per. "However,
there's not much more. Monsieur Henri confesses to me that the scene
had _moved him_; he also says that, knowing the interest I had
formerly taken in the marriage, he thought he ought to inform me of
its conclusion; ending with a slightly veiled suggestion of a fee. No,
stay," resumed Corentin, "here is a detail of some importance:--"

The English woman seems to have made it known during dinner that,
having no heirs, her fortune, after the lives of herself and her
husband, will go to Felix. That will make him powerfully rich one
of these days.

La Peyrade had risen and was striding about the room with rapid steps.

"Well," said Corentin, "what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"That is not true," said the great detective. "I think you envy the
happiness of that young man. My dear fellow, permit me to tell you that
if such a conclusion were to your taste, you should have acted as he has
done. When I sent you two thousand francs on which to study law, I
did not intend you to succeed me; I expected you to row your galley
laboriously, to have the needful courage for obscure and painful toil;
your day would infallibly have come. But you chose to violate fortune--"

"Monsieur!"

"I mean hasten it, reap it before it ripened. You flung yourself
into journalism; then into business, questionable business; you made
acquaintance with Messieurs Dutocq and Cerizet. Frankly, I think you
fortunate to have entered the port which harbors you to-day. In any
case, you are not sufficiently simple of heart to have really valued the
joys reserved for Felix Phellion. These bourgeois--"

"These bourgeois," said la Peyrade, quickly,--"I know them now. They
have great absurdities, great vices even, but they have virtues, or,
at the least, estimable qualities; in them lies the vital force of our
corrupt society."

"_Your_ society!" said Corentin, smiling; "you speak as if you were
still in the ranks. You have another sphere, my dear fellow; and you
must learn to be more content with your lot. Governments pass, societies
perish or dwindle; but we--_we_ dominate all things; the police is
eternal."

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

Note.--This volume ("Les Petits Bourgeois") was not published
until 1854, more than three years after Balzac's death; although
he says of it in March, 1844: "I must tell you that my work
entitled 'Les Petits Bourgeois,' owing to difficulties of
execution, requires still a month's