is
not worn out, and to keep the money that he has received. If I do not
pay these three thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into
the street. To tell the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but
those who owe it to me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold
my situation! I am desperate because there is no one to whom I can
apply; those whom I have asked for money have not listened to me; I
have told you that I have no relatives, and neither have I any
friends--perhaps because I am not amiable. And then I thought of you.
You know me. You know that people say I have a future before me. At the
end of three months I shall be a doctor in the hospitals; my competitors
admit that I shall not miss admission; I have undertaken some
experiments that will, perhaps, give me fame. Will you give me your
hand?"

Glady extended it toward him. "I thank you for having applied to me; it
is a proof of confidence that touches me." He pressed the hand that he
had taken with some warmth. "I see that you have divined the sentiments
of esteem with which you have inspired me."

Saniel drew a long breath.

"Unfortunately," continued Glady, "I cannot do what you desire without
deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I
lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends
I lost my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath
that I cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that
I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?"

"Who would know it?"

"My conscience."

They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed.

"At last here are some cabs," Glady said. "Pardon me for leaving you,
but I am in a hurry."

CHAPTER III. A LAST RESORT

Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the
sidewalk, slightly dazed. It was only when the door closed that he
understood.

"His conscience!" he murmured. "Behold them! Tartufes!"

After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the
bridge of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man
who does not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning
his arms on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its
small waves fringed with white foam. The rain had ceased, but the wind
blew in squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the
red and green lights of the omnibus boats sway