My
employer, who isn't a bad man at heart, hasn't the slightest
desire for revenge. He said to me: 'Go and see these Vantrassons,
and if they seem to be worthy people, propose a compromise. If
they choose to accept it, I shall be quite satisfied.'"
"And what is this compromise?"
"It is this: you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a
sheet of stamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on
account each month. In exchange I will give you this note of
hand."
The husband and wife exchanged glances, and it was the woman who
said: "We accept."
But to carry out this arrangement it was necessary to have a sheet
of stamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide
himself with some. This circumstance seemed to annoy him greatly,
and you might almost have sworn that he regretted the concession
he had promised. Did he think of going? Madame Vantrasson feared
so, and turning eagerly to her husband, she exclaimed: "Run to
the tobacco shop in the Rue de Levis; you will find some paper
there!"
He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He
had certainly retained his composure admirably during the
interview, but more than once he had fancied that Vantrasson was
about to spring on him, crush him with his brawny hands, tear the
note from him, burn it, and then throw him, Fortunat, out into the
street, helpless and nearly dead. But now that danger had passed
and Madame Vantrasson, fearing he might tire of waiting, was
prodigal in her attentions.
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