The old fellow’s decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.
“Must I repeat it?” he said; “I am completely drained, com—plete—ly!”
“Indeed?” said the usurer; “well, I am sorry for you; but I shall have to sue you.”
“And what good will that do? Let us play above board, M. Clergeot. Do you care to increase the lawyers’ fees? You don’t do you? Even though, you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime? You will obtain judgment against me. Well, what then? Do you think of putting in an execution? This is not my home; the lease is in Madame Gerdy’s name.”
“I know all that. Besides, the sale of everything here would not cover the amount.”
“Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy! Bad speculation, I warn you, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money.”
“Good!” cried the worthy money-lender. “Now you are talking nonsense! You call that being frank. Pshaw! If you supposed me capable of half the cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer, ready for me.”
“A mistake! I should not know where to get it, unless by asking Madame Gerdy, a thing I would never do.”
A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot, interrupted Noel.
“It would be no good doing that,” said the usurer; “mamma’s purse has long been empty; and if the dear creature should die now,—they tell me she is very ill,—I would not give two hundred napoleons for the inheritance.”