habit of giving affirmative nods acquiescing in what is said to them, or seeming to do so, gives a certain peculiar turn to their heads.  They agree indifferently with whatever is said before them.  Their talk is full of “buts,” “notwithstandings,” “for myself I should,” “were I in your place” (they often say “in your place"), —­phrases, however, which pave the way to opposition.

In person, Clement des Lupeaulx had the remains of a handsome man; five feet six inches tall, tolerably stout, complexion flushed with good living, powdered head, delicate spectacles, and a worn-out air; the natural skin blond, as shown by the hand, puffy like that of an old woman, rather too square, and with short nails—­the hand of a satrap.  His foot was elegant.  After five o’clock in the afternoon des Lupeaulx was always to be seen in open-worked silk stockings, low shoes, black trousers, cashmere waistcoat, cambric handkerchief (without perfume), gold chain, blue coat of the shade called “king’s blue,” with brass buttons and a string of orders.  In the morning he wore creaking boots and gray trousers, and the short close surtout coat of the politician.  His general appearance early in the day was that of a sharp lawyer rather than that of a ministerial officer.  Eyes glazed by the constant use of spectacles made him plainer than he really was, if by chance he took those appendages off.  To real judges of character, as well as to upright men who are at ease only with honest natures, des Lupeaulx was intolerable.  To them, his gracious manners only draped his lies; his amiable protestations and hackneyed courtesies, new to the foolish and ignorant, too plainly showed their texture to an observing mind.  Such minds considered him a rotten plank, on which no foot should trust itself.

No sooner had the beautiful Madame Rabourdin decided to interfere in her husband’s administrative advancement than she fathomed Clement des Lupeaulx’s true character, and studied him thoughtfully to discover whether in this thin strip of deal there were ligneous fibres strong enough to let her lightly trip across it from the bureau to the department, from a salary of eight thousand a year to twelve thousand.  The clever woman believed she could play her own game with this political roue; and Monsieur des Lupeaulx was partly the cause of the unusual expenditures which now began and were continued in the Rabourdin household.

The rue Duphot, built up under the Empire, is remarkable for several houses with handsome exteriors, the apartments of which are skilfully laid out.  That of the Rabourdins was particularly well arranged,—­a domestic advantage which has much to do with the nobleness of private lives.  A pretty and rather wide antechamber, lighted from the courtyard, led to the grand salon, the windows of which looked on the street.  To the right of the salon were Rabourdin’s study and bedroom, and behind them the dining-room, which was entered from the antechamber; to the left was