“Well! what have you got to say to that, booby? Are you going to make more fuss? You hear, he takes the whole thing on himself; I should say that that was acting like a friend?”
“What! Dufresne, would you——”
“Faith, I see no other way of extricating ourselves from poverty; I tell you again, it will not put you forward in any way!”
“Are you sure of it?”
“Bah! What’s the matter with you, Nicodemus, when he tells you that you won’t be put forward? Look here, colleagues, I happen to have on me a blank note, all stamped; just cut a quill, Dufresne, and let’s amuse ourselves by making different kinds of letters.”
“My hand trembles, messieurs,” said Edouard; “I shall never be able to write.”
“Go on, go on! that’s just right! Ah! how rich I should be if I had been able to do as much! But my education was rather neglected.”
“Suppose we should be arrested, identified as the authors of——”
“Bah! it is impossible; and if you should be, you would get off with a few months in prison; and you are very well off there, you enjoy yourself and make acquaintances.”
Edouard, led astray by the talk of the villains who were with him, and having long since lost all sense of delicacy in the haunts of vice and debauchery, crossed the narrow space which still separated him from the miserable wretches who are at odds with the laws; he choked back the last cry of his conscience, and committed the most shameful of crimes.