they will even shed tears. I have witnessed strange things. You yourself have seen Roguin's respectability,--a man to whom they would have given the sacraments without confession. I do not apply these remarks in their full force to Monsieur Birotteau,--I believe him to be an honest man; but if he asks you to do anything, no matter what, against the rules of business, such as endorsing notes out of good-
nature, or launching into a system of 'circulations,' which, to my mind, is the first step to swindling,--for it is uttering counterfeit paper-money,--if he asks you to do anything of the kind, promise me that you will sign nothing without consulting me. Remember that if you love his daughter you must not--in the very interests of your love you must not--destroy your future. If Monsieur Birotteau is to fall, what will it avail if you fall too? You will deprive yourselves, one as much as the other, of all the chances of your new business, which may prove his only refuge."
"Thank you, my uncle; a word to the wise is enough," said Popinot, to whom Cesar's heart-rending exclamation was now explained.
The merchant in oils, refined and otherwise, returned to his gloomy shop with an anxious brow. Birotteau saw the change.
"Will you do me the honor to come up into my bedroom? We shall be better there. The clerks, though very busy, might overhear us."
Birotteau followed Popinot, a prey to the anxiety a condemned man goes through from the moment of his appeal for mercy until its rejection.
"My dear benefactor," said Anselme, "you cannot doubt my devotion; it is absolute. Permit me only to ask you one thing. Will this sum clear you entirely, or is it only a means of delaying some catastrophe? If it is that, what good will it do to drag me down also? You want notes at ninety days. Well, it is absolutely impossible that I could meet them in that time."
Birotteau rose, pale and solemn, and looked at Popinot.
Popinot, horror-struck, cried out, "I will do them for you, if you wish it."
"UNGRATEFUL!" said his master, who spent his whole remaining strength in hurling the word at Anselme's brow, as if it were a living mark of infamy.
Birotteau walked to the door, and went out. Popinot, rousing himself from the sensation which the terrible word produced upon him, rushed down the staircase and into the street, but Birotteau was out of sight. Cesarine's lover heard that dreadful charge ringing in his ears, and saw the distorted face of the poor distracted Cesar constantly before him; Popinot was to live henceforth, like Hamlet, with a spectre beside him.
Birotteau wandered about the streets of the neighborhood like a drunken man. At last he found himself upon the quay, and followed it till he reached Sevres, where he passed the night at an inn, maddened with grief, while his terrified wife dared not send in search of him.
She knew that in such circumstances an alarm, imprudently given, might be fatal to his credit, and the wise Constance sacrificed her own anxiety to her husband's commercial reputation: she waited silently through the night, mingling her prayers and terrors. Was Cesar dead?
Had he left Paris on the scent of some last hope? The next morning she behaved as though she knew the reasons for his absence; but at five o'clock in the afternoon when Cesar had not returned, she sent for her uncle and begged him to go at once to the Morgue. During the whole of that day the courageous creature sat behind her counter, her daughter embroidering beside her. When Pillerault returned, Cesar was with him;
on his way back the old man had met him in the Palais-Royal, hesitating before the entrance to a gambling-house.