"Monsieur--to pieces!" exclaimed the Clerk of the Court painfully.

"Well, put it another way. If he is broken financially, he will never
come up again. Not because of his age--I lost a second fortune at fifty,
and have a third ready to lose at sixty--but because the primary
initiative won't be in him. He'll say he has lost, and that there's
an end to it all. His philosophy will come into play--just at the last.
It will help him in one way and harm him in another."

"Ah, then you know about his philosophy, monsieur?" queried M. Fille.
Was Jean Jacques' philosophy, after all, to be a real concrete asset of
his life sooner or later?

The Big Financier smiled, and turned some coins over in his pocket rather
loudly. Presently he said: "The first time I ever saw him he treated me
to a page of Descartes. It cost him one per cent. I always charge a man
for talking sentiment to me in business hours. I had to listen to him,
and he had to pay me for listening. I've no doubt his general yearly
expenditure has been increased for the same reason--eh, Maitre Fille? He
has done it with others--yes?" M. Fille waved a hand in deprecation, and
his voice had a little acidity as he replied: "Ah, monsieur, what can we
poor provincials do--any of us--in dealing with men like you, philosophy
or no philosophy? You get us between the upper and the nether mill
stones. You are cosmopolitan; M. Jean Jacques Barbille is a provincial;
and you, because he has soul enough to forget business for a moment and
to speak of things that matter more than money and business, you grind
him into powder."

M. Mornay shook his head and lighted his cigar again. "There you are