Holt stood motionless before the stranger and looked at him.
“I thank you, sir; there is no remedy for me; I am doomed!”
“Still, I will assist you. Follow me.”
“Who are you, sir, if I may ask the question?”
“I am a man whom Providence seems to have chosen to rescue the prey from the jaws of a usurer. Come along with us, and fear nothing.”
“Very well, I will go in the name of God! I do not precisely know your object, and you are a stranger to me. But your countenance looks innocent and kind, therefore I will go with you.”
They passed through alleys and streets.
“Do you often visit that tavern?” inquired Seraphin.
“Not six times in a year,” answered Holt. “Sometimes of a Sunday I drink half a glass of wine, that's all. I am poor, and have to be saving. I would not have gone to the tavern to-day but that I wanted to get rid of my feelings of misery.”
“I overheard your story,” rejoined Seraphin. “Shund's treatment of you was inhuman. He behaved towards you like a trickish devil.”