The old cashier smiled affably, shook hands with the master, his wife, and his brother, and, as they talked, looked curiously about.  They were in a manufactory of wallpapers on Faubourg Saint-Antoine, the establishment of the little Prochassons, who were beginning to be formidable rivals.  Those former employes of the house of Fromont had set up on their own account, beginning in a very, small way, and had gradually succeeded in making for themselves a place on ’Change.  Fromont the uncle had assisted them for a long while with his credit and his money; the result being most friendly relations between the two firms, and a balance—­between ten or fifteen thousand francs—­which had never been definitely adjusted, because they knew that money was in good hands when the Prochassons had it.

Indeed, the appearance of the factory was most reassuring.  The chimneys proudly shook their plumes of smoke.  The dull roar of constant toil indicated that the workshops were full of workmen and activity.  The buildings were in good repair, the windows clean; everything had an aspect of enthusiasm, of good-humor, of discipline; and behind the grating in the counting-room sat the wife of one of the brothers, simply dressed, with her hair neatly arranged, and an air of authority on her youthful face, deeply intent upon a long column of figures.

Old Sigismond thought bitterly of the difference between the house of Fromont, once so wealthy, now living entirely upon its former reputation, and the ever-increasing prosperity of the establishment before his eyes.  His stealthy glance penetrated to the darkest corners, seeking some defect, something to criticise; and his failure to find anything made his heart heavy and his smile forced and anxious.

What embarrassed him most of all was the question how he should approach the subject of the money due his employers without betraying the emptiness of the strongbox.  The poor man assumed a jaunty, unconcerned air which was truly pitiful to see.  Business was good—­very good.  He happened to be passing through the quarter and thought he would come in a moment—­that was natural, was it not?  One likes to see old friends.

But these preambles, these constantly expanding circumlocutions, did not bring him to the point he wished to reach; on the contrary, they led him away from his goal, and imagining that he detected surprise in the eyes of his auditors, he went completely astray, stammered, lost his head, and, as a last resort, took his hat and pretended to go.  At the door he suddenly bethought himself: 

“Ah! by the way, so long as I am here—­”

He gave a little wink which he thought sly, but which was in reality heartrending.

“So long as I am here, suppose we settle that old account.”

The two brothers and the young woman in the counting-room gazed at one another a second, unable to understand.

“Account?  What account, pray?”