“Yes,” said the doctor.  “They combined against him to such purpose, that they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting something that he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he belonged to the place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen.  My friend’s name is Fraisier.  He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more threadbare.  He took refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to appear for clients in the police-court or before the magistrate.  He lives in the Rue de la Perle close by.  Go to No. 9, third floor, and you will see his name on the door on the landing, painted in gilt letters on a small square of red leather.  Fraisier makes a special point of disputes among the porters, workmen, and poor folk in the arrondissement, and his charges are low.  He is an honest man; for I need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be keeping his carriage by now.  I will call and see my friend Fraisier this evening.  Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace, M. Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary.  He is even now looked upon as one of the best men of business in the Quarter.  If he takes charge of your interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons’ adviser, you will have a second self in him, you see.  But do not make dishonorable proposals to him, as you did just now to me; he has a head on his shoulders, you will understand each other.  And as for acknowledging his services, I will be your intermediary—­”

Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor.

“Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend’s legacy?”

“The very same.”

“Wasn’t it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two thousand francs a year for her?” exclaimed La Cibot.  “And she thought to clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a couple of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short.”

“My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things very badly.  And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any questions.  That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; but in my line a practice brings—­”

“It is only the righteous that suffer here below,” said La Cibot.  “Well, M. Poulain, good-day and thank you.”

And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, a terrible comedy—­the death of an old bachelor delivered over by circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that gathered about his bed.  And other forces came to the support of rapacity and greed; there was the picture collector’s mania, that most intense of all passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, whom you shall presently behold in his den, a sight to make you shudder; and lastly, there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, ready for anything—­even for a crime—­that should bring him the capital he wanted.  The first part of the story serves in some sort as a prelude to this comedy in which all the actors who have hitherto occupied the stage will reappear.