“She might have millions,” said Phellion, “and I might see them there at my feet before I would propose Thuillier, when I owe to the memory of the best of men to nominate, if possible, Horace Bianchon, his nephew.  From the heaven above us Popinot is contemplating and applauding me!” cried Phellion, with exaltation.  “It is by such considerations as you suggest that France is being lowered, and the bourgeoisie are bringing themselves into contempt.”

“My father is right,” said Felix, coming out of a deep reverie.  “He deserves our respect and love; as he has throughout the whole course of his modest and honored life.  I would not owe my happiness either to remorse in his noble soul, or to a low political bargain.  I love Celeste as I love my own family; but, above all that, I place my father’s honor, and since this question is a matter of conscience with him it must not be spoken of again.”

Phellion, with his eyes full of tears, went up to his eldest son and took him in his arms, saying, “My son! my son!” in a choking voice.

“All that is nonsense,” whispered Madame Phellion in Madame Barniol’s ear.  “Come and dress me; I shall make an end of this; I know your father; he has put his foot down now.  To carry out the plan that pious young man, Theodose, suggested, I want your help; hold yourself ready to give it, my daughter.”

At this moment, Genevieve came in and gave a letter to Monsieur Phellion.

“An invitation for dinner to-day, for Madame Phellion and Felix and myself, at the Thuilliers’,” he said.

The magnificent and surprising idea of Thuillier’s municipal advancement, put forth by the “advocate of the poor” was not less upsetting in the Thuillier household than it was in the Phellion salon.  Jerome Thuillier, without actually confiding anything to his sister, for he made it a point of honor to obey his Mephistopheles, had rushed to her in great excitement to say:—­

“My dearest girl” (he always touched her heart with those caressing words), “we shall have some big-wigs at dinner to-day.  I’m going to ask the Minards; therefore take pains about your dinner.  I have written to Monsieur and Madame Phellion; it is rather late; but there’s no need of ceremony with them.  As for the Minards, I must throw a little dust in their eyes; I have a particular need of them.”

“Four Minards, three Phellions, four Collevilles, and ourselves; that makes thirteen—­”

“La Peyrade, fourteen; and it is worth while to invite Dutocq; he may be useful to us.  I’ll go up and see him.”

“What are you scheming?” cried his sister.  “Fifteen to dinner!  There’s forty francs, at the very least, waltzing off.”

“You won’t regret them, my dearest.  I want you to be particularly agreeable to our young friend, la Peyrade.  There’s a friend, indeed! you’ll soon have proofs of that!  If you love me, cosset him well.”

So saying, he departed, leaving Brigitte bewildered.