“Yes,” he said, at last.

Anselme made a gesture of unspeakable joy, as he took the hand which Cesarine held out to him, and kissed it.

“You consent, then?” he said to her.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Now that I am one of the family, I have the right to concern myself in its affairs,” he said, with a strange, excited expression of face.

He left the room precipitately, that he might not show a joy which contrasted too cruelly with the sorrow of his master.  Anselme was not actually happy at the failure, but love is such an egoist!  Even Cesarine felt within her heart an emotion that counteracted her bitter grief.

“Now that we have got so far,” whispered Pillerault to Constance, “shall we strike the last blow?”

Madame Birotteau let a sign of grief rather than of acquiescence escape her.

“My nephew,” said Pillerault, addressing Cesar, “what do you intend to do?”

“To carry on my business.”

“That would not be my judgment,” said Pillerault.  “Take my advice, wind up everything, make over your whole assets to your creditors, and keep out of business.  I have often imagined how it would be if I were in a situation such as yours—­Ah, one has to foresee everything in business! a merchant who does not think of failure is like a general who counts on never being defeated; he is only half a merchant.  I, in your position, would never have continued in business.  What! be forced to blush before the men I had injured, to bear their suspicious looks and tacit reproaches?  I can conceive of the guillotine—­a moment, and all is over.  But to have the head replaced, and daily cut off anew, —­that is agony I could not have borne.  Many men take up their business as if nothing had happened:  so much the better for them; they are stronger than Claude-Joseph Pillerault.  If you pay in cash, and you are obliged to do so, they say that you have kept back part of your assets; if you are without a penny, it is useless to attempt to recover yourself.  No, give up your property, sell your business, and find something else to do.”

“What could I find?” said Cesar.

“Well,” said Pillerault, “look for a situation.  You have influential friends,—­the Duc and the Duchesse de Lenoncourt, Madame de Mortsauf, Monsieur de Vandenesse.  Write to them, go and see them; they might get you a situation in the royal household which would give you a thousand crowns or so; your wife could earn as much more, and perhaps your daughter also.  The situation is not hopeless.  You three might earn nearly ten thousand francs a year.  In ten years you can pay off a hundred thousand francs, for you shall not use a penny of what you earn; your two women will have fifteen hundred francs a year from me for their expenses, and, as for you,—­we will see about that.”