V

From the moment when that word "Ungrateful" was flung at him like an

anathema, little Popinot had not had an hour's sleep nor an instant's

peace of mind. The unhappy lad cursed his uncle, and finally went to

see him. To get the better of that experienced judicial wisdom he

poured forth the eloquence of love, hoping it might seduce a being

from whose mind human speech slips like water from a duck's back,--a

judge!

"From a commercial point of view," he said, "custom does allow the

managing-partner to advance a certain sum to the sleeping-partner on

the profits of the business, and we are certain to make profits. After

close examination of my affairs I do feel strong enough to pay forty

thousand francs in three months. The known integrity of Monsieur Cesar

is a guarantee that he will use that forty thousand to pay off his

debts. Thus the creditors, if there should come a failure, can lay no

blame on us. Besides, uncle, I would rather lose forty thousand francs

than lose Cesarine. At this very moment while I am speaking, she has

doubtless been told of my refusal, and will cease to esteem me. I

vowed my blood to my benefactor! I am like a young sailor who ought to

sink with his captain, or a soldier who should die with his general."

"Good heart and bad merchant, you will never lose my esteem," said the

judge, pressing the hand of his nephew. "I have thought a great deal

of this," he added. "I know you love Cesarine devotedly, and I think

you can satisfy the claims of love and the claims of commerce."

"Ah! my uncle, if you have found a way my honor is saved!"

"Advance Birotteau fifty thousand on his share in your oil, which has

now become a species of property, reserving to yourself the right of

buying it back. I will draw up the deed."

Anselme embraced his uncle and rushed home, made notes to the amount

of fifty thousand francs, and ran from the Rue des Cinq-Diamants to

the Place Vendome, so that just as Cesarine, her mother, and

Pillerault were gazing at Cesar, amazed at the sepulchural tone in

which he had uttered the word "Ungrateful!" the door of the salon

opened and Popinot appeared.

"My dear and beloved master!" he cried, wiping the perspiration from

his forehead, "here is what you asked of me!" He held out the notes.

"Yes, I have carefully examined my situation; you need have no fear, I

shall be able to pay them. Save--save your honor!"

"I was sure of him!" cried Cesarine, seizing Popinot's hand, and

pressing it with convulsive force.

Madame Cesar embraced him; Birotteau rose up like the righteous at the

sound of the last trumpet, and issued, as it were, from the tomb. Then

he stretched out a frenzied hand to seize the fifty stamped papers.

"Stop!" said the terrible uncle, Pillerault, snatching the papers from

Popinot, "one moment!"

The four individuals present,--Cesar, his wife, Cesarine, and Popinot,

--bewildered by the action of the old man and by the tone of his

voice, saw him tear the papers and fling them in the fire, without

attempting to interfere.

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!"

"Monsieur!"

Four voices and but one heart; a startling unanimity! Uncle Pillerault

passed his arm round Popinot's neck, held him to his breast, and

kissed him.

"You are worthy of the love of those who have hearts," he said. "If

you loved a daughter of mine, had she a million and you had nothing

but that [pointing to the black ashes of the notes], you should marry

her in a fortnight, if she loved you. Your master," he said, pointing

to Cesar, "is beside himself. My nephew," resumed Pillerault, gravely,

addressing the poor man,--"my nephew, away with illusions! We must do

business with francs, not feelings. All this is noble, but useless. I

spent two hours at the Bourse this afternoon. You have not one

farthing's credit; every one is talking of your disaster, of your

attempts to renew, of your appeals to various bankers, of their

refusals, of your follies,--going up six flights of stairs to beg a

gossiping landlord, who chatters like a magpie, to renew a note of

twelve hundred francs!--your ball, given to conceal your

embarrassments. They have gone so far as to say you had no property in

Roguin's hands; according to your enemies, Roguin is only a blind. A

friend of mine, whom I sent about to learn what is going on, confirms

what I tell you. Every one foresees that Popinot will issue notes, and

believes that you set him up in business expressly as a last resource.

In short, every calumny or slander which a man brings upon himself

when he tries to mount a rung of the social ladder, is going the

rounds among business men to-day. You might hawk about those notes of

Popinot in vain; you would meet humiliating refusals; no one would

take them; no one could be sure how many such notes you are issuing;

every one expects you to sacrifice the poor lad to your own safety.

You would destroy to no purpose the credit of the house of Popinot. Do

you know how much the boldest money-lender would give you for those

fifty thousand francs? Twenty thousand at the most; twenty thousand,

do you hear me? There are crises in business when we must stand up

three days before the world without eating, as if we had indigestion,

and on the fourth day we may be admitted to the larder of credit. You

cannot live through those three days; and the whole matter lies there.

My poor nephew, take courage! file your schedule, make an assignment.

Here is Popinot, here am I; we will go to work as soon as the clerks

have gone to bed, and spare you the agony of it."

"My uncle!" said Cesar, clasping his hands.

"Cesar, would you choose a shameful failure, in which there are no

assets? Your share in the house of Popinot is all that saves your

honor."

