“Ah, M. de Gandelu,” said he, “you have come, I suppose, to bespeak some fresh toilettes for that exquisite creature, Zora de Chantemille?”

“Not to-day,” returned Gaston.  “Zora is a little indisposed.”

Andre, however, who had arranged the narrative that he was about to pour into the ears of the famous Van Klopen, was in too much haste to permit of any unnecessary delay.

“We have come here,” said he hurriedly, “upon a matter of some moment.  My friend, M. Gaston de Gandelu, is about to leave Paris for some months, and, before doing so, is anxious to settle all outstanding accounts, and retire all his bills, which may not yet have fallen due.”

“Have I any bills of M. de Gandelu?” said Van Klopen slowly.  “Ah, yes, I remember that I had some now.  Yes, five bills of one thousand francs each, drawn by Gandelu, and accepted by Martin Rigal.  I received them from the Mutual Loan Society, but they are no longer in my hands.”

“Is that the case?” murmured Gaston, growing sick with apprehension.

“Yes, I sent them to my cloth merchants at St. Etienne, Rollon and Company.”

Van Klopen was a clever scoundrel, but he sometimes lacked the necessary perception of when he had said enough; and this was proved to-day, for, agitated by the steady gaze that Andre kept upon him, he added,—­

“If you do not believe my word, I can show you the acknowledgment that I received from that firm.”

“It is unnecessary,” replied Andre.  “Your statement is quite sufficient.”

“I should prefer to let you see the letter.”

“No, thank you,” replied Andre, not for a moment duped by the game that was being played.  “Pray take no more trouble.  We shall, I presume, find that the bills are at St. Etienne.  There is no use in taking any more trouble about them, and we will wait until they arrive at maturity.  I have the honor to wish you good morning.”

And with these words he dragged away Gaston, who was actually about to consult Van Klopen as to the most becoming costume for Zora to appear in on leaving the prison of St. Lazare.  When they were a few doors from the man-milliner’s, Andre stopped and wrote down the names of Van Klopen’s cloth merchants.  Gaston was now quite at his ease.

“I think,” remarked he, “that Van Klopen is a sharp fellow; he knows that I am to be relied on.”

“Where do you think your bills are?”

“At St. Etienne’s, of course.”

The perfect innocence of the boy elicited from Andre a gesture of impatient commiseration.

“Listen to me,” said he, “and see if you can comprehend the awful position in which you have placed yourself.”

“I am listening, my dear fellow; pray go on.”

“You drew these bills through Verminet because Van Klopen would not give you credit.”

“Exactly so.”

“How, then, do you account for the fact that this man, who was at first disinclined to trust you, should without rhyme or reason, offer to supply you now as he did to-day?”