ite Financiere_, which disappeared more
than two years ago, comes with an air of timidity to renew his
subscription, and requests that it be forwarded a little more
regularly, if possible. There is a confidence which nothing weakens.
When one of those innocent creatures falls in the midst of our
half-starved band, it is something terrible. We surround him, we
embrace him, we try to get his name on one of our lists, and, in case
he resists, if he will subscribe neither to the Paoli monument nor to
the Corsican railways, then those gentry perform what they call--my pen
blushes to write it--what they call "the drayman trick."

This is how it is done: we always have in the office a package prepared
beforehand, a box tied with stout string which arrives, presumably from
some railway station, while the visitor is there. "Twenty francs cartage,"
says the one of us who brings in the package. (Twenty francs, or some
times thirty, according to the victim's appearance.) Every one at once
begins to fumble in his pocket. "Twenty francs cartage! I haven't
it."--"Nor I--What luck!" Some one runs to the counting-room.--Closed!
They look for the cashier. Gone out. And the hoarse voice of the
drayman waxing impatient in the ante-room: "Come, come, make haste." (I
am generally selected for the drayman's part, because of my voice.)
What is to be done? Send back the package? the Governor won't like
that. "Messieurs, I beg you to allow me," the innocent victim ventures
to observe, opening his purse.--"Ah! monsieur, if you would."--He pays
his twenty francs, we escort him to the door, and as soon as his back
is turned we divide the fruit of the crime, laughing like brigands.

Fie! Monsieur Passajon. Such performances at your time of life! Oh!
_Mon Dieu_! I know all about it. I know that I should honor myself
much more if I left this vile place. But, what then? why, I must
abandon all that I have at stake here. No, it is not possible. It is
urgently necessary that I remain, that I keep a close watch, that I am
always on hand to have the advantage of a windfall, if one should come.
Oh! I swear by my ribbon, by my thirty years of academic service, if
ever an affair like this of the Nabob makes it possible for me to
recoup my losses, I will not wait a moment, I will take myself off in
hot haste to look after my little vineyard near Monbars, cured forever
of my speculative ideas. But alas! that is a very chimerical
hope,--played out, discredited,