"Monsieur," said he, "I can find but a hundred louis."
"Put half of it back," said Law. "We shall not need so much."
"But, Monsieur, I do not understand."
"We shall not need more than fifty louis. That is enough. Leave the rest," said Law. "Leave it where you found it."
"But for whom? Does Monsieur soon return?"
"No. Leave it for him who may be first to find it. These dear people without, these same people whom I have enriched, and who now will claim that I have impoverished them—these people will demand of me everything that I have. As a man of honor I can not deny them. They shall have every jot and stiver of the property of John Law, even the million or so of good coin which he brought here to Paris with him. The coat on my back, the wheels beneath me, gold enough to pay for the charges of the inns through France—that is all that John Law will take away with him."
The arms of the old servant fell helpless at his side. "Sir, this is madness," he expostulated.
"Not so, Henri," replied Law, leniently. "Madness enough there has been in Paris, it is true, but madness not mine nor of my making. For madness, look you yonder."
He pointed a finger through the window where the stately edifice of the Palais Royal rose.
"My good friend the regent—it is he who hath been mad," continued Law. "He, holding France in trust, has ruined France forever."