I am a little surprised that you have never before heard of me."

"I certainly knew you by reputation," answered M. Daburon; "but your
name did not occur to me, and it was only in consequence of hearing you
praised that I had the excellent idea of asking your assistance.
But what, I should like to know, is your reason for adopting this
employment?"

"Sorrow, sir, loneliness, weariness. Ah! I have not always been happy!"

"I have been told, though, that you are rich."

The old fellow heaved a deep sigh, which revealed the most cruel
deceptions. "I am well off, sir," he replied; "but I have not always
been so. Until I was forty-five years old, my life was a series of
absurd and useless privations. I had a father who wasted my youth,
ruined my life, and made me the most pitiable of human creatures."

There are men who can never divest themselves of their professional
habits. M. Daburon was at all times and seasons more or less an
investigating magistrate.

"How, M. Tabaret," he inquired, "your father the author of all your
misfortunes?"

"Alas, yes, sir! I have forgiven him at last; but I used to curse him
heartily. In the first transports of my resentment, I heaped upon his
memory all the insults that can be inspired by the most violent hatred,
when I learnt,--But I will confide my history to you, M. Daburon. When
I was five and twenty years of age. I was earning two thousand francs a