"What is it?" asked Louis, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, Monsieur Louis," said the concierge timidly, "but the coachman—"
"What coachman?" questioned the young man in surprise, having entirely forgotten the cab in his grief.
"Why, the coachman you retained all night. It seems you promised him twenty extra francs if he would lash his horse to the utmost speed. This, with his night's run, comes to forty-nine francs, and he claims his money."
"Well, give him the money and tell him to go!" rejoined Louis impatiently.
"But, forty-nine francs is an enormous sum, Monsieur Louis; and I can't pay it."
"My God! what shall I do!" cried the young man, recalled to the material interests of life by this request. "I have no money!"
"Then why in the deuce do you hire cabs by the hour and in the night, too, besides promising twenty extra francs for speed? You must have taken leave of your senses!" cried the astounded man. "What will you do now? See if you can't find a little money in your father's chest."
These last words recalled what he had forgotten in his paroxysm of grief. His father was rich, and there must surely be some money about the place. Not wishing to prosecute his search in the presence of a stranger, however, he said carelessly: "Tell the man to wait, as may need the cab again this morning. If I am not down in half an hour, come up and I shall give you the money."
"But this will increase the bill, and if you cannot pay—" the man began to remonstrate.