Fille, is the hand
the Almighty would choose if He was concerned with what happens at St.
Saviour's and wanted an agent."
The Clerk of the Court blushed greatly. This was a very big man indeed in
the great commercial world, and flattery from him had unusual
significance; but he threw out his hands with a gesture of helplessness,
and said: "Monsieur, if I could be of use I would; but he has ceased to
listen to me; he--"
He got no further, for there was a sharp knock at the street door of the
outer office, and M. Fille hastened to the other room. After a moment he
came back, a familiar voice following him.
"It is Monsieur Barbille, monsieur," M. Fille said quietly, but with
apprehensive eyes.
"Well--he wants to see me?" asked M. Mornay. "No, no, monsieur. It would
be better if he did not see you. He is in some agitation."
"Fille! Maitre Fille--be quick now," called Jean Jacques' voice from the
other room.
"What did I say, monsieur?" asked the Big Financier. "The mind that's
received a blow must be moving--moving; the man with the many irons must
be flying from bellows to bellows!"
"Come, come, there's no time to lose," came Jean Jacques' voice again,
and the handle of the door of their room turned.
M. Fille's hand caught the handle. "Excuse me, Monsieur Barbille,--a
minute please," he persisted almost querulously.
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