Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau [47]
caught the eye. This profession of faith in a stoical old republican was strangely moving to the heart of a spectator.
An old woman came to do his household work; but his respect for women was so great that he would not let her black his boots, and he subscribed to a boot-black for that service. His dress was simple, and invariably the same. He wore a coat and trousers of dark-blue cloth, a waistcoat of some printed cotton fabric, a white cravat, high shoes, and on gala days he put on a coat with brass buttons. His habits of rising, breakfasting, going out, dining, his evening resorts, and his returning hours were all stamped with the strictest punctuality; for regular habits are the secret of long life and sound health. Politics never came to the surface in his intercourse with Cesar, the Ragons, or the Abbe Loraux; for the good people of that circle knew each other too well to care to enter the region of proselytism. Like his nephew and like the Ragons, he put implicit confidence in Roguin. To his mind the notary was a being worthy of veneration,--the living image of probity. In the affair of the lands about the Madeleine, Pillerault had undertaken a private examination, which was the real cause of the boldness with which Cesar had combated his wife's presentiments.
The perfumer went up the seventy-eight stairs which led to the little brown door of his uncle's appartement, thinking as he went that the old man must be very hale to mount them daily without complaining. He found a frock-coat and pair of trousers hanging on the hat-stand outside the door. Madame Vaillant brushed and cleaned them while this genuine philosopher, wrapped in a gray woollen garment, breakfasted in his chimney-corner and read the parliamentary debates in the "Constitutionnel" or the "Journal du Commerce."
"Uncle," said Cesar, "the matter is settled; they are drawing up their deeds; but you have any fears or regrets, there is still time to give it up."
"Why should I give it up? The thing is good; though it may be a long time before we realize anything, like all safe investments. My fifty thousand francs are in the bank. I received yesterday the last instalment, five thousand francs, from my business. As for the Ragons, they have put their whole fortune into the affair."
"How do they contrive to life?"
"Never mind how; they do live."
"Uncle, I understand!" said Birotteau, deeply moved, pressing the hand of the austere old man.
"How is the affair arranged?" asked Pillerault, brusquely.
"I am in for three eighths, you and the Ragons for one eighth. I shall credit you for that on my books until the question of registration is decided."
"Good! My boy, you must be getting rich to put three hundred thousand francs into it. It seems to me you are risking a good deal outside of your business. Won't the business suffer? However, that is your affair. If you get a set-back, why the Funds are at eighty, and I could sell two thousand francs worth of my consolidated stock. But take care, my lad; for if you have to come upon me, it will be your daughter's fortune that you will take."
"Ah! my uncle, how simply you say things! You touch my heart."
"General Foy was touching mine in quite another fashion just now. Well, go on; settle the business; lands can't fly away. We are getting them at half price. Suppose we do have to wait six years, there will always be some returns; there are wood-yards which will bring in a rent. We can't really lose anything. There is but one chance against us. Roguin might run off with the money."
"My wife told me so this very night. She fears--"
"That Roguin will carry off our funds?" said Pillerault, laughing. "Pray, why?"
"She says there is too much in his nose; and like men who can't have women, he is furious to--"
With a smile of incredulity, Pillerault tore a strip from a little book, wrote down an amount, and signed the paper.
"There," said he, "there's a cheque on the Bank of France for a hundred thousand francs for the Ragons and for me. Those poor folks have just sold to your scoundrel
An old woman came to do his household work; but his respect for women was so great that he would not let her black his boots, and he subscribed to a boot-black for that service. His dress was simple, and invariably the same. He wore a coat and trousers of dark-blue cloth, a waistcoat of some printed cotton fabric, a white cravat, high shoes, and on gala days he put on a coat with brass buttons. His habits of rising, breakfasting, going out, dining, his evening resorts, and his returning hours were all stamped with the strictest punctuality; for regular habits are the secret of long life and sound health. Politics never came to the surface in his intercourse with Cesar, the Ragons, or the Abbe Loraux; for the good people of that circle knew each other too well to care to enter the region of proselytism. Like his nephew and like the Ragons, he put implicit confidence in Roguin. To his mind the notary was a being worthy of veneration,--the living image of probity. In the affair of the lands about the Madeleine, Pillerault had undertaken a private examination, which was the real cause of the boldness with which Cesar had combated his wife's presentiments.
The perfumer went up the seventy-eight stairs which led to the little brown door of his uncle's appartement, thinking as he went that the old man must be very hale to mount them daily without complaining. He found a frock-coat and pair of trousers hanging on the hat-stand outside the door. Madame Vaillant brushed and cleaned them while this genuine philosopher, wrapped in a gray woollen garment, breakfasted in his chimney-corner and read the parliamentary debates in the "Constitutionnel" or the "Journal du Commerce."
"Uncle," said Cesar, "the matter is settled; they are drawing up their deeds; but you have any fears or regrets, there is still time to give it up."
"Why should I give it up? The thing is good; though it may be a long time before we realize anything, like all safe investments. My fifty thousand francs are in the bank. I received yesterday the last instalment, five thousand francs, from my business. As for the Ragons, they have put their whole fortune into the affair."
"How do they contrive to life?"
"Never mind how; they do live."
"Uncle, I understand!" said Birotteau, deeply moved, pressing the hand of the austere old man.
"How is the affair arranged?" asked Pillerault, brusquely.
"I am in for three eighths, you and the Ragons for one eighth. I shall credit you for that on my books until the question of registration is decided."
"Good! My boy, you must be getting rich to put three hundred thousand francs into it. It seems to me you are risking a good deal outside of your business. Won't the business suffer? However, that is your affair. If you get a set-back, why the Funds are at eighty, and I could sell two thousand francs worth of my consolidated stock. But take care, my lad; for if you have to come upon me, it will be your daughter's fortune that you will take."
"Ah! my uncle, how simply you say things! You touch my heart."
"General Foy was touching mine in quite another fashion just now. Well, go on; settle the business; lands can't fly away. We are getting them at half price. Suppose we do have to wait six years, there will always be some returns; there are wood-yards which will bring in a rent. We can't really lose anything. There is but one chance against us. Roguin might run off with the money."
"My wife told me so this very night. She fears--"
"That Roguin will carry off our funds?" said Pillerault, laughing. "Pray, why?"
"She says there is too much in his nose; and like men who can't have women, he is furious to--"
With a smile of incredulity, Pillerault tore a strip from a little book, wrote down an amount, and signed the paper.
"There," said he, "there's a cheque on the Bank of France for a hundred thousand francs for the Ragons and for me. Those poor folks have just sold to your scoundrel