The broker whistled. "Diable, what a misfortune!" he exclaimed. "Anyhow, here is my card. Call on me to-morrow at my office, and if I can be of any assistance, you may rely on me."
He looked at the card which bore the name:—
The next day the shares dropped—to nine—and finally to eight francs.
Payot felt so ill he sent for Villebois. The worthy doctor did what he could, but although an admirable physician for bodily ailments, he was almost helpless to cure the mind.
The day after, the shares made a slight recovery. They went to 12 frs. 50, and finished for the day at 15 frs., but the next day they dropped again to 6 frs.—no buyers.
Payot called on M. Beaupaire and implored him to help him.
"Certainly, my dear sir, rely on me. I may save some of the wreckage yet. Anyhow, I will do my best."
The financier squeezed his hand and went back to his house.