Cesar, awakened by this last and fatal stream of light, saw at length

the frightful truth in its full extent; he fell back upon the sofa,

from thence to his knees, and his mind seemed to wander; he became

like a little child. His wife thought he was dying. She knelt down to

raise him, but joined her voice to his when she saw him clasp his

hands and lift his eyes, and recite, with resigned contrition, in the

hearing of his uncle, his daughter, and Popinot, the sublime catholic

prayer:--

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come;

Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven; GIVE US THIS DAY OUR

DAILY BREAD; and forgive us our offences, as we forgive those who have

offended against us. So be it!"

Tears came into the eyes of the stoic Pillerault; Cesarine, overcome

and weeping, leaned her head upon Popinot's shoulder, as he stood pale

and rigid as a statue.

"Let us go below," said the old merchant, taking the arm of the young

man.

It was half-past eleven when they left Cesar to the care of his wife

and daughter. Just at that moment Celestin, the head-clerk, to whom

the management of the house had been left during this secret tumult,

came up to the appartement and entered the salon. Hearing his step,

Cesarine ran to meet him, that he might not see the prostration of his

master.

"Among the letters this evening there was one from Tours, which was

misdirected and therefore delayed. I thought it might be from

monsieur's brother, so I did not open it."

"Father!" cried Cesarine; "a letter from my uncle at Tours!"

"Ah, I am saved!" cried Cesar. "My brother! oh, my brother!" He kissed

the letter, as he broke the seal, and read it aloud to his wife and

daughter in a trembling voice:--

Answer of Francois to Cesar Birotteau.

Tours, 10th.

My beloved Brother,--Your letter gave me the deepest pain. As soon

as I had read it, I went at once and offered to God the holy

sacrifice of the Mass, imploring Him by the blood which His Son,

our divine Redeemer, shed for us, to look with mercy upon your

afflictions. At the moment when I offered the prayer /Pro meo

fratre Caesare/, my eyes were filled with tears as I thought of

you,--from whom, unfortunately, I am separated in these days when

you must sorely need the support of fraternal friendship. I have

thought that the worthy and venerable Monsieur Pillerault would

doubtless replace me. My dear Cesar, never forget, in the midst of

your troubles, that this life is a scene of trial, and is passing

away; that one day we shall be rewarded for having suffered for

the holy name of God, for His holy Church, for having followed the

teachings of His Gospel and practised virtue. If it were

otherwise, this world would have no meaning. I repeat to you these

maxims, though I know how good and pious you are, because it may

happen that those who, like you, are flung into the storms of life

upon the perilous waves of human interests might be tempted to

utter blasphemies in the midst of their adversity,--carried away

as they are by anguish. Curse neither the men who injure you nor

the God who mingles, at His will, your joy with bitterness. Look

not on life, but lift your eyes to heaven; there is comfort for

the weak, there are riches for the poor, there are terrors for

the--

"But, Birotteau," said his wife, "skip all that, and see what he sends

us."

"We will read it over and over hereafter," said Cesar, wiping his eyes

and turning over the page,--letting fall, as he did so, a Treasury

note. "I was sure of him, poor brother!" said Birotteau, picking up

the note and continuing to read, in a voice broken by tears.

I went to Madame de Listomere, and without telling her the reason

of my request I asked her to lend me all she could dispose of, so

as to swell the amount of my savings. Her generosity has enabled

me to make up a thousand francs; which I send herewith, in a note

of the Receiver-General of Tours on the Treasury.

"A fine sum!" said Constance, looking at Cesarine.

By retrenching a few superfluities in my life, I can return the

four hundred francs Madame de Listomere has lent me in three

years; so do not make yourself uneasy about them, my dear Cesar. I

send you all I have in the world; hoping that this sum may help

you to a happy conclusion of your financial difficulties, which

doubtless are only momentary. I well know your delicacy, and I

wish to forestall your objections. Do not dream of paying me any

interest for this money, nor of paying it back at all in the day

of prosperity which ere long will dawn for you if God deigns to

hear the prayers I offer to Him daily. After I received your last

letter, two years ago, I thought you so rich that I felt at

liberty to spend my savings upon the poor; but now, all that I

have is yours. When you have overcome this little commercial

difficulty, keep the sum I now send for my niece Cesarine; so that

when she marries she may buy some trifle to remind her of her old

uncle, who daily lifts his hands to heaven to implore the blessing

of God upon her and all who are dear to her. And also, my dear

Cesar, recollect I am a poor priest who dwells, by the grace of

God, like the larks in the meadow, in quiet places, trying to obey

the commandment of our divine Saviour, and who consequently needs

but little money. Therefore, do not have the least scruple in the

trying circumstances in which you find yourself; and think of me

as one who loves you tenderly.

Our excellent Abbe Chapeloud, to whom I have not revealed your

situation, desires me to convey his friendly regards to every

member of your family, and his wishes for the continuance of your

prosperity. Adieu, dear and well-beloved brother; I pray that at

this painful juncture God will be pleased to preserve your health,

and also that of your wife and daughter. I wish you, one and all,

patience and courage under your afflictions.

