r for her receipt, or else he lost it. He can't find it anywhere. I
came to ask your wife if she hadn't kept it. When she returns, please
deliver my message; and if she has the receipt, pray send it to me
through the post."

The ruse was not particularly clever, but it was sufficiently so to
deceive Vantrasson. "To whom am I to send this receipt?" he asked.

"To me, Victor Chupin, Faubourg Saint Denis," was the reply.

Imprudent youth! alas, he little suspected what a liberty M. Fortunat
had taken with his name on the evening he visited the Vantrassons. But
on his side the landlord of the Model Lodging House had not forgotten
the name mentioned by the agent. He turned pale with anger on beholding
his supposed creditor, and quickly slipping between the visitor and the
door, he said: "So your name is Victor Chupin?"

"Yes, certainly."

"And you are in the employment of the Railway Company?"

"As I just told you."

"That doesn't prevent you from acting as a collector, does it?"

Chupin instinctively recoiled, convinced that he had betrayed himself
by some blunder, but unable to discover in what he had erred. "I did do
something in that line formerly," he faltered.

Vantrasson doubted no longer. "So you confess that you are a vile
scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "You confess that you purchased an old
promissory note of mine for fourpence, and then sent a man here to seize
my goods! Ah! you'd like to trample the poor under foot, would you! Very
well. I have you now, and I'll settle your account! Take that!" And so
saying, he dealt his supposed creditor a terrible blow with his clinched
fist that sent him reeling to the other end of the shop.

Fortunately, Chupin was very nimble. He did not lose his footing, but
sprung over a table and used it as a rampart to shield himself from his
dangerous assailant. In the open field, he could easily have protected
himself; but here in this narrow space, and hemmed in a corner, he felt
that despite this barrier he was lost. "What a devil of a mess!" he
thought, as with wonderful agility he avoided Vantrasson's fist, a fist
that would have felled an ox. He had an idea of calling for assistance.
But would any one hear him? Would any one reply? And if help came, would
not the police be sure to hear of the broil? And if they did, would
there not be an investigation which would perhaps disturb Pascal's
plans? Fearing to injure those whom he wished to serve, he resolved to
let himself be h