“Poor man!” said the perfumer’s former neighbor; “he gave a fine ball —­two hundred carriages in the street.”

“I was there; and he failed in three months,” said Molineux.  “I was the assignee.”

Birotteau fled, trembling in every limb, and hastened back to Pillerault.

Pillerault, who had just been informed of what had happened in the Rue des Cinq-Diamants, feared that his nephew was scarcely fit to bear the shock of joy which the sudden knowledge of his restoration would cause him; for Pillerault was a daily witness of the moral struggles of the poor man, whose mind stood always face to face with his inflexible doctrines against bankruptcy, and whose vital forces were used and spent at every hour.  Honor was to Cesar a corpse, for which an Easter morning might yet dawn.  This hope kept his sorrow incessantly active.  Pillerault took upon himself the duty of preparing his nephew to receive the good news; and when Birotteau came in he was thinking over the best means of accomplishing his purpose.  Cesar’s joy as he related the proof of interest which the king had bestowed upon him seemed of good augury, and the astonishment he expressed at seeing Cesarine at “The Queen of Roses” afforded, Pillerault thought, an excellent opening.

“Well, Cesar,” said the old man, “do you know what is at the bottom of it?—­the hurry Popinot is in to marry Cesarine.  He cannot wait any longer; and you ought not, for the sake of your exaggerated ideas of honor, to make him pass his youth eating dry bread with the fumes of a good dinner under his nose.  Popinot wishes to lend you the amount necessary to pay your creditors in full.”

“Then he would buy his wife,” said Birotteau.

“Is it not honorable to reinstate his father-in-law?”

“There would be ground for contention; besides—­”

“Besides,” exclaimed Pillerault, pretending anger, “you may have the right to immolate yourself if you choose, but you have no right to immolate your daughter.”

A vehement discussion ensued, which Pillerault designedly excited.

“Hey! if Popinot lent you nothing,” cried Pillerault, “if he had called you his partner, if he had considered the price which he paid to the creditors for your share in the Oil as an advance upon the profits, so as not to strip you of everything—­”

“I should have seemed to rob my creditors in collusion with him.”

Pillerault feigned to be defeated by this argument.  He knew the human heart well enough to be certain that during the night Cesar would go over the question in his own mind, and the mental discussion would accustom him to the idea of his complete vindication.

“But how came my wife and daughter to be in our old appartement?” asked Birotteau, while they were dining.

“Anselme wants to hire it, and live there with Cesarine.  Your wife is on his side.  They have had the banns published without saying anything about it, so as to force you to consent.  Popinot says there will be much less merit in marrying Cesarine after you are reinstated.  You take six thousand francs from the king, and you won’t accept anything from your relations!  I can well afford to give you a receipt in full for all that is owing to me; do you mean to refuse it?”