Francois Birotteau,

Priest, Vicar of the Cathedral and Parochial Church

of Saint-Gatien de Tours.

"A thousand francs!" cried Madame Birotteau.

"Put them away," said Cesar gravely; "they are all he had. Besides,

they belong to our daughter, and will enable us to live; so that we

need ask nothing of our creditors."

"They will think you are abstracting large sums."

"Then I will show them the letter."

"They will say that it is a fraud."

"My God! my God!" cried Birotteau. "I once thought thus of poor,

unhappy people who were doubtless as I am now."

Terribly anxious about Cesar's state, mother and daughter sat plying

their needles by his side, in profound silence. At two in the morning

Popinot gently opened the door of the salon and made a sign to Madame

Cesar to come down. On seeing his niece Pillerault took off his

spectacles.

"My child, there is hope," he said; "all is not lost. But your husband

could not bear the uncertainty of the negotiations which Anselme and I

are about to undertake. Don't leave your shop to-morrow, and take the

addresses of all the bills; we have till four o'clock in the afternoon

of the 15th. Here is my plan: Neither Ragon nor I am to be considered.

Suppose that your hundred thousand francs deposited with Roguin had

been remitted to the purchasers, you would not have them then any more

than you have them now. The hundred and forty thousand francs for

which notes were given to Claparon, and which must be paid in any

state of the case, are what you have to meet. Therefore it is not

Roguin's bankruptcy which as ruined you. I find, to meet your

obligations, forty thousand francs which you can, sooner or later,

borrow on your property in the Faubourg du Temple, and sixty thousand

for your share in the house of Popinot. Thus you can make a struggle,

for later you may borrow on the lands about the Madeleine. If your

chief creditor agrees to help you, I shall not consider my interests;

I shall sell out my Funds and live on dry bread; Popinot will get

along between life and death, and as for you, you will be at the mercy

of the smallest commercial mischance; but Cephalic Oil will

undoubtedly make great returns. Popinot and I have consulted together;

we will stand by you in this struggle. Ah! I shall eat my dry bread

gaily if I see daylight breaking on the horizon. But everything

depends on Gigonnet, who holds the notes, and the associates of

Claparon. Popinot and I are going to see Gigonnet between seven and

eight o'clock in the morning, and then we shall know what their

intentions are."

Constance, wholly overcome, threw herself into her uncle's arms,

voiceless except through tears and sobs.

Neither Popinot nor Pillerault knew or could know that Bidault, called

Gigonnet, and Claparon were du Tillet under two shapes; and that du

Tillet was resolved to read in the "Journal des Petites Affiches" this

terrible article:--

"Judgment of the Court of Commerce, which declares the Sieur Cesar

Birotteau, merchant-perfumer, living in Paris, Rue Saint-Honore,

no. 397, insolvent, and appoints the preliminary examination on

the 17th of January, 1819. Commissioner, Monsieur Gobenheim-

Keller. Agent, Monsieur Molineux."

Anselme and Pillerault examined Cesar's affairs until daylight. At

eight o'clock in the morning the two brave friends,--one an old

soldier, the other a young recruit, who had never known, except by

hearsay, the terrible anguish of those who commonly went up the

staircase of Bidault called Gigonnet,--wended their way, without a

word to each other, towards the Rue Grenetat. Both were suffering;

from time to time Pillerault passed his hand across his brow.

The Rue Grenetat is a street where all the houses, crowded with trades

of every kind, have a repulsive aspect. The buildings are horrible.

The vile uncleanliness of manufactories is their leading feature. Old

Gigonnet lived on the third floor of a house whose window-sashes, with

small and very dirty panes, swung by the middle, on pivots. The

staircase opened directly upon the street. The porter's lodge was on

the /entresol/, in a space which was lighted only from the staircase.

All the lodgers, with the exception of Gigonnet, worked at trades.

Workmen were continually coming and going. The stairs were caked with

a layer of mud, hard or soft according to the state of the atmosphere,

and were covered with filth. Each landing of this noisome stairway

bore the names of the occupants in gilt letters on a metal plate,

painted red and varnished, to which were attached specimens of their

craft. As a rule, the doors stood open and gave to view queer

combinations of the domestic household and the manufacturing

operations. Strange cries and grunts issued therefrom, with songs and

whistles and hisses that recalled the hour of four o'clock in the

Jardin des Plantes. On the first floor, in an evil-smelling lair, the

handsomest braces to be found in the /article-Paris/ were made. On the

second floor, the elegant boxes which adorn the shop-windows of the

boulevards and the Palais-Royal at the beginning of the new year were

manufactured, in the midst of the vilest filth. Gigonnet eventually

died, worth eighteen hundred thousand francs, on a third floor of this

house, from which no consideration could move him; though his niece,

Madame Saillard, offered to give him an appartement in a hotel in the

Place Royalle.

"Courage!" said Pillerault, as he pulled the deer's hoof hanging from

the bell-rope of Gigonnet's clean gray door.

