ne of the clerks told them.

Indeed, his coarse voice could be distinctly heard behind the screen.
Soon he appeared, showing out an old gentleman, who seemed utterly
confused at the scene, and to whom he was screaming,

"No, sir, no! 'The Financial Pilot' does not take that sort of
business; and I find you very bold to come and propose to me a
twopenny rascality." But, noticing Maxence,

"M. Favoral!" he said. "By Jove! it is your good star that has
brought you here. Come into the private office, my dear sir: come,
we'll have some fun now."

Many of the people who were in the office had a word to say to M.
Saint Pavin, some advice to ask him, an order to transmit, or some
news to communicate. They had all stepped forward, and were holding
out their hands with a friendly smile. He set them aside with his
usual rudeness.

"By and by. I am busy now: leave me alone."

And pushing Maxence towards the office-door, which he had just
opened,

"Come in, come in!" he said in a tone of extraordinary impatience.

But M. de Tregars was coming in too; and, as he did not know him,

"What do you want, you?" he asked roughly.

"The gentleman is my best friend," said Maxence, turning to him;
"and I have no secret from him."

"Let him walk in, then; but, by Heaven, let us hurry!"

Once very sumptuous, the private office of the editor of "The
Financial Pilot" had fallen into a state of sordid dilapidation.
If the janitor had received orders never to use a broom or a duster
there, he obeyed them strictly. Disorder and dirt reigned supreme.
Papers and manuscripts lay in all directions; and on the broad
sofas the mud from the boots of all those who had lounged upon
them had been drying for months. On the mantel-piece, in the
midst of some half-dozen dirty glasses, stood a bottle of Madeira,
half empty. Finally, before the fireplace, on the carpet, and
along the furniture, cigar and cigarette stumps were heaped in
profusion.

As soon as he had bolted the door, coming straight to Maxence,

"What has become of your father?" inquired M. Saint Pavin rudely.

Maxence started. That was the last question he expected to hear.

"I do not know," he replied.

The manager of "The Pilot" shrugged his shoulders. "That you
should say so to the commissary of police, to the judges, and to
all Favoral's enemies, I understand: it is your duty. That they
should believe you, I understand too; for, after all, what do
they care?