It was soon after my connexion with that abominable Marquis de Firmin-Latour that I first made the acquaintance of the present Mme. Ratichon, under somewhat peculiar circumstances.

I remember it was on the first day of April in the year 1817 that M. Rochez—­Fernand Rochez was his exact name—­came to see me at my office in the Rue Daunou, and the date proved propitious, as you will presently see.  How M. Rochez came to know of my gifts and powers, I cannot tell you.  He never would say.  He had heard of me through a friend, was all that he vouchsafed to say.

Theodore had shown him in.  Ah! have I not mentioned the fact that I had forgiven Theodore his lies and his treachery, and taken him back to my bosom and to my board?  My sensitive heart had again got the better of my prudence, and Theodore was installed once more in the antechamber of my apartments in the Rue Daunou, and was, as heretofore, sharing with me all the good things that I could afford.  So there he was on duty on that fateful first of April which was destined to be the turning-point of my destiny.  And he showed M. de Rochez in.

At once I knew my man—­the type, I mean.  Immaculately dressed, scented and befrilled, haughty of manner and nonchalant of speech, M. Rochez had the word “adventurer” writ all over his well-groomed person.  He was young, good-looking, his nails were beautifully polished, his pantaloons fitted him without a wrinkle.  These were of a soft putty shade; his coat was bottle-green, and his hat of the latest modish shape.  A perfect exquisite, in fact.

And he came to the point without much preamble.

“M.—­er—­Ratichon,” he said, “I have heard of you through a friend, who tells me that you are the most unscrupulous scoundrel he has ever come across.”

“Sir—!” I began, rising from my seat in indignant protest at the coarse insult.  But with an authoritative gesture he checked the flow of my indignation.

“No comedy, I pray you, Sir,” he said.  “We are not at the Theatre Moliere, but, I presume, in an office where business is transacted both briefly and with discretion.”

“At your service, Monsieur,” I replied.

“Then listen, will you?” he went on curtly, “and pray do not interrupt.  Only speak in answer to a question from me.”

I bowed my head in silence.  Thus must the proud suffer when they happen to be sparsely endowed with riches.

“You have no doubt heard of Mlle. Goldberg,” M. Rochez continued after a moment’s pause, “the lovely daughter of the rich usurer in the Rue des Medecins.”

I had heard of Mlle. Goldberg.  Her beauty and her father’s wealth were reported to be fabulous.  I indicated my knowledge of the beautiful lady by a mute inclination of the head.

“I love Mlle. Goldberg,” my client resumed, “and I have reason for the belief that I am not altogether indifferent to her.  Glances, you understand, from eyes as expressive as those of the exquisite Jewess speak more eloquently than words.”