Gigonnet opened the door himself. Cesar's two supporters, entering the

precincts of bankruptcy, crossed the first room, which was clean and

chilly and without curtains to its windows. All three sat down in the

inner room where the money-lender lived, before a hearth full of

ashes, in the midst of which the wood was successfully defending

itself against the fire. Popinot's courage froze at sight of the

usurer's green boxes and the monastic austerity of the room, whose

atmosphere was like that of a cellar. He looked with a wondering eye

at the miserable blueish paper sprinkled with tricolor flowers, which

had been on the walls for twenty-five years; and then his anxious

glance fell upon the chimney-piece, ornamented with a clock shaped

like a lyre, and two oval vases in Sevres blue richly mounted in

copper-gilt. This relic, picked up by Gigonnet after the pillage of

Versailles, where the populace broke nearly everything, came from the

queen's boudoir; but these rare vases were flanked by two candelabra

of abject shape made of wrought-iron, and the barbarous contrast

recalled the circumstances under which the vases had been acquired.

"I know that you have not come on your own account," said Gigonnet,

"but on behalf of the great Birotteau. Well, what is it, my friends?"

"We can tell you nothing that you do not already know; so I will be

brief," said Pillerault. "You have notes to the order of Claparon?"

"Yes."

"Will you exchange the first fifty thousand of those notes against the

notes of Monsieur Popinot, here present,--less the discount, of

course?"

Gigonnet took off the terrible green cap which seemed to have been

born on him, pointed to his skull, denuded of hair and of the color of

fresh butter, made his usual Voltairean grimace, and said: "You wish

to pay me in hair-oil; have I any use for it?"

"If you choose to jest, there is nothing to be done but to beat a

retreat," said Pillerault.

"You speak like the wise man that you are," answered Gigonnet, with a

flattering smile.

"Well, suppose I endorse Monsieur Popinot's notes?" said Pillerault,

playing his last card.

"You are gold by the ingot, Monsieur Pillerault; but I don't want bars

of gold, I want my money."

Pillerault and Popinot bowed and went away. Going down the stairs,

Popinot's knees shook under him.

"Is that a man?" he said to Pillerault.

"They say so," replied the other. "My boy, always bear in mind this

short interview. Anselme, you have just seen the banking-business

unmasked, without its cloak of courtesy. Unexpected events are the

screw of the press, we are the grapes, the bankers are the casks. That

land speculation is no doubt a good one; Gigonnet, or some one behind

him, means to strangle Cesar and step into his skin. It is all over;

there's no remedy. But such is the Bank: be warned; never have

recourse to it!"

After this horrible morning, during which Madame Birotteau for the

first time sent away those who came for their money, taking their

addresses, the courageous woman, happy in the thought that she was

thus sparing her husband from distress, saw Popinot and Pillerault,

for whom she waited with ever-growing anxiety, return at eleven

o'clock, and read her sentence in their faces. The assignment was

inevitable.

"He will die of grief," said the poor woman.

"I could almost wish he might," said Pillerault, solemnly; "but he is

so religious that, as things are now, his director, the Abbe Loraux,

alone can save him."

Pillerault, Popinot, and Constance waited while a clerk was sent to

bring the Abbe Loraux, before they carried up to Cesar the schedule

which Celestin had prepared, and asked him to affix his signature. The

clerks were in despair, for they loved their master. At four o'clock

the good priest came; Constance explained the misfortune that had

fallen upon them, and the abbe went upstairs as a soldier mounts the

breach.

"I know why you have come!" cried Birotteau.

"My son," said the priest, "your feelings of resignation to the Divine

will have long been known to me; it now remains to apply them. Keep

your eyes upon the cross; never cease to behold it, and think upon the

humiliations heaped upon the Saviour of men. Meditate upon the agonies

of his passion, and you will be able to bear the mortification which

God has laid upon you--"

"My brother, the abbe, has already prepared me," said Cesar, showing

the letter, which he had re-read and now held out to his confessor.

"You have a good brother," said Monsieur Loraux, "a virtuous and

gentle wife, a tender daughter, two good friends,--your uncle and our

dear Anselme,--two indulgent creditors, the Ragons: all these kind

hearts will pour balm upon your wounds daily, and will help you to

bear your cross. Promise me to have the firmness of a martyr, and to

face the blow without faltering."

The abbe coughed, to give notice to Pillerault who was waiting in the

salon.

"My resignation is unbounded," said Cesar, calmly. "Dishonor has come;

I must now think only of reparation."

The firm voice of the poor man and his whole manner surprised Cesarine

and the priest. Yet nothing could be more natural. All men can better

bear a known and definite misfortune than the cruel uncertainties of a

fate which, from one moment to another, brings excessive hope or

crushing sorrow.

"I have dreamed a dream for twenty-two years; to-day I awake with my

cudgel in my hand," said Cesar, his mind turning back to the

Tourangian peasant days.

Pillerault pressed his nephew in his arms as he heard the words.

Birotteau saw that his wife, Anselme, and Celestin were present. The

papers which the head-clerk held in his hand were significant. Cesar

calmly contemplated the little group where every eye was sad but

loving.

