e charge of. You shall be made free of all
such anxieties for the rest of your life. By means of Monsieur de
Bourbonne, who will know how to save appearances, I shall arrange
matters so that you shall lack nothing. My friend, grant me the right
to abandon you. I shall ever be your friend, though forced to conform
to the axioms of the world. You must decide."

The poor, bewildered abbe cried aloud: "Chapeloud was right when he
said that if Troubert could drag him by the feet out of his grave he
would do it! He sleeps in Chapeloud's bed!"

"There is no use in lamenting," said Madame de Listomere, "and we have
little time now left to us. How will you decide?"

Birotteau was too good and kind not to obey in a great crisis the
unreflecting impulse of the moment. Besides, his life was already in
the agony of what to him was death. He said, with a despairing look at
his protectress which cut her to the heart, "I trust myself to you--I
am but the stubble of the streets."

He used the Tourainean word "bourrier" which has no other meaning than
a "bit of straw." But there are pretty little straws, yellow,
polished, and shining, the delight of children, whereas the bourrier
is straw discolored, muddy, sodden in the puddles, whirled by the
tempest, crushed under feet of men.

"But, madame, I cannot let the Abbe Troubert keep Chapeloud's
portrait. It was painted for me, it belongs to me; obtain that for me,
and I will give up all the rest."

"Well," said Madame de Listomere. "I will go myself to Mademoiselle
Gamard." The words were said in a tone which plainly showed the
immense effort the Baronne de Listomere was making in lowering herself
to flatter the pride of the old maid. "I will see what can be done,"
she said; "I hardly dare hope anything. Go and consult Monsieur de
Bourbonne; ask him to put your renunciation into proper form, and
bring me the paper. I will see the archbishop, and with his help we
may be able to stop the matter here."

Birotteau left the house dismayed. Troubert assumed in his eyes the
dimensions of an Egyptian pyramid. The hands of that man were in
Paris, his elbows in the Cloister of Saint-Gatien.

"He!" said the victim to himself, "_He_ to prevent the Baron de
Listomere from becoming peer of France!--and, perhaps, 'by the help of
the archbishop we may be able to stop the matter here'!"

In presence of such great interests Birotteau felt he was a mere worm;
he judged himself harshly.

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