I would do something, man--fight, play, work, anything but think! I leave that to clerks.' 'I am a clerk,' he answered.
'A poor one, it seems,' I retorted, with a little scorn in my tone.
'Leave it, man.

Work! Fight! Do something!' 'Fight ?' he said, as if the idea were a novel one.

'Fight?
But there, I might be killed; and then hell-fire, you see!' 'Zounds, man!' I cried, out of patience with a folly which, to tell the truth, the lamp burning low, and the rain pattering on the roof, made the skin of my back feel cold and creepy.

'Enough of this! Keep your doubts and your fire to yourself! And answer me,' I continued, sternly.
'How came Madame de Bonne so poor?
How did she come down to this place ?' He sat down on his stool, the excitement dying quickly out of his face.
'She gave away all her money,' he said slowly and reluctantly.

It may be imagined that this answer surprised me.