“But, monsieur, how could you, a former magistrate!—”
“How could I help it? Not a friend, not a claim that I could make! And yet I saved many heads, if I made some fall! And, then, my daughter, my daughter! whose nurse I am, whose companion I must be; so that I can work but a few hours snatched from sleep. Ah, young man! none but the wretched can judge the wretched! Sometimes I think I used to be too stern to misery.”
“Monsieur, I do not ask your name. I cannot provide three thousand francs, especially if I pay Halpersohn and your lesser debts; but I will save you if you will promise me not to part with your book without letting me know. It is impossible for me to arrange a matter as important as this without consulting others. My backers are powerful, and I can promise you success if you, in return, will promise me absolute secrecy, even to your children, and keep your promise.”
“The only success I care for is the recovery of my poor Vanda; for such sufferings as hers extinguish every other feeling in a father’s heart. As for fame, what is that to one who sees an open grave before him?”
“I will come and see you this evening; they expect Halpersohn at any time, and I shall go there day after day until I find him.”
“Ah, monsieur! if you should be the cause of my daughter’s recovery, I would like,—yes, I would like to give you my work!”
“Monsieur,” said Godefroid, “I am not a publisher.”
The old man started with surprise.
“I let that old Vauthier think so in order to discover the traps they were laying for you.”
“Then who are you?”