all
passers-by how neatly their work was done.

"This, then," exclaimed Croisilles, "is all that remains after thirty
years of work and a respectable life,--and all through the failure to have
ready, on a given day, money enough to honor a signature imprudently
given!"

While the young man walked up and down given over to the saddest thoughts,
Jean seemed very much embarrassed. He supposed that his master was without
ready money, and that he might perhaps not even have dined. He was
therefore trying to think of some way to question him on the subject, and
to offer him, in case of need, some part of his savings. After having
tortured his mind for a quarter of an hour to try and hit upon some way of
leading up to the subject, he could find nothing better than to come up to
Croisilles, and ask him, in a kindly voice:

"Sir, do you still like roast partridges?"

The poor man uttered this question in a tone at once so comical and so
touching, that Croisilles, in spite of his sadness, could not refrain from
laughing.

"And why do you ask me that?" said he.

"My wife," replied Jean, "is cooking me some for dinner, sir, and if by
chance you still liked them--"

Croisilles had completely forgotten till now the money which he was
bringing back to his father. Jean's proposal reminded him that his pockets
were full of gold.

"I thank you with all my heart," said he to the old man, "and I accept
your dinner with pleasure; but, if you are anxious about my fortune, be
reassured. I have more money than I need to have a good supper this
evening, which you, in your turn, will share with me."

Saying this, he laid upon the mantel four well-filled purses, which he
emptied, each containing fifty louis.

"Although this sum does not belong to me," he added, "I can use it for a
day or two. To whom must I go to have it forwarded to my father?"

"Sir," replied Jean, eagerly, "your father especially charged me to tell
you that this money belongs to you, and, if I did not speak of it before,
it was because I did not know how your affairs in Paris had turned out.
Where he has gone your father will want for nothing; he will lodge with
one of your correspondents, who will receive him most gladly; he has
moreover taken with him enough for his immediate needs, for he was quite
sure of still leaving behind more than was necessary to pay all his just
debts. All that he has left, sir, is yours; he says so himself in his
letter, and I am espe