I am!"

Imagine the completeness of my dismay! Although he spoke in tones the
most genial, and without unkindness, I felt myself a man of tatters
before him, ashamed to have him know my sorry secret, hopeless to
see all chance of authority over him gone at once, and with it my
opportunity to earn a salary so generous, for if I could continue to
be but an amusement to him and only part of his deception of Lambert R.
Poor, my sense of honour must be fit for the guillotine indeed.

I had a little struggle with myself, and I think I must have wiped some
amounts of the cold perspiration from my absurd head before I was able
to make an answer. It may be seen what a coward I was, and how I feared
to begin again that search for employment. At last, however, I was in
self-control, so that I might speak without being afraid that my voice
would shake.

"I am sorry," I said. "It seemed to me that my deception would not cause
any harm, and that I might be useful in spite of it--enough to earn
my living. It was on account of my being very poor; and there are two
little children I must take care of.--Well, at least, it is over now. I
have had great shame, but I must not have greater."

"What do you mean?" he asked me rather sharply.

"I will leave immediately," I said, going to the door. "Since I am no
more than a joke, I can be of no service to your father or to you; but
you must not think that I am so unreasonable as to be angry with you. A
man whom you have beheld reduced to what I was, at the Cafe' de la Paix,
is surely a joke to the whole world! I will write to your father before
I leave the hotel and explain that I feel myself unqualified--"

"You're going to write to him why you give it up!" he exclaimed.

"I shall make no report of espionage," I answered, with, perhaps, some
bitterness, "and I will leave the letter for you to read and to send, of
yourself. It shall only tell him that as a man of honour I cannot keep a
position for which I have no qualification."

I was going to open the door, bidding him adieu, when he called out to
me.

"Look here!" he said, and he jumped out of bed in his pajamas and came
quickly, and held out his hand. "Look here, Ansolini, don't take it that
way. I know you've had pretty hard times, and if you'll stay, I'll get
good. I'll go to the Louvre with you this afternoon; we'll dine at
one of the Duval restaurants, and go to that new religious tragedy
afterwards. If you like, we'll leave