But he dissembled. A gesture, a look, might
awaken the usurer's mistrust, and close his mouth.
"That's well known," replied Tabaret in a careless tone. "Youth must
have it's day. But what do you suppose the wench costs him a year?"
"Oh, I don't know! He made the mistake of not fixing a price with her.
According to my calculation, she must have, during the four years that
she has been under his protection, cost him close upon five hundred
thousand francs."
Four years? Five hundred thousand francs! These words, these figures,
burst like bombshells on old Tabaret's brain. Half a million! In that
case, Noel was utterly ruined. But then--
"It is a great deal," said he, succeeding by desperate efforts in hiding
his emotion; "it is enormous. M. Gerdy, however, has resources."
"He!" interrupted the usurer, shrugging his shoulders. "Not even that!"
he added, snapping his fingers; "He is utterly cleaned out. But, if he
owes you money, do not be anxious. He is a sly dog. He is going to be
married; and I have just renewed bills of his for twenty-six thousand
francs. Good-bye, M. Tabaret."
The usurer hurried away, leaving the poor old fellow standing like a
milestone in the middle of the pavement.
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