Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no one on the stairs; fate was in his favor; would it accompany him to the end?
While he waited at the door, asking himself this question, an idea flashed into his mind. He would make a last attempt. If Caffie consented to make the loan he would save himself; if he refused, he condemned himself.
After several seconds, that appeared like hours, his listening ears perceived a sound which announced that Caffie was at home. A scratching of wood on the tiled floor denoted that a chair had been pushed aside; heavy, dragging steps approached, then the bolt creaked, and the door was opened cautiously.
"Ah! It is you, my dear sir!" Caffie said, in surprise.
Saniel entered briskly and closed the door himself, pressing it firmly.
"Is there anything new?" Caffie asked, as he led the way to his office.
"No," Saniel replied.
"Well, then?" Caffie asked, as he seated himself in an armchair before his desk, on which stood a lighted lamp. "I suppose you have come to hear more about my young friend. This hurry augurs well."
"No, it is not of the young person that I wish to talk to you."
"I am sorry."