proof that she had played the part of
an informer against me, and therefore could
have neither affection nor respect for me.

I threw myself down upon the divan,
buried my face in my hands, and gave full
vent to my crushed feelings. And then,
cruel mockery! I went to the window, where
I had so often watched, to catch a glimpse of
Julie. I know not what strange fascination,
what powerful spell dragged me to it. I
drew aside the curtain. The windows on the
opposite side were brightly lighted. Shadows
passed and repassed upon the blinds like
figures in a puppet-show, and I fancied I
could hear the music and the laughter.
Occasionally a person whom I instantly recognised
came to the door below, rang the bell,
and ascended. Then, by the movement of
the shadows, I could tell that there was a
bustle and a stir as he entered. But where
was I—I, who for several years had never
failed on such an occasion?

The last of the visitors I saw enter was
M. Griffe, a pettifogging lawyer with whom
I had some not very agreeable relations,
he in fact holding against me a bond which
I had obligingly signed to accommodate
a friend, and which in due course of time
neither of us had the ability to discharge.
M. Griffe's leniency towards me was the
result of my friendship with the Gigot
family; but I never liked—never trusted
him. Whether it was the relation in which
we stood to one another, or that I could
see more deeply into him than my friends,
I know not. As I saw him now enter, with
his wife and son, the house of M. Gigot, I
felt this antagonistic feeling in fuller force
than ever, and I turned away from the window
in very loathing for the man.

I paced up and down the room; I stole
towards the window; I sat down on a chair; I
buried my face in my hands. Nothing would
do; one long deep heavy aching seemed
gnawing at my heart.

After upwards of an hour and a half, I
heard a step approach my door; a knock was
given, and, without waiting an answer to the
signal, a person entered. I recognised by the
moonlight—for I had not arranged my lamp
—that it was M. Griffe. My first idea was
that he had come, a messenger of reconciliation,
to hear my explanation and act as
mediator. He quickly undeceived me. I
was about to light a candle.

"You may spare yourself that trouble and
expense," he began, in a dry caustic tone;
"the object of my visit is short and simple.
Should the money which is due to me from
you on the bond be not paid by ten o'clock
to-morrow morning, the arrest I hold against
you will be put in execution; and"—he said
this as he stood before the door and the
landing-place—"you shall not come out of
prison till you have paid the last centime."

Had this friendly admonition been given at
an earlier period—say, the day before—it
would have produced a different effect. But
when we are busy about a very large calamity,
we have no time to think of minor
misfortunes. The thunderbolt M. Griffe had
launched fell harmlessly upon me. Rather it
was a diversion, a relief. It set my brain—
my busy toiling foolish brain at work; and
before an hour was over, I had matured
another plan which might bear the palm
away from any I had that day executed, for
stupidity and want of common sense.

I had not eaten since the morning, nor did
the desire of eating oppress me. I felt faint,
but not from the want of food; so once more
I threw myself upon the divan, determined
to wait patiently till morning came, that I
might carry my resolve into execution.
Accordingly, at ten o'clock on the morrow, I
arrived at the office of M. Griffe. That
complacent gentleman was at his desk.

"Ah! ah! you are come, then—you want
the bill, I suppose?" he said, in half-alarmed,
half-disappointed tone.

"No;" I replied, shortly. "I have not a
sou in the world."

"But your friend, M. Gigot?"

As he uttered this, his whole being changed.
He thrust his long lanky fingers into his
waistcoat pocket, leant back upon the chimney-
piece, and gave a malicious chuckle with
his throat. There was irony in his whole
manner and voice. I felt he intended to
insult me; and for an instant meditated a
violent assault upon his person. Probably
he had himself some suspicion that he had
roused the demon within me, for he escaped
into a side bureau, and whilst apparently
rummaging for papers, sent his clerk into
the room where I was.

"I am come to deliver myself up," I
remarked, on his reappearance—for I had
allowed my thoughts of sweet revenge to cool
down. "I have no intention, and no wish to
pay a single centime, and you may proceed
with me, on these grounds, before the juge
de paix."

"That goes well," he replied. "There will
be no serious delay. Will you have a cab, or
shall we walk?" All this was said with the
affected amiability of one friend obliging
another.

The Rue de Clichy is a long street leading
up from the neighbourhood of the Boulevards
to the heights of Montmartre; but is, moreover,
celebrated as containing a prison for
debtors. To this locality I was in due time
conducted, although not so speedily as I
desired, for there were many little obstacles in
the way—obstacles which had been raised in
favour of debtors who were not so willing as
myself to obtain a lodging at the public
expense; and these could not be set aside
without admitting frightful precedents; and
many an error, by the same example, might
rush into the state. However, before evening,
I had undergone a full-length
examination, by our lean-faced warden, and