In 1827 Vilquin offered Dumay a salary of six thousand francs, and ten thousand more as indemnity, if he would give up the lease.  The cashier refused; though he had but three thousand francs from Gobenheim, a former clerk of his master.  Dumay was a Breton transplanted by fate into Normandy.  Imagine therefore the hatred conceived for the tenants of the Chalet by the Norman Vilquin, a man worth three millions!  What criminal leze-million on the part of a cashier, to hold up to the eyes of such a man the impotence of his wealth!  Vilquin, whose desperation in the matter made him the talk of Havre, had just proposed to give Dumay a pretty house of his own, and had again been refused.  Havre itself began to grow uneasy at the man’s obstinacy, and a good many persons explained it by the phrase, “Dumay is a Breton.”  As for the cashier, he thought Madame and Mademoiselle Mignon would be ill-lodged elsewhere.  His two idols now inhabited a temple worthy of them; the sumptuous little cottage gave them a home, where these dethroned royalties could keep the semblance of majesty about them,—­a species of dignity usually denied to those who have seen better days.

Perhaps as the story goes on, the reader will not regret having learned in advance a few particulars as to the home and the habitual companions of Modeste Mignon, for, at her age, people and things have as much influence upon the future life as a person’s own character, —­indeed, character often receives ineffaceable impressions from its surroundings.

CHAPTER II

A portrait from life

From the manner with which the Latournelles entered the Chalet a stranger would readily have guessed that they came there every evening.

“Ah, you are here already,” said the notary, perceiving the young banker Gobenheim, a connection of Gobenheim-Keller, the head of the great banking house in Paris.

This young man with a livid face—­a blonde of the type with black eyes, whose immovable glance has an indescribable fascination, sober in speech as in conduct, dressed in black, lean as a consumptive, but nevertheless vigorously framed—­visited the family of his former master and the house of his cashier less from affection than from self-interest.  Here they played whist at two sous a point; a dress-coat was not required; he accepted no refreshment except “eau sucree,” and consequently had no civilities to return.  This apparent devotion to the Mignon family allowed it to be supposed that Gobenheim had a heart; it also released him from the necessity of going into the society of Havre and incurring useless expenses, thus upsetting the orderly economy of his domestic life.  This disciple of the golden calf went to bed at half-past ten o’clock and got up at five in the morning.  Moreover, being perfectly sure of Latournelle’s and Butscha’s discretion, he could talk over difficult business matters,