"About--not more than--than a hundred and twenty francs," I replied,
stripping the feathers off all the pens in succession, without
knowing it.

"Have you any debts?"

"A--a few."

"Tailors' bills?"

"Yes, sir."

"What others?"

"A--a couple of months' rent, I believe, sir."

"Is that all?"

"N--not quite."

Dr. Chéron frowned, and looked again at his watch.

"Be good enough, Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, "to spare me this amount of
useless interrogation by at once stating the nature and amount of
the rest."

"I--I cannot positively state the amount, sir," I said, absurdly trying
to get the paper-weight into my waistcoat pocket, and then putting it
down in great confusion. "I--I have an account at Monceau's in the Rue
Duphot, and..."