed some indoor
employment. It was late when he retired to bed, and his father had not
then returned. He would probably remain, the son thought, at
Strasbourg for the night.

The chill, lead-coloured dawn was faintly struggling on the horizon
with the black, gloomy night, when Le Bossu rose. Ten minutes
afterwards, his father strode hastily into the house, and threw
himself, without a word, upon a seat. His eyes, the son observed, were
blood-shot, either with rage or drink--perhaps both; and his entire
aspect wild, haggard, and fierce. Le Bossu silently presented him with
a measure of _vin ordinaire_. It was eagerly swallowed, though
Delessert's hand shook so that he could scarcely hold the pewter
flagon to his lips.

'Something has happened,' said Le Bossu presently.

'Morbleu!--yes. That is,' added the father, checking himself,
'something _might_ have happened, if---- Who's there?'

'Only the wind shaking the door. What _might_ have happened?'
persisted the son.

'I will tell you, Antoine. I set off for Strasbourg yeste