ffering at this moment, near to us, would it not be
horrible?"

"Yes," replied Joseph. "For my part, I will gladly give him some
money; but I don't want to see him; he killed our poor Descoings."

"So," resumed Agathe, "you would not be willing to paint his
portrait?"

"For you, dear mother, I'd suffer martyrdom. I can make myself
remember nothing except that he is my brother."

"His portrait as a captain of dragoons on horseback?"

"Yes, I've a copy of a fine horse by Gros and I haven't any use for
it."

"Well, then, go and see that friend of his and find out what has
become of him."

"I'll go!"

Agathe rose; her scissors and work fell at her feet; she went and
kissed Joseph's head, and dropped two tears on his hair.

"He is your passion, that fellow," said the painter. "We all have our
hopeless passions."

That afternoon, about four o'clock, Joseph went to the rue du Sentier
and found his brother, who had taken Giroudeau's place. The old
dragoon had been promoted to be cashier of a weekly journal
established by his nephew. Although Finot was still proprietor of the
other newspaper, which he had divided into shares, holding all the
shares himself, the proprietor and editor "de visu" was one of his
friends, named Lousteau, the son of that very sub-delegate of Issoudun
on whom the Bridaus' grandfather, Doctor Rouget, had vowed vengeance;
consequently he was the nephew of Madame Hochon. To make himself
agreeable to his uncle, Finot gave Philippe the place Giroudeau was
quitting; cutting off, however, half the salary. Moreover, daily, at
five o'clock, Giroudeau audited the accounts and carried away the
receipts. Coloquinte, the old veteran, who was the office boy and did
errands, also kept an eye on the slippery Philippe; who was, however,
behaving properly. A salary of six hundred francs, and the five
hundred of his cross sufficed him to live, all the more because,
living in a warm office all day and at the theatre on a free pass
every evening, he had only to provide himself with food and a place to
sleep in. Coloquinte was departing with the stamped papers on his
head, and Philippe was brushing his false sleeves of green linen, when
Joseph entered.

"Bless me, here's the cub!" cried Philippe. "Well, we'll go and dine
together. You shall go to the opera; Florine and Florentine have got a
box. I'm going with Giroudeau; you shall be of the party, and I'll
introduce you to Nathan."

He took his leaded cane,