"I have none," Salmon was obliged to confess.
"None? You surprise me! I have seen your advertisement, I hear good things said of you,—why, then, no pupils?"
"I am hardly known yet. Allow me to count your son here my first, and I have no doubt but others will soon come in."
"Assuredly! Make your compliments to Mr. ——, my son. I shall interest myself. I think I shall send you some pupils. In mean time, my son will wait."
And with many expressions of good-will the cheerful Monsieur Bonfils withdrew.
This was a gleam of hope. The door of Providence had opened just a crack.
It opened no farther, however. No more pupils came. Salmon waited. Day after day glided by like sand under his feet. He could not afford even to advertise now. He was getting fearfully in debt; and debt is always a nightmare to a generous and upright mind.
"Any pupils yet?" asked Monsieur Bonfils, meeting him, one day, in the street.
"Not one!" said Salmon, with gloomy emphasis.
"Ah, that is unfortunate!"