.

THE RICH MAN'S REFUSAL.
When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a mirror.
"The walking is good," Saniel remarked.
"It will rain again," responded Glady, looking at the sky.
"I think not." It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel.
"Do you know," he said, "that you have wounded Brigard ?" "I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there." "To deny is not to discuss." "You say that as if you were angry with me." "Not at all.

I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard--nothing more." "That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship for you, if you will permit me to say so." But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this turn.
"I think this is an empty cab," he said, as a fiacre approached them.
"No," replied Saniel, "I see the light of a cigar through the windowpane." Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, who was expecting some such demonstration.
Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of borrowers.

It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse.

And so he lay in wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears listening, and his hands in his pockets.