“Monsieur Claparon is right,” said Joseph Lebas.

“I am right,” said Claparon,—­“right commercially.  But this is an affair of landed property.  Now, what must I have?  Money, to pay the sellers.  We won’t speak now of the two hundred and forty thousand francs,—­which I am sure Monsieur Birotteau will be able to raise soon,” said Claparon, looking at Lebas.  “I have come now to ask for a trifle, merely twenty-five thousand francs,” he added, turning to Birotteau.

“Twenty-five thousand francs!” cried Cesar, feeling ice in his veins instead of blood.  “What claim have you, monsieur?”

“What claim?  Hey! we have to make a payment and execute the deeds before a notary.  Among ourselves, of course, we could come to an understanding about the payment, but when we have to do with a financial public functionary it is quite another thing!  He won’t palaver; he’ll trust you no farther than he can see.  We have got to come down with forty thousand francs, to secure the registration, this week.  I did not expect reproaches in coming here, for, thinking this twenty-five thousand francs might be inconvenient to you just now, I meant to tell you that, by a mere chance, I have saved you—­”

“What?” said Birotteau, with that rending cry of anguish which no man ever mistakes.

“A trifle!  The notes amounting to twenty-five thousand francs on divers securities which Roguin gave me to negotiate I have credited to you, for the registration payment and the fees, of which I will send you an account; there will be a small amount to deduct, and you will then owe me about six or seven thousand francs.”

“All that seems to me perfectly proper,” said Lebas.  “In your place, monsieur, I should do the same towards a stranger.”

“Monsieur Birotteau won’t die of it,” said Claparon; “it takes more than one shot to kill an old wolf.  I have seen wolves with a ball in their head run, by God, like—­wolves!”

“Who could have foreseen such villany as Roguin’s?” said Lebas, as much alarmed by Cesar’s silence as by the discovery of such enormous speculations outside of his friend’s legitimate business of perfumery.

“I came very near giving Monsieur Birotteau a receipt for his four hundred thousand francs,” said Claparon.  “I should have blown up if I had, for I had given Roguin a hundred thousand myself the day before.  Our mutual confidence is all that saved me.  Whether the money were in a lawyer’s hands or in mine until the day came to pay for the land, seemed to us all a matter of no importance.”

“It would have been better,” said Lebas, “to have kept the money in the Bank of France until the time came to make the payments.”

“Roguin was the bank to me,” said Cesar.  “But he is in the speculation,” he added, looking at Claparon.