"Stay!" he said, unfastening his cross, which he held out to the Abbe

Loraux; "give it back to me on the day when I can wear it without

shame. Celestin," he added, "write my resignation as deputy-mayor,--

Monsieur l'abbe will dictate the letter to you; date it the 14th, and

send it at once to Monsieur de la Billardiere by Raguet."

Celestin and the abbe went down stairs. For a quarter of an hour

silence reigned unbroken in Cesar's study. Such strength of mind

surprised the family. Celestin and the abbe came back, and Cesar

signed his resignation. When his uncle Pillerault presented the

schedule and the papers of his assignment, the poor man could not

repress a horrible nervous shudder.

"My God, have pity upon me!" he said, signing the dreadful paper, and

holding it out to Celestin.

"Monsieur," said Anselme Popinot, over whose dejected brow a luminous

light flashed suddenly, "madame, do me the honor to grant me the hand

of Mademoiselle Cesarine."

At these words tears came into the eyes of all present except Cesar;

he rose, took Anselme by the hand and said, in a hollow voice, "My

son, you shall never marry the daughter of a bankrupt."

Anselme looked fixedly at Birotteau and said: "Monsieur, will you

pledge yourself, here, in presence of your whole family, to consent to

our marriage, if mademoiselle will accept me as her husband, on the

day when you have retrieved your failure?"

There was an instant's silence, during which all present were affected

by the emotions painted on the worn face of the poor man.

"Yes," he said, at last.

Anselme made a gesture of unspeakable joy, as he took the hand which

Cesarine held out to him, and kissed it.

"You consent, then?" he said to her.

"Yes," she answered.

"Now that I am one of the family, I have the right to concern myself

in its affairs," he said, with a strange, excited expression of face.

He left the room precipitately, that he might not show a joy which

contrasted too cruelly with the sorrow of his master. Anselme was not

actually happy at the failure, but love is such an egoist! Even

Cesarine felt within her heart an emotion that counteracted her bitter

grief.

"Now that we have got so far," whispered Pillerault to Constance,

"shall we strike the last blow?"

Madame Birotteau let a sign of grief rather than of acquiescence

escape her.

"My nephew," said Pillerault, addressing Cesar, "what do you intend to

do?"

"To carry on my business."

"That would not be my judgment," said Pillerault. "Take my advice,

wind up everything, make over your whole assets to your creditors, and

keep out of business. I have often imagined how it would be if I were

in a situation such as yours--Ah, one has to foresee everything in

business! a merchant who does not think of failure is like a general

who counts on never being defeated; he is only half a merchant. I, in

your position, would never have continued in business. What! be forced

to blush before the men I had injured, to bear their suspicious looks

and tacit reproaches? I can conceive of the guillotine--a moment, and

all is over. But to have the head replaced, and daily cut off anew,--

that is agony I could not have borne. Many men take up their business

as if nothing had happened: so much the better for them; they are

stronger than Claude-Joseph Pillerault. If you pay in cash, and you

are obliged to do so, they say that you have kept back part of your

assets; if you are without a penny, it is useless to attempt to

recover yourself. No, give up your property, sell your business, and

find something else to do."

"What could I find?" said Cesar.

"Well," said Pillerault, "look for a situation. You have influential

friends,--the Duc and the Duchesse de Lenoncourt, Madame de Mortsauf,

Monsieur de Vandenesse. Write to them, go and see them; they might get

you a situation in the royal household which would give you a thousand

crowns or so; your wife could earn as much more, and perhaps your

daughter also. The situation is not hopeless. You three might earn

nearly ten thousand francs a year. In ten years you can pay off a

hundred thousand francs, for you shall not use a penny of what you

earn; your two women will have fifteen hundred francs a year from me

for their expenses, and, as for you,--we will see about that."

Constance and Cesar laid these wise words to heart. Pillerault left

them to go to the Bourse, which in those days was held in a

provisional wooden building of a circular shape, and was entered from

the Rue Faydeau. The failure, already known, of a man lately noted and

envied, excited general comment in the upper commercial circles, which

at that period were all "constitutionnel." The gentry of the

Opposition claimed a monopoly of patriotism. Royalists might love the

king, but to love your country was the exclusive privilege of the

Left; the people belonged to it. The downfall of the protege of the

palace, of a ministeralist, an incorrigible royalist who on the 13th

Vendemiaire had insulted the cause of liberty by fighting against the

glorious French Revolution,--such a downfall excited the applause and

tittle-tattle of the Bourse. Pillerault wished to learn and study the

state of public opinion. He found in one of the most animated groups

du Tillet, Gobenheim-Keller, Nucingen, old Guillaume, and his son-in-

law Joseph Lebas, Claparon, Gigonnet, Mongenod, Camusot, Gobseck,

Adolphe Keller, Palma, Chiffreville, Matifat, Grindot, and Lourdois.

"What caution one needs to have!" said Gobenheim to du Tillet. "It was

a mere chance that one of my brothers-in-law did not give Birotteau a

credit."

