Madame Madou bore down, like an insurrectionary wave from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, upon the shop-door of the hapless Birotteau, which she opened with excessive violence, for her walk had increased her fury.

“Heap of vermin!  I want my money; I will have my money!  You shall give me my money, or I carry off your scent-bags, and that satin trumpery, and the fans, and everything you’ve got here, for my two thousand francs.  Who ever heard of mayors robbing the people?  If you don’t pay me I’ll send you to the galleys; I’ll go to the police,—­justice shall be done!  I won’t leave this place till I’ve got my money.”

She made a gesture as if to break the glass before the shelves on which the valuables were placed.

“Mother Madou takes a drop too much,” whispered Celestin to his neighbor.

The virago overheard him,—­for in paroxysms of passion the organs are either paralyzed or trebly acute,—­and she forthwith applied to Celestin’s ear the most vigorous blow that ever resounded in a Parisian perfumery.

“Learn to respect women, my angel,” she said, “and don’t smirch the names of the people you rob.”

“Madame,” said Madame Birotteau, entering from the back-shop, where she happened to be with her husband,—­whom Pillerault was persuading to go with him, while Cesar, to obey the law, was humbly expressing his willingness to go to prison,—­“madame, for heaven’s sake do not raise a mob, and bring a crowd upon us!”

“Hey! let them come,” said the woman; “I’ll tell them a tale that will make you laugh the wrong side of your mouth.  Yes, my nuts and my francs, picked up by the sweat of my brow, helped you to give balls.  There you are, dressed like the queen of France in woollen which you sheared off the backs of poor sheep such as me!  Good God! it would burn my shoulders, that it would, to wear stolen goods!  I’ve got nothing but rabbit-skin to cover my carcass, but it is mine!  Brigands, thieves, my money or—­”

She darted at a pretty inlaid box containing toilet articles.

“Put that down, madame!” said Cesar, coming forward, “nothing here is mine; everything belongs to my creditors.  I own nothing but my own person; if you wish to seize that and put me in prison, I give you my word of honor”—­the tears fell from his eyes—­“that I will wait here till you have me arrested.”

The tone and gesture were so completely in keeping with his words that Madame Madou’s anger subsided.

“My property has been carried off by a notary; I am innocent of the disasters I cause,” continued Cesar, “but you shall be paid in course of time if I have to die in the effort, and work like a galley-slave as a porter in the markets.”

“Come, you are a good man,” said the market-woman.  “Excuse my words, madame; but I may as well go and drown myself, for Gigonnet will hound me down.  I can’t get any money for ten months to redeem those damned notes of yours which I gave him.”