Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28
The Prison Register.

The day after that in which the scene we have just described
had taken place on the road between Bellegarde and
Beaucaire, a man of about thirty or two and thirty, dressed
in a bright blue frock coat, nankeen trousers, and a white
waistcoat, having the appearance and accent of an
Englishman, presented himself before the mayor of
Marseilles. "Sir," said he, "I am chief clerk of the house
of Thomson & French, of Rome. We are, and have been these
ten years, connected with the house of Morrel & Son, of
Marseilles. We have a hundred thousand francs or thereabouts
loaned on their securities, and we are a little uneasy at
reports that have reached us that the firm is on the brink
of ruin. I have come, therefore, express from Rome, to ask
you for information."

"Sir," replied the mayor. "I know very well that during the
last four or five years misfortune has seemed to pursue M.
Morrel. He has lost four or five vessels, and suffered by
three or four bankruptcies; but it is not for me, although I
am a creditor myself to the amount of ten thousand francs,
to give any information as to the state of his finances. Ask
of me, as mayor, what is my opinion of M. Morrel, and I
shall say that he is a man honorable to the last degree, and
who has up to this time fulfilled every engagement with
scrupulous punctuality. This is all I can say, sir; if you
wish to learn more, address yourself to M. de Boville, the
inspector of prisons, No. 15, Rue de Nouailles; he has, I
believe, two hundred thousand francs in Morrel's hands, and
if there be any grounds for apprehension, as this is a
greater amount than mine, you will most probably find him
better informed than myself."

The Englishman seemed to appreciate this extreme delicacy,
made his bow and went away, proceeding with a characteristic
British stride towards the street mentioned. M. de Boville
was in his private room, and the Englishman, on perceiving
him, made a gesture of surprise, which seemed to indicate
that it was not the first time he had been in his presence.
As to M. de Boville, he was in such a state of despair, that
it was evident all the faculties of his mind, absorbed in
the thought which occupied him at the moment, did not allow
either his memory or his imagination to stray to the past.
The Englishman, with the coolness of his nation, addressed
him in terms nearly similar to those with which he had
accosted the mayor of Marseilles. "Oh, sir," exclaimed M. de
Boville, "your fears are unfortunately but too well founded,
and you see before you a man in despair. I had two hundred
thousand francs placed in the hands of Morrel & Son; these
two hundred thousand francs