“Monsieur Grindot,” said Lourdois, observing that the architect was folding up Birotteau’s cheque, “will you certify my account?  You need only to add it up; the prices were all agreed to by you on Monsieur Birotteau’s behalf.”

Pillerault looked at Lourdois and Grindot.

“Prices agreed upon between the architect and contractor?” he said in a low voice to his nephew,—­“they have robbed you.”

Grindot left the shop, and Molineux followed him with a mysterious air.

“Monsieur,” he said, “you listened to me, but you did not understand me,—­I wish you the protection of an umbrella.”

The architect was frightened.  The more illegal a man’s gains the more he clings to them:  the human heart is so made.  Grindot had really studied the appartement lovingly; he had put all his art and all his time into it; he had given ten thousand francs worth of labor, and he felt that in so doing he had been the dupe of his vanity:  the contractors therefore had little trouble in seducing him.  The irresistible argument and threat, fully understood, of injuring him professionally by calumniating his work were, however, less powerful than a remark made by Lourdois about the lands near the Madeleine.  Birotteau did not expect to hold a single house upon them; he was speculating only on the value of the land; but architects and contractors are to each other very much what authors and actors are, —­mutually dependent.  Grindot, ordered by Birotteau to stipulate the costs, went for the interests of the builders against the bourgeoisie; and the result was that three large contractors—­Lourdois, Chaffaroux, and Thorein the carpenter—­proclaimed him “one of those good fellows it is a pleasure to work for.”  Grindot guessed that the contractor’s bills, out of which he was to have a share, would be paid, like his commission, in notes; and little Molineux had just filled his mind with doubts as to their payment.  The architect was about to become pitiless,—­after the manner of artists, who are most intolerant of men in their dealings with the middle classes.

By the end of December bills to the amount of sixty thousand francs had been sent in.  Felix, the cafe Foy, Tanrade, and all the little creditors who ought to be paid in ready money, had asked for payment three times.  Failure to pay such trifles as these do more harm in business than a real misfortune,—­they foretell it:  known losses are definite, but a panic defies all reckoning.  Birotteau saw his coffers empty, and terror seized him:  such a thing had never happened throughout his whole commercial life.  Like all persons who have never struggled long with poverty, and who are by nature feeble, this circumstance, so common among the greater number of the petty Parisian tradesmen, disturbed for a moment Cesar’s brain.  He ordered Celestin to send round the bills of his customers and ask for payment.  Before doing so, the head clerk made him repeat the unheard-of order.  The clients,—­a fine