"I am in for ten thousand francs," said du Tillet; "he asked me for

them two weeks ago, and I let him have them on his own note without

security. But he formerly did me some service, and I am willing to

lose the money."

"Your nephew has done like all the rest," said Lourdois to Pillerault,

--"given balls and parties! That a scoundrel should try to throw dust

in people's eyes, I can understand; but it is amazing that a man who

passed for as honest as the day should play those worn-out, knavish

tricks which we are always finding out and condemning."

"Don't trust people unless they live in hovels like Claparon," said

Gigonnet.

"Hey! mein freint," said the fat Nucingen to du Tillet, "you haf joust

missed blaying me a bretty drick in zenting Pirodot to me. I don't

know," he added, addressing Gobenheim the manufacturer, "vy he tid not

ask me for fifdy tousand francs. I should haf gif dem to him."

"Oh, no, Monsieur le baron," said Joseph Lebas, "you knew very well

that the Bank had refused his paper; you made them reject it in the

committee on discounts. The affair of this unfortunate man, for whom I

still feel the highest esteem, presents certain peculiar

circumstances."

Pillerault pressed the hand of Joseph Lebas.

"Yes," said Mongenod, "it seems impossible to believe what has

happened, unless we believe that concealed behind Gigonnet there are

certain bankers who want to strangle the speculation in the lands

about the Madeleine."

"What has happened is what happens always to those who go out of their

proper business," said Claparon, hastily interrupting Mongenod. "If he

had set up his own Cephalic Oil instead of running up the price of all

the land in Paris by pouncing upon it, he might have lost his hundred

thousand francs with Roguin, but he wouldn't have failed. He will go

on now under the name of Popinot."

"Keep a watch on Popinot," said Gigonnet.

Roguin, in the parlance of such worthy merchants, was now the

"unfortunate Roguin." Cesar had become "that wretched Birotteau." The

one seemed to them excused by his great passion; the other they

considered all the more guilty for his harmless pretensions.

Gigonnet, after leaving the Bourse, went round by the Rue Perrin-

Gasselin on his way home, in search of Madame Madou, the vendor of

dried fruits.

"Well, old woman," he said, with his coarse good-humor, "how goes the

business?"

"So-so," said Madame Madou, respectfully, offering her only armchair

to the usurer, with a show of attention she had never bestowed on her

"dear defunct."

Mother Madou, who would have floored a recalcitrant or too-familiar

wagoner and gone fearlessly to the assault of the Tuileries on the

10th of October, who jeered her best customers and was capable of

speaking up to the king in the name of her associate market-women,--

Angelique Madou received Gigonnet with abject respect. Without

strength in his presence, she shuddered under his rasping glance. The

lower classes will long tremble at sight of the executioner, and

Gigonnet was the executioner of petty commerce. In the markets no

power on earth is so respected as that of the man who controls the

flow of money; all other human institutions are as nothing beside him.

Justice herself takes the form of a commissioner, a familiar personage

in the eyes of the market; but usury seated behind its green boxes,--

usury, entreated with fear tugging at the heart-strings, dries up all

jesting, parches the throat, lowers the proudest look, and makes the

commonest market women respectful.

"Do you want anything of me?" she said.

"A trifle, a mere nothing. Hold yourself ready to make good those

notes of Birotteau; the man has failed, and claims must be put in at

once. I will send you the account to-morrow morning."

Madame Madou's eyes contracted like those of a cat for a second, and

then shot out flames.

"Ah, the villain! Ah, the scoundrel! He came and told me himself he

was a deputy-mayor,--a trumped-up story! Reprobate! is that what he

calls business? There is no honor among mayors; the government

deceives us. Stop! I'll go and make him pay me; I will--"

"Hey! at such times everybody looks out for himself, my dear!" said

Gigonnet, lifting his leg with the quaint little action of a cat

fearing to cross a wet place,--a habit to which he owed his nickname.

"There are some very big wigs in the matter who mean to get themselves

out of the scrape."

"Yes, and I'll pull my nuts out of the fire, too! Marie-Jeanne, bring

my clogs and my rabbit-skin cloak; and quick, too, or I'll warm you up

with a box on the ear."

"There'll be warm work down there!" thought Gigonnet, rubbing his

hands as he walked away. "Du Tillet will be satisfied; it will make a

fine scandal all through the quarter. I don't know what that poor

devil of a perfumer has done to him; for my part I pity the fellow as

I do a dog with a broken leg. He isn't a man, he has got no force."

Madame Madou bore down, like an insurrectionary wave from the Faubourg

Saint-Antoine, upon the shop-door of the hapless Birotteau, which she

opened with excessive violence, for her walk had increased her fury.

"Heap of vermin! I want my money; I will have my money! You shall give

me my money, or I carry off your scent-bags, and that satin trumpery,

and the fans, and everything you've got here, for my two thousand

francs. Who ever heard of mayors robbing the people? If you don't pay

me I'll send you to the galleys; I'll go to the police,--justice shall

be done! I won't leave this place till I've got my money."

She made a gesture as if to break the glass before the shelves on

which the valuables were placed.

