here? I see Jansoulet's
name still at the head of the board. You cannot get him out, then, from
that Ali-Baba's cave? Take care--take care!"

"Ah, I know all about that, M. Joyeuse. But, to leave it with honour,
money is needed, much money, a fresh sacrifice of two or three millions,
and we have not got them. That is exactly the reason why I am going to
Tunis to try to wrest from the rapacity of the Bey a slice of that great
fortune which he is retaining in his possession so unjustly. At present
I have still some chance of succeeding, while later on, perhaps--"

"Go, then, and make haste, my dear lad, and if you return, as I wish you
may, with a heavy bag, see that you deal first of all with the Paganetti
gang. Remember that one shareholder less patient than the rest has the
power to smash the whole thing up, to demand an inquiry; and you know
what the inquiry would reveal. Now I come to think of it," added M.
Joyeuse, whose brow had contracted a frown, "I am even surprised that
Hemerlingue, in his hatred for you, has not secretly brought up a few
shares."

He was interrupted by the chorus of imprecations which the name of
Hemerlingue raised from all the young people, who detested the fat
banker for the injury he had done their father, and for the ill-will he
bore that good Nabob, who was adored in the house through Paul de Gery.

"Hemerlingue, the heartless monster! Wretch! That wicked man!"

But amid all these exclamations, the Visionary was following up his
idea of the fat baron becoming a shareholder in the Territorial for the
purpose of dragging his enemy into the courts. And you may imagine the
stupefaction of Andre Maranne, a complete stranger to the whole affair,
when he saw M. Joyeuse turn to him, and, with face purple and swollen
with rage, point his finger at him, with these terrible words:

"The greatest rascal, after all, in this affair, is you, sir!"

"Oh, papa, papa! what are you saying?"

"Eh, what? Ah, forgive me, my dear Andre. I was fancying myself in the
examining magistrate's private room, face to face with that rogue. It is
my confounded brain that is always running away with me."

All broke into uproarious laughter, which escaped into the outer air
through the open windows, and went to mingle with the thousand noises of
moving vehicles and people in their Sunday clothes going up the Avenue
des Ternes. The author of _Revolt_ took advantage of the diversion to
ask whether they were not soon