“I’ve enough of your signatures.”

“I will sell something.”

“Get along!” he said, shrugging his shoulders; “you’ve not got anything.”

And he called through the peephole that looked down into the shop⁠—

“Annette, don’t forget the three coupons of No. 14.”

The servant appeared. Emma understood, and asked how much money would be wanted to put a stop to the proceedings.

“It is too late.”

“But if I brought you several thousand francs⁠—a quarter of the sum⁠—a third⁠—perhaps the whole?”

“No; it’s no use!”