epresent nothing but
a palpable proof of the audacity of swindlers, and the credulity
of their dupes. And there are actually buyers for these shares,
and they go up or down, according to the ordinary laws of supply
and demand; for there is a demand for them, and here comes in the
usefulness of M. Latterman's business.

Does a tradesman, on the eve of declaring himself bankrupt, wish
to defraud his creditors of a part of his assets, to conceal
excessive expenses, or cover up some embezzlement, at once he goes
to the Rue Joquelet, procures a select assortment of "Cantonal
Credit," "Rossdorif Mines," or "Maumusson Salt Works," and puts
them carefully away in his safe.

And, when the receiver arrives,

"There are my assets," he says. "I have there some twenty, fifty,
or a hundred thousand francs of stocks, the whole of which is not
worth five francs to-day; but it isn't my fault. I thought it a
good investment; and I didn't sell, because I always thought the
price would come up again."

And he gets his discharge, because it would really be too cruel to
punish a man because he has made unfortunate investments.

Better than any one, M. Latterman knows for what purpose are
purchased the valueless securities which he sells; and he actually
advises his customers which to take in preference, in order that
their purchase at the time of their issue may appear more natural,
and more likely. Nevertheless, he claims to be a perfectly honest
man, and declares that he is no more responsible for the swindles
that are committed by means of his stocks than a gunsmith for a
murder committed with a gun that he has sold.

"But he will surely be able to tell us all about the Mutual Credit,"
repeated Maxence to M. de Tregars.

Four o'clock struck when the carriage stopped in the Rue Joquelet.
The bourse had just closed; and a few groups were still standing in
the square, or along the railings.

"I hope we shall find this Latterman at home," said Maxence.

They started up the stairs (for it is up on the second floor that
this worthy operator has his offices); and, having inquired,

"M. Latterman is engaged with a customer," answered a clerk.
"Please sit down and wait."

M. Latterman's office was like all other caverns of the same kind.
A very narrow space was reserved to the public; and all around,
behind a heavy wire screen, the clerks could be seen busy with
figures, or handling coupons. On the right, over a small window,