r," answered Croisilles. "If you refuse me, as I see you
do, I have nothing left but to take my leave. I wish you every good
fortune."

"And where are you going?"

"To write to my father and say good-bye to him."

"Eh! the devil! Any one would swear you were speaking the truth. I'll be
damned if I don't think you are going to drown yourself."

"Yes, sir; at least I think so, if my courage does not forsake me."

"That's a bright idea! Fie on you! How can you be such a fool? Sit down,
sir, I tell you, and listen to me."

Monsieur Godeau had just made a very wise reflection, which was that it is
never agreeable to have it said that a man, whoever he may be, threw
himself into the water on leaving your house. He therefore coughed once
more, took his snuff-box, cast a careless glance upon his shirt-frill, and
continued:

"It is evident that you are nothing but a simpleton, a fool, a regular
baby. You do not know what you are saying. You are ruined, that's what has
happened to you. But, my dear friend, all that is not enough; one must
reflect upon the things of this world. If you came to ask me--well, good
advice, for instance,--I might give it to you; but what is it you are
after? You are in love with my daughter?"

"Yes, sir, and I repeat to you, that I am far from supposing that you can
give her to me in marriage; but as there is nothing in the world but that,
which could prevent me from dying, if you believe in God, as I do not
doubt you do, you will understand the reason that brings me here."

"Whether I believe in God or not, is no business of yours. I do not intend
to be questioned. Answer me first: where have you seen my daughter?"

"In my father's shop, and in this house, when I brought jewelry for
Mademoiselle Julie."

"Who told you her name was Julie? What are we coming to, great heavens!
But be her name Julie or Javotte, do you know what is wanted in any one
who aspires to the hand of the daughter of a fermier-general?"

"No, I am completely ignorant of it, unless it is to be as rich as she."

"Something more is necessary, my boy; you must have a name."

"Well! my name is Croisilles."

"Your name is Croisilles, poor wretch! Do you call that a name?"

"Upon my soul and conscience, sir, it seems to me to be as good a name as
Godeau."

"You are very impertinent, sir, and you shall rue it."

"Indeed, sir, do not be angry; I had not the least idea of offending you.
If you see in what I said anythin