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Page 40
"Oh, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the little tailor, "you mean because I
have once or twice mentioned that Monsieur Alphonse owed me a few
thousand francs. It was very stupid of me to speak so. Monsieur
Alphonse has not only paid me the trifle he was owing, but I know
that he has also satisfied a number of other creditors. I have
done ce cher beau monsieur great injustice, and I beg you never to
give him a hint of my stupidity."
Charles was no longer listening to the chatter of the garrulous
tailor. He soon left the shop, and went up the street, quite
absorbed in the one thought that Alphonse had paid.
He thought how foolish it really was of him to wait and wait for
the other's ruin. How easily might not the adroit and lucky
Alphonse come across many a brilliant business opening, and make
plenty of money without a word of it reaching Charles's ears.
Perhaps, after all, he was getting on well. Perhaps it would end
in people saying, "See, at last Monsieur Alphonse shows what he is
fit for, now that he is quit of his dull and crabbed partner!"
Charles went slowly up the street with his head bent. Many people
jostled him, but he heeded not. His life seemed to him so
meaningless, as if he had lost all that he had ever possessed--or
had he himself cast it from him? Just then some one ran against
him with more than usual violence. He looked up. It was an
acquaintance from the time when he and Alphonse had been in the
Credit Lyonnais.
"Ah, good-day, Monsieur Charles!" cried he, "It is long since we
met. Odd, too, that I should meet you to-day. I was just thinking
of you this morning."
"Why, may I ask?" said Charles, half absently.
"Well, you see, only to-day I saw up at the bank a paper--a bill
for thirty or forty thousand francs--bearing both your name and
that of Monsieur Alphonse. It astonished me, for I thought that
you two--hm!--had done with each other."
"No, we have not quite done with each other yet," said Charles
slowly.
He struggled with all his might to keep his face calm, and asked,
in as natural a tone as he could command, "When does the bill fall
due? I don't quite recollect."
"To-morrow or the day after, I think," answered the other, who was
a hard-worked business man, and was already in a hurry to be off.
"It was accepted by Monsieur Alphonse."
"I know that," said Charles; "but could you not manage to let ME
redeem the bill to-morrow? It is a courtesy--a favor I am anxious
to do."
"With pleasure. Tell your messenger to ask for me personally at
the bank to-morrow afternoon. I will arrange it; nothing easier.
Excuse me; I'm in a hurry. Good-bye!" and with that he ran on.
Next day Charles sat in his counting-house waiting for the
messenger who had gone up to the bank to redeem Alphonse's bill.
At last a clerk entered, laid a folded blue paper by his
principal's side, and went out again.
Not until the door was closed did Charles seize the draft, look
swiftly round the room, and open it. He stared for a second or two
at his name, then lay back in his chair and drew a deep breath. It
was as he had expected--the signature was a forgery.
He bent over it again. For long he sat, gazing at his own name,
and observing how badly it was counterfeited.
While his sharp eyes followed every line in the letters of his
name, he scarcely thought. His mind was so disturbed, and his
feelings so strangely conflicting, that it was some time before he
became conscious how much they betrayed--these bungling strokes on
the blue paper.
He felt a strange lump in his throat, his nose began to tickle a
little, and, before he was aware of it, a big tear fell on the
paper.
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