"Mother Madou takes a drop too much," whispered Celestin to his

neighbor.

The virago overheard him,--for in paroxysms of passion the organs are

either paralyzed or trebly acute,--and she forthwith applied to

Celestin's ear the most vigorous blow that ever resounded in a

Parisian perfumery.

"Learn to respect women, my angel," she said, "and don't smirch the

names of the people you rob."

"Madame," said Madame Birotteau, entering from the back-shop, where

she happened to be with her husband,--whom Pillerault was persuading

to go with him, while Cesar, to obey the law, was humbly expressing

his willingness to go to prison,--"madame, for heaven's sake do not

raise a mob, and bring a crowd upon us!"

"Hey! let them come," said the woman; "I'll tell them a tale that will

make you laugh the wrong side of your mouth. Yes, my nuts and my

francs, picked up by the sweat of my brow, helped you to give balls.

There you are, dressed like the queen of France in woollen which you

sheared off the backs of poor sheep such as me! Good God! it would

burn my shoulders, that it would, to wear stolen goods! I've got

nothing but rabbit-skin to cover my carcass, but it is mine! Brigands,

thieves, my money or--"

She darted at a pretty inlaid box containing toilet articles.

"Put that down, madame!" said Cesar, coming forward, "nothing here is

mine; everything belongs to my creditors. I own nothing but my own

person; if you wish to seize that and put me in prison, I give you my

word of honor"--the tears fell from his eyes--"that I will wait here

till you have me arrested."

The tone and gesture were so completely in keeping with his words that

Madame Madou's anger subsided.

"My property has been carried off by a notary; I am innocent of the

disasters I cause," continued Cesar, "but you shall be paid in course

of time if I have to die in the effort, and work like a galley-slave

as a porter in the markets."

"Come, you are a good man," said the market-woman. "Excuse my words,

madame; but I may as well go and drown myself, for Gigonnet will hound

me down. I can't get any money for ten months to redeem those damned

notes of yours which I gave him."

"Come and see me to-morrow morning," said Pillerault, showing himself.

"I will get you the money from one of my friends, at five per cent."

"Hey! if it isn't the worthy Pere Pillerault! Why, to be sure, he's

your uncle," she said to Constance. "Well, you are all honest people,

and I sha'n't lose my money, shall I? To-morrow morning, then, old

fellow!" she said to the retired iron-monger.

*****

Cesar was determined to live on amid the wreck of his fortunes at "The

Queen of Roses," insisting that he would see his creditors and explain

his affairs to them himself. Despite Madame Birotteau's earnest

entreaties, Pillerault seemed to approve of Cesar's decision and took

him back to his own room. The wily old man then went to Monsieur

Haudry, explained the case, and obtained from him a prescription for a

sleeping draught, which he took to be made up, and then returned to

spend the evening with the family. Aided by Cesarine he induced her

father to drink with them. The narcotic soon put Cesar to sleep, and

when he woke up, fourteen hours later, he was in Pillerault's bedroom,

Rue des Bourdonnais, fairly imprisoned by the old man, who was

sleeping himself on a cot-bed in the salon.

When Constance heard the coach containing Pillerault and Cesar roll

away from the door, her courage deserted her. Our powers are often

stimulated by the necessity of upholding some being feebler than

ourselves. The poor woman wept to find herself alone in her home as

she would have wept for Cesar dead.

"Mamma," said Cesarine, sitting on her mother's knee, and caressing

her with the pretty kittenish grace which women only display to

perfection amongst themselves, "you said that if I took up my life

bravely, you would have strength to bear adversity. Don't cry, dear

mother; I am ready and willing to go into some shop, and I shall never

think again of what we once were. I shall be like you in your young

days; and you shall never hear a complaint, nor even a regret, from

me. I have a hope. Did you not hear what Monsieur Anselme said?"

"That dear boy! he shall not be my son-in-law--"

"Oh, mamma!"

"--he shall be my own son."

"Sorry has one good," said Cesarine, kissing her mother; "it teaches

us to know our true friends."

The daughter at last eased the pain of the poor woman by changing

places and playing the mother to her. The next morning Constance went

to the house of the Duc de Lenoncourt, one of the gentlemen of the

king's bedchamber, and left a letter asking for an interview at a

later hour of the day. In the interval she went to Monsieur de la

Billardiere, and explained to him the situation in which Roguin's

flight had placed Cesar, begging him to go with her to the duke and

speak for her, as she feared she might explain matters ill herself.

She wanted a place for Birotteau. Birotteau, she said, would be the

most upright of cashiers,--if there could be degrees of integrity

among honest men.

"The King has just appointed the Comte de Fontaine master of his

household; there is no time to be lost in making the application,"

said the mayor.

At two o'clock Monsieur de la Billardiere and Madame Cesar went up the

grand staircase of the Hotel de Lenoncourt, Rue Saint-Dominique, and

were ushered into the presence of the nobleman whom the king preferred

to all others,--if it can be said that Louis XVIII. ever had a

preference. The gracious welcome of this great lord, who belonged to

the small number of true gentlemen whom the preceding century

bequeathed to ours, encouraged Madame Cesar. She was dignified, yet

simple, in her sorrow. Grief ennobles even the plainest people; for it

has a grandeur of its own; to reflect its lustre, a nature must needs

be true. Constance was a woman essentially true.

