look at.”
M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly; he did not intrust the paper to Vantrasson’s hand, but held it a little distance from him, and then read it aloud.
When he had finished: “That note fell due eighteen months ago,” declared Vantrasson. “It is worth nothing now.”
“You are mistaken—a note of this kind is of value any time within five years after the day it goes to protest.”
“Possibly; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I am released——”
“Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred and eighty-three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin’s sale, and who has given my employer orders to prosecute——”
The blood had risen to Vantrasson’s face. “And what of that? Do you suppose I’ve never been sued for debts before? Even the king can’t take anything from a person who possesses nothing; and I own nothing. My furniture is all pawned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth a hundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money in worrying me, he’ll let me alone. You can’t injure a man like me.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Unfortunately you are again mistaken, for although the holder of the note doesn’t care so very much about obtaining his dues, he’ll spend his own money like water to make trouble for you.” And thereupon M. Fortunat began to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursued by a rich creditor who harassed him, and tortured him, and hounded him everywhere, until not even a change of clothing was left him.
Vantrasson rolled his eyes and brandished his formidable fist in the most defiant manner; but his wife was evidently much alarmed. At last she could bear it no longer, and rising hastily she led her husband to the rear of the shop, saying: “Come, I must speak with you.”
He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversing together in a low tone, but with excited gestures. When they returned, the woman opened the conversation. “Alas! sir,” she
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