Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 442 | Page 6

and talked still more so, fatigue and vexation having rendered
him both thirsty and bold. Destouches, he assured everybody that
would listen to him, was a robber--a villain--a vampire blood-sucker,
and he, Delessert, would be amply revenged on him some fine day. Had
the loquacious orator been eulogising some one's extraordinary virtues,
it is very probable that all he said would have been forgotten by the

morrow, but the memories of men are more tenacious of slander and
evil-speaking; and thus it happened that Delessert's vituperative and
menacing eloquence on this occasion was thereafter reproduced against
him with fatal power.
Albeit, the now nominal proprietor of Les Près, assisted by his son and
Cocotte, set to work manfully at his new vocation; and by dint of
working twice as hard, and faring much worse than he did as a
journeyman ferblantier, contrived to keep the wolf, if not far from the
door, at least from entering in. His son, Le Bossu, was a cheerful,
willing lad, with large, dark, inquisitive eyes, lit up with much clearer
intelligence than frequently falls to the share of persons of his age and
opportunities. The father and son were greatly attached to each other;
and it was chiefly the hope of bequeathing Les Près, free from the
usurious gripe of Destouches, to his boy, that encouraged the elder
Delessert to persevere in his well-nigh hopeless husbandry. Two years
thus passed, and matters were beginning to assume a less dreary aspect,
thanks chiefly to the notary's not having made any demand in the
interim for the interest of his mortgage.
'I have often wondered,' said Le Bossu one day, as he and his father
were eating their dinner of soupe aux choux and black bread, 'that
Destouches has not called before. He may now as soon as he pleases,
thanks to our having sold that lot of damaged wheat at such a capital
price: corn must be getting up tremendously in the market. However,
you are ready for Destouches' demand of six hundred francs, which it is
now.'
'Parbleu! quite ready; all ready counted in those charming assignats;
and that is the joke of it. I wish the old villain may call or send soon'----
A gentle tap at the door interrupted the speaker. The son opened it, and
the notary, accompanied by his familiar, Pierre Nadaud, quietly glided
in.
'Talk of the devil,' growled Delessert audibly, 'and you are sure to get a
whisk of his tail. Well, messieurs,' he added more loudly, 'your
business?'

'Money--interest now due on the mortgage for three thousand francs,'
replied M. Destouches with much suavity.
'Interest for two years,' continued the sourly-sardonic accents of Pierre
Nadaud; 'six hundred francs precisely.'
'Very good, you shall have the money directly.' Delessert left the room;
the notary took out and unclasped a note-book; and Pierre Nadaud
placed a slip of papier timbré on the dinner-table, preparatory to
writing a receipt.
'Here,' said Delessert, re-entering with a roll of soiled paper in his hand,
'here are your six hundred francs, well counted.'
The notary reclasped his note-book, and returned it to his pocket; Pierre
Nadaud resumed possession of the receipt paper.
'You are not aware, then, friend Delessert,' said the notary, 'that
creditors are no longer compelled to receive assignats in payment?'
'How? What do you say?'
'Pierre,' continued M. Destouches, 'read the extract from Le bulletin des
Lois, published last week.' Pierre did so with a ringing emphasis, which
would have rendered it intelligible to a child; and the unhappy debtor
fully comprehended that his paper-money was comparatively worthless!
It is needless to dwell upon the fury manifested by Delessert, the cool
obduracy of the notary, or the cynical comments of the clerk. Enough
to say, that M. Destouches departed without his money, after civilly
intimating that legal proceedings would be taken forthwith. The son
strove to soothe his father's passionate despair, but his words fell upon
unheeding ears; and after several hours passed in alternate paroxysms
of stormy rage and gloomy reverie, the elder Delessert hastily left the
house, taking the direction of Strasbourg. Le Bossu watched his father's
retreating figure from the door until it was lost in the clouds of blinding
snow that was rapidly falling, and then sadly resumed some indoor
employment. It was late when he retired to bed, and his father had not
then returned. He would probably remain, the son thought, at

Strasbourg for the night.
The chill, lead-coloured dawn was faintly struggling on the horizon
with the black, gloomy night, when Le Bossu rose. Ten minutes
afterwards, his father strode hastily into the house, and threw himself,
without a word, upon a seat. His eyes, the son observed, were
blood-shot, either with rage or drink--perhaps both; and his entire
aspect wild, haggard, and fierce. Le Bossu