The question was, how to speak to the king at once. In the midst of

the conference Monsieur de Vandenesse was announced; and the duke

exclaimed, "Here is our support!"

Madame Birotteau was not unknown to this young man, who had been to

her shop two or three times in search of those trifles which are

sometimes of more importance than greater things. The duke explained

Monsieur de la Billardiere's wishes. As soon as he learned the

misfortune which had overtaken the godson of the Marquise d'Uxelles,

Vandenesse went at once, accompanied by Monsieur de la Billardiere, to

the Comte de Fontaine, begging Madame Birotteau to wait their return.

Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine was, like Monsieur de la Billardiere,

one of those fine provincial gentlemen, the heroes, almost unknown,

who made "la Vendee." Birotteau was not a stranger to him, for he had

seen him in the old days at "The Queen of Roses." Men who had shed

their blood for the royal cause enjoyed at this time certain

privileges, which the king kept secret, so as not to give umbrage to

the Liberals.

Monsieur de Fontaine, always a favorite with Louis XVIII., was thought

to be wholly in his confidence. Not only did the count positively

promise a place, but he returned with the two gentlemen to the Duc de

Lenoncourt, and asked him to procure for him an audience that very

evening; and also to obtain for Billardiere an audience with MONSIEUR,

who was greatly attached to the old Vendeen diplomatist.

The same evening, the Comte de Fontaine came from the Tuileries to

"The Queen of Roses," and announced to Madame Birotteau that as soon

as the proceedings in bankruptcy were over, her husband would be

officially appointed to a situation in the Sinking-fund Office, with a

salary of two thousand five hundred francs,--all the functions in the

household of the king being overcrowded with noble supernumeraries to

whom promises had already been made.

This success was but one part of the task before Madame Birotteau. The

poor woman now went to the "Maison du Chat-qui-pelote," in the Rue

Saint-Denis, to find Joseph Lebas. As she walked along she met Madame

Roguin in a brilliant equipage, apparently making purchases. Their

eyes met; and the shame which the rich woman could not hide as she

looked at the ruined woman, gave Constance fresh courage.

"Never will I roll in a carriage bought with the money of others," she

said to herself.

Joseph Lebas received her kindly, and she begged him to obtain a place

for Cesarine in some respectable commercial establishment. Lebas made

no promises; but eight days later Cesarine had board, lodging, and a

salary of three thousand francs from one of the largest linen-drapers

in Paris, who was about to open a branch establishment in the quartier

des Italiens. Cesarine was put in charge of the desk, and the

superintendence of the new shop was entrusted to her; she filled, in

fact, a position above that of forewoman, and supplied the place of

both master and mistress.

Madame Cesar went from the "Chat-qui-pelote" to the Rue des Cinq-

Diamants, and asked Popinot to let her take charge of his accounts and

do his writing, and also manage his household. Popinot felt that his

was the only house where Cesar's wife could meet with the respect that

was due to her, and find employment without humiliation. The noble lad

gave her three thousand francs a year, her board, and his own room;

going himself into an attic occupied by one of his clerks. Thus it

happened that the beautiful woman, after one month's enjoyment of her

sumptuous home, came to live in the wretched chamber looking into a

damp, dark court, where Gaudissart, Anselme, and Finot had inaugurated

Cephalic Oil.

When Molineux, appointed agent by the Court of Commerce, came to take

possession of Cesar Birotteau's assets, Madame Birotteau, aided by

Celestin, went over the inventory with him. Then the mother and

daughter, plainly dressed, left the house on foot and went to their

uncle Pillerault's, without once turning their heads to look at the

home where they had passed the greater part of their lives. They

walked in silence to the Rue des Bourdonnais, where they were to dine

with Cesar for the first time since their separation. It was a sad

dinner. Each had had time for reflection,--time to weigh the duties

before them, and sound the depths of their courage. All three were

like sailors ready to face foul weather, but not deceived as to their

danger. Birotteau gathered courage as he was told of the interest

people in high places had taken in finding employment for him, but he

wept when he heard what his daughter was to become. Then he held out

his hand to his wife, as he saw the courage with which she had

returned to labor. Old Pillerault's eyes were wet, for the last time

in his life, as he looked at these three beings folded together in one

embrace; from the centre of which Birotteau, feeblest of the three and

the most stricken, raised his hands, saying:--

"Let us have hope!"

"You shall live with me," said Pillerault, "for the sake of economy;

you shall have my chamber, and share my bread. I have long been

lonely; you shall replace the poor child I lost. From my house it is

but a step to your office in the Rue de l'Oratoire."

"God of mercy!" exclaimed Birotteau; "in the worst of a storm a star

guides me."

Resignation is the last stage of man's misfortune. From this moment

Cesar's downfall was accomplished; he accepted it, and strength

returned to him.