“Precisely; and it is because I find myself in the same fix as Bouscat that I have called on you. Business is very bad, and I have notes to a large amount overdue, so that—”
“You will be obliged to go into bankruptcy.”
“Alas! I fear so.”
M. Fortunat already knew what his client desired, but it was against his principles to meet these propositions more than half way. “Will you state your case?” said he.
The coal merchant blushed. It was hard to confess the truth; but the effort had to be made. “This is my case,” he replied, at last. “Among my creditors I have several enemies, who will refuse me a release. They would like to deprive me of everything I possess. And in that case, what would become of me? Is it right that I should be compelled to starve?”
“It is a bad outlook.”
“It is, indeed, monsieur; and for this reason, I desire—if possible, if I can do so without danger—for I am an honest man, monsieur—I wish to retain a little property—secretly, of course, not for myself, by any means, but I have a young wife and——”
M. Fortunat took compassion on the man’s embarrassment. “In short,” he interrupted, “you wish to conceal a part of your capital from your creditors?”
On hearing this precise and formal statement of his honorable intentions, the coal-merchant trembled. His feelings of integrity would not have been alarmed by a periphrasis, but this plain speaking shocked him. “Oh, monsieur!” he protested, “I would rather blow my brains out than defraud my creditors of a single penny that was rightfully theirs. What I am doing is for their interest, you understand. I shall begin business again under my wife’s name; and if I succeed, they shall be paid—yes, monsieur, every sou, with interest. Ah! if I had only myself to think of, it would be quite different; but I have two children, two little girls, so that——”
“Very well,” replied M. Fortunat. “I should suggest to you the same expedient as I suggested to your friend Bouscat. But you must gather a little ready money together before going into bankruptcy.”