Part 40

“Alas! I fear so.”

M. Fortunat already knew what his client desired, but it was against his principles to meet these propositions more than half way. “Will you state your case?” said he.

The coal merchant blushed. It was hard to confess the truth; but the effort had to be made. “This is my case,” he replied, at last. “Among my creditors I have several enemies, who will refuse me a release. They would like to deprive me of everything I possess. And in that case, what would become of me? Is it right that I should be compelled to starve?”

“It is a bad outlook.”

“It is, indeed, monsieur; and for this reason, I desire--if possible, if I can do so without danger--for I am an honest man, monsieur--I wish to retain a little property--secretly, of course, not for myself, by any means, but I have a young wife and----”

M. Fortunat took compassion on the man’s embarrassment. “In short,” he interrupted, “you wish to conceal a part of your capital from your creditors?”

On hearing this precise and formal statement of his honorable intentions, the coal-merchant trembled. His feelings of integrity would not have been alarmed by a periphrasis, but this plain speaking shocked him. “Oh, monsieur!” he protested, “I would rather blow my brains out than defraud my creditors of a single penny that was rightfully theirs. What I am doing is for their interest, you understand. I shall begin business again under my wife’s name; and if I succeed, they shall be paid--yes, monsieur, every sou, with interest. Ah! if I had only myself to think of, it would be quite different; but I have two children, two little girls, so that----”

“Very well,” replied M. Fortunat. “I should suggest to you the same expedient as I suggested to your friend Bouscat. But you must gather a little ready money together before going into bankruptcy.”

“I can do that by secretly disposing of a part of my stock, so----”

“In that case, you are saved. Sell it and put the money beyond your creditors’ reach.”

The worthy merchant scratched his ear in evident perplexity. “Excuse me,” said he. “I had thought of this plan; but it seemed to me--dishonorable--and--also very dangerous. How could I explain this decrease in my stock? My creditors hate me. If they suspected anything, they would accuse me of fraud, and perhaps throw me into prison; and then----”

M. Fortunat shrugged his shoulders. “When I give advice,” he roughly replied, “I furnish the means of following it without danger. Listen to me attentively. Let us suppose, for a moment, that some time ago you purchased, at a very high figure, a quantity of stocks and shares, which are to-day almost worthless, could not this unfortunate investment account for the absence of the sum which you wish to set aside? Your creditors would be obliged to value these securities, not at their present, but at their former value.”

“Evidently; but, unfortunately, I do not possess any such securities.”

“You can purchase them.”

The coal-merchant opened his eyes in astonishment. “Excuse me,” he muttered, “I don’t exactly understand you.”

He did not understand in the least; but M. Fortunat enlightened him by opening his safe, and displaying an enormous bundle of stocks and shares which had flooded the country a few years previously, and ruined a great many poor, ignorant fools which were hungering for wealth; among them were shares in the Tifila Mining Company, the Berchem Coal Mines, the Greenland Fisheries, the Mutual Trust and Loan Association, and so on. There had been a time when each of these securities would have fetched five hundred or a thousand francs at the Bourse, but now they were not worth the paper on which they were printed.

“Let us suppose, my dear sir,” resumed M. Fortunat, “that you had a drawer full of these securities----”

But the other did not allow him to finish. “I see,” he exclaimed; “I see--I can sell my stock, and put the proceeds in my pocket with perfect safety. There is enough to represent my capital a thousand times over.”

And, in a paroxysm of delight, he added:

“Give me enough of these shares to represent a capital of one hundred and twenty thousand francs; and give me some of each kind. I should like my creditors to have a variety.”

Thereupon M. Fortunat counted out a pile of these worthless securities as carefully as if he had been handling bank-notes; and his client at the same time drew out his pocketbook.

“How much do I owe you?” he inquired.

“Three thousand francs.”

The honest merchant bounded from his chair. “Three thousand francs!” he repeated. “You must be jesting. That trash is not worth a louis.”

“I would not even give five francs for it,” rejoined M. Fortunat, coldly; “but it is true that I don’t desire to purchase these shares in my creditors’ interest. With you it is quite a different matter--this trash, as you very justly call it, will save you at least a hundred thousand francs. I ask only three per cent., which is certainly not dear. Still, you know, I don’t force any one to purchase them.” And, in a terribly significant tone, he added: “You can undoubtedly buy similar securities on better terms; but take care you don’t arouse your creditors’ suspicions by applying elsewhere.”

“He would betray me, the scoundrel!” thought the merchant. And, realizing that he had fallen into a trap, “Here are three thousand francs,” he sighed; “but at least, my dear sir, give me good measure, and throw in a few thousand francs more.”

The coal-merchant smiled the ghastly smile of a man who sees no way of escape from imposition, and has, therefore, resolved to submit with the best grace possible. But M. Fortunat’s gravity did not relax. He gave what he had promised--neither more nor less--in exchange for the bank-notes, and even gravely exclaimed: “See if the amount is correct.”

His client pocketed the shares without counting them: but before leaving the room he made his estimable adviser promise to assist him at the decisive moment, and help him to prepare one of those clear financial statements which make creditors say: “This is an honest man who has been extremely unfortunate.”