According to Parisian custom, notes were paid on the thirtieth, if the thirty-first was a holiday.

As Cesar reached the outer gate, his eyes bathed in tears, he scarcely saw a fine English horse, covered with sweat, which drew the handsomest cabriolet that rolled in those days along the pavements of Paris, and which was now pulled up suddenly beside him.  He would gladly have been run over and crushed by it; if he died by accident, the confusion of his affairs would be laid to that circumstance.  He did not recognize du Tillet, who in elegant morning dress jumped lightly down, throwing the reins to his groom and a blanket over the back of his smoking thoroughbred.

“What chance brings you here?” said the former clerk to his old patron.

Du Tillet knew very well what it was, for the Kellers had made inquiries of Claparon, who by referring them to du Tillet had demolished the past reputation of the poor man.  Though quickly checked, the tears on Cesar’s face spoke volumes.

“It is possible that you have asked assistance from these Bedouins?” said du Tillet, “these cut-throats of commerce, full of infamous tricks; who run up indigo when they have monopolized the trade, and pull down rice to force the holders to sell at low prices, and so enable them to manage the market?  Atrocious pirates, who have neither faith, nor law, nor soul, nor honor!  You don’t know what they are capable of doing.  They will give you a credit if they think you have got a good thing, and close it the moment you get into the thick of the enterprise; and then you will be forced to make it all over to them, at any villanous price they choose to give.  Havre, Bordeaux, Marseilles, could tell you tales about them!  They make use of politics to cover up their filthy ways.  If I were you I should get what I could out of them in any way, and without scruple.  Let us walk on, Birotteau.  Joseph, lead the horse about, he is too hot:  the devil! he is a capital of a thousand crowns.”

So saying, he turned toward the boulevard.

“Come, my dear master,—­for you were once my master,—­tell me, are you in want of money?  Have they asked you for securities, the scoundrels?  I, who know you, I offer you money on your simple note.  I have made an honorable fortune with infinite pains.  I began it in Germany; I may as well tell you that I bought up the debts of the king, at sixty per cent of their amount:  your endorsement was very useful to me at that time, and I am not ungrateful,—­not I. If you want ten thousand francs, they are yours.”

“Du Tillet!” cried Cesar, “can it be true? you are not joking with me?  Yes, I am rather pinched, but only for a moment.”

“I know,—­that affair of Roguin,” replied du Tillet.  “Hey!  I am in for ten thousand francs which the old rogue borrowed of me just before he went off; but Madame Roguin will pay them back from her dower.  I have advised the poor woman not to be so foolish as to spend her own fortune in paying debts contracted for a prostitute.  Of course, it would be well if she paid everything, but she cannot favor some creditors to the detriment of others.  You are not a Roguin; I know you,” said du Tillet,—­“you would blow your brains out rather than make me lose a sou.  Here we are at Rue de la Chaussee-d’Antin; come home with me.”