“So it seems,” replied Clergeot dryly, for he does not like being treated with such familiarity.
“Ah! ah!” said old Tabaret. And, prompted by the very natural curiosity of a landlord who is bound to be very careful about the financial condition of his tenants, he added, “Who the deuce are you ruining now?”
“I am ruining no one,” replied M. Clergeot, with an air of offended dignity. “Have you ever had reason to complain of me whenever we have done business together? I think not. Mention me to the young advocate up there, if you like; he will tell you whether he has reason to regret knowing me.”
These words produced a painful impression on Tabaret. What, Noel, the prudent Noel, one of Clergeot’s customers! What did it mean? Perhaps there was no harm in it; but then he remembered the fifteen thousand francs he had lent Noel on the Thursday.
“Yes,” said he, wishing to obtain some more information, “I know that M. Gerdy spends a pretty round sum.”
Clergeot has the delicacy never to leave his clients undefended when attacked.
“It isn’t he personally,” he objected, “who makes the money dance; its that charming little woman of his. Ah, she’s no bigger than your thumb, but she’d eat the devil, hoofs, horns, and all!”
What! Noel had a mistress, a woman whom Clergeot himself, the friend of such creatures, considered expensive! The revelation, at such a moment, pierced the old man’s heart. But he dissembled. A gesture, a look, might awaken the usurer’s mistrust, and close his mouth.
“That’s well known,” replied Tabaret in a careless tone. “Youth must have it’s day. But what do you suppose the wench costs him a year?”
“Oh, I don’t know! He made the mistake of not fixing a price with her. According to my calculation, she must have, during the four years that she has been under his protection, cost him close upon five hundred thousand francs.”