You will climb high, I can tell you, if you will work as I bid you." "Then," stammered Paul, "this situation at twelve thousand francs a year----" "There never has been such a situation." A ghastly pallor overspread Paul's countenance, as he saw himself again reduced to beggary.
"But, sir," he murmured, "will you not permit me to hope--" "For twelve thousand francs! Be at ease, you shall have that and much more.

I am getting old.

I have no ties in the world--you shall be my adopted son." A cloud settled on Paul's brow, for the idea that his life was to be passed in this office was most displeasing to him.

Mascarin divined his inmost thoughts with perfect ease.

"And the young fool does not know where to go for a crust of bread," thought he.