The iron-founder was visibly disappointed; he seemed desirous of
apologizing for his impertinence.

"I assure you, monsieur, that I had no intention of giving offence. Our
relations, for some years, have been such that I hope--"

"Enough, monsieur," interrupted the banker, "I desire no apologies. In
business, friendship counts for nothing. I owe you money: I am not ready
to pay: you are pressing: you have a perfect right to demand what is
your own. Follow my clerk: he will pay you your money."

Then he turned to his clerks who stood curiously gazing on, and said:

"As for you, gentlemen, be kind enough to resume your desks."

In an instant the room was cleared of everyone except the clerks who
belonged there; and they sat at their desks with their noses almost
touching the paper before them, as if too absorbed in their work to
think of anything else.

Still excited by the events so rapidly succeeding each other, M.
Andre Fauvel walked up and down the room with quick, nervous steps,
occasionally uttering some low exclamation.

Prosper remained leaning against the door, with pale face and fixed
eyes, looking as if he had lost the faculty of thinking.

Finally the banker, after a long silence, stopped short before Prosper;
he had determined upon the line of conduct he would pursue.