g to wound you, and wish to punish me for
it, there is no need to get angry. Have I not told you that on leaving
here I am going straight to drown myself?"

Although M. Godeau had promised himself to send Croisilles away as gently
as possible, in order to avoid all scandal, his prudence could not resist
the vexation of his wounded pride. The interview to which he had to resign
himself was monstrous enough in itself; it may be imagined, then, what he
felt at hearing himself spoken to in such terms.

"Listen," he said, almost beside himself, and determined to close the
matter at any cost. "You are not such a fool that you cannot understand a
word of common sense. Are you rich? No. Are you noble? Still less so. What
is this frenzy that brings you here? You come to worry me; you think you
are doing something clever; you know perfectly well that it is useless;
you wish to make me responsible for your death. Have you any right to
complain of me? Do I owe a son to your father? Is it my fault that you
have come to this? Mon Dieu! When a man is going to drown himself, he
keeps quiet about it--"

"That is what I am going to do now. I am your very humble servant."

"One moment! It shall not be said that you had recourse to me in vain.
There, my boy, here are three louis d'or: go and have dinner in the
kitchen, and let me hear no more about you."

"Much obliged; I am not hungry, and I have no use for your money."

So Croisilles left the room, and the financier, having set his conscience
at rest by the offer he had just made, settled himself more comfortably in
his chair, and resumed his meditations.

Mademoiselle Godeau, during this time, was not so far away as one might
suppose; she had, it is true, withdrawn in obedience to her father; but,
instead of going to her room, she had remained listening behind the door.
If the extravagance of Croisilles seemed incredible to her, still she
found nothing to offend her in it; for love, since the world has existed,
has never passed as an insult. On the other hand, as it was not possible
to doubt the despair of the young man, Mademoiselle Godeau found herself a
victim, at one and the same time, to the two sentiments most dangerous to
women--compassion and curiosity. When she saw the interview at an end, and
Croisilles ready to come out, she rapidly crossed the drawing-room where
she stood, not wishing to be surprised eavesdropping, and hurried towards
her apartment; but she almost imme