“I know of something that will set you straight in a moment,” answered Castanier; “but first you would have to——”
“Do what?”
“Sell your share of paradise. It is a matter of business like anything else, isn’t it? We all hold shares in the great Speculation of Eternity.”
“I tell you this,” said Claparon angrily, “that I am just the man to lend you a slap in the face. When a man is in trouble, it is no time to pay silly jokes on him.”
“I am talking seriously,” said Castanier, and he drew a bundle of notes from his pocket.
“In the first place,” said Claparon, “I am not going to sell my soul to the Devil for a trifle. I want five hundred thousand francs before I strike——”
“Who talks of stinting you?” asked Castanier, cutting him short. “You shall have more gold than you could stow in the cellars of the Bank of France.”
He held out a handful of notes. That decided Claparon.
“Done,” he cried; “but how is the bargain to be make?”
“Let us go over yonder, no one is standing there,” said Castanier, pointing to a corner of the court.