was, as usual, seated in his study, with his elbows resting on the table, and his face buried in his hands, when his office-boy rushed in, and with a frightened look said: "Monsieur, the former cashier, M. Bertomy, is here with one of his relatives; he says he must see you on business." The banker at these words started up as if he had been shot. "Prosper!" he cried in a voice choked by anger, "what! does he dare--" Then remembering that he ought to control himself before his servant, he waited a few moments, and then said, in a tone of forced calmness: "Ask them to walk in." If M. Verduret had counted upon witnessing a strange and affecting sight, he was not disappointed. Nothing could be more terrible than the attitude of these two men as they stood confronting each other. The banker's face was almost purple with suppressed anger, and he looked as if about to be struck by apoplexy. Prosper was as pale and motionless as a corpse. Silent and immovable, they stood glaring at each other with mortal hatred. M. Verduret curiously watched these two enemies, with the indifference and coolness of a philosopher, who, in the most violent outbursts of human passion, merely sees subjects for meditation and study. Finally, the silence becoming more and more threatening, he decided to break it by speaking to the banker: "I suppose you know, monsieur, that my young relative has just been released from prison." "Yes," replied M. Fauvel, making an effort to control himself, "yes, for want of sufficient proof." "Exactly so, monsieur, and this want of proof, as stated in the decision of 'Not proven,' ruins the prospects of my relative, and compels him to leave here at once for America." M. Fauvel's features relaxed as if he had been relieved of some fearful agony. "Ah, he is going away," he said, "he is going abroad." There was no mistaking the resentful, almost insulting intonation of the words, "going away!" M. Verduret took no notice of M. Fauvel's manner. "It appears to me," he continued, in an easy tone, "that Prosper's determination is a wise one. I merely wished him, before leaving Paris, to come and pay his respects to his former chief." The banker smiled bitterly. "M. Bertomy might have spared us both this painful meeting. I have nothing to say to him, and of course he can have nothing to tell me." This was a formal dismissal; and M. Verduret, understanding it thus, bowed to M. Fauvel, and left the room, accompanied by Prosper, who had not opened his lips. They had reached the street before Prosper recovered the use of his tongue. "I hope you are satisfied, monsieur," he said, in a gloomy tone; "you exacted this painful step, and I could only acquiesce. Have I gained anything by adding this humiliation to the others which I have suffered?" "You have 

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