“Come, come, there’s no time to lose,” came Jean Jacques’ voice again, and the handle of the door of their room turned.
M. Fille’s hand caught the handle. “Excuse me, Monsieur Barbille,—a minute please,” he persisted almost querulously. “Be good enough to keep your manners... monsieur!” he added to the Financier, “if you do not wish to speak with him, there is a door”—he pointed—“which will let you into the side-street.”
“What is his trouble?” asked M. Mornay.
M. Fille hesitated, then said reflectively: “He has lost his case in the Appeal Court, monsieur; also, his cousin, Auguste Charron, who has been working the Latouche farm, has flitted, leaving—”
“Leaving Jean Jacques to pay unexpected debts?”
“So, monsieur.”
“Then I can be of no use, I fear,” remarked M. Mornay dryly.
“Fille! Fille!” came the voice of Jean Jacques insistently from the room.
“And so I will say au revoir, Monsieur Fille,” continued the Big Financier.
A moment later the great man was gone, and M. Fille was alone with the philosopher of the Manor Cartier.