"You see, then," he answered tragically, "that I must kill myself!"
"Why? In order to save the papers from the inconvenience of correcting their error."
"People will say that I shrunk—"
"Oh, 'pon my word now! According to you, a man must make a fool of himself because it has been reported that he would do it. Absurd, old fellow. What do you want to kill yourself for?"
Hector reflected; he almost saw the possibility of living.
"I am ruined," answered he, sadly.
"And it's for this that—stop, my friend, let me tell you, you are an ass! Ruined! It's a misfortune, but when a man is of your age he rebuilds his fortune. Besides, you aren't as ruined as you say, because I've got an income of a hundred thousand francs."
"A hundred thousand francs—"
"Well, my fortune is in land, which brings in about four per cent."
Tremorel knew that his friend was rich, but not that he was as rich as this. He answered with a tinge of envy in his tone: