Sustained by the influence of his mother-in-law and the bankers du Tillet and Nucingen, Monsieur Tiphaine was fortunate enough to do some service to the administration; he became one of its chief orators, was made judge in the civil courts, and obtained the appointment of his nephew Lesourd to his own vacant place as president of the court of Provins.  This appointment greatly annoyed Desfondrilles.  The Keeper of the Seals sent down one of his own proteges to fill Lesourd’s place.  The promotion of Monsieur Tiphaine and his translation to Paris were therefore of no benefit at all to the Vinet party; but Vinet nevertheless made a clever use of the result.  He had always told the Provins people that they were being used as a stepping-stone to raise the crafty Madame Tiphaine into grandeur; Tiphaine himself had tricked them; Madame Tiphaine despised both Provins and its people in her heart, and would never return there again.  Just at this crisis Monsieur Tiphaine’s father died; his son inherited a fine estate and sold his house in Provins to Monsieur Julliard.  The sale proved to the minds of all how little the Tiphaines thought of Provins.  Vinet was right; Vinet had been a true prophet.  These things had great influence on the question of Pierrette’s guardianship.

Thus the dreadful martyrdom brutally inflicted on the poor child by two imbecile tyrants (which led, through its consequences, to the terrible operation of trepanning, performed by Monsieur Martener under the advice of Doctor Bianchon),—­all this horrible drama reduced to judicial form was left to float in the vile mess called in legal parlance the calendar.  The case was made to drag through the delays and the interminable labyrinths of the law, by the shufflings of an unprincipled lawyer; and during all this time the calumniated girl languished in the agony of the worst pain known to science.

Monsieur Martener, together with the Auffray family, were soon charmed by the beauty of Pierrette’s nature and the character of her old grandmother, whose feelings, ideas, and ways bore the stamp of Roman antiquity,—­this matron of the Marais was like a woman in Plutarch.

Doctor Martener struggled bravely with death, which already grasped its prey.  From the first, Bianchon and the hospital surgeon had considered Pierrette doomed; and there now took place between the doctor and the disease, the former relying on Pierrette’s youth, one of those struggles which physicians alone comprehend,—­the reward of which, in case of success, is never found in the venal pay nor in the patients themselves, but in the gentle satisfaction of conscience, in the invisible ideal palm gathered by true artists from the contentment which fills their soul after accomplishing a noble work.  The physician strains towards good as an artist towards beauty, each impelled by that grand sentiment which we call virtue.  This daily contest wiped out of Doctor Martener’s mind the petty irritations of that other contest of the Tiphaines and the Vinets,—­as always happens to men when they find themselves face to face with a great and real misery to conquer.