Lirat fixed his glance on me for a moment. I can still see that glance. It was truly sorrowful.
"Five hundred francs!" he said. "Where in the devil do you expect me to get them? Have I ever had five hundred francs?"
I insisted, repeating:
"I'll give them back to you tomorrow ... tomorrow morning."
"But I haven't got them, my poor Mintié. I have only two hundred francs left. Would that do you any good?"
I was thinking that these two hundred francs which he offered meant to him a whole month's subsistence. I answered with a bleeding heart:
"Well, all right! All the same! I'll give them back to you tomorrow ... tomorrow morning."
"That is all right!"
At that moment I would have wished to throw myself on Lirat's neck, to beg his pardon, to shout: "No, no I don't want this money!" And like a thief I took it away with me.