two of my wealthiest clients, who want a share in this speculation.
There it is, to take or leave. This morning I shall draw the deeds. You
have till one o'clock to make up your mind. Adieu; I am just on my way
to read over the rough draft which Xandrot has been making out during
the night."

"Well, my mind is made up. I pass my word," said Birotteau, running
after the notary and seizing his hand. "Take the hundred thousand francs
which were laid by for my daughter's portion."

"Very good," said Roguin, leaving him.

For a moment, as Birotteau turned to rejoin little Popinot, he felt a
fierce heat in his entrails, the muscles of his stomach contracted, his
ears buzzed.

"What is the matter, monsieur?" asked the clerk, when he saw his
master's pale face.

"Ah, my lad! I have just with one word decided on a great undertaking;
no man is master of himself at such a moment. You are a party to it. In
fact, I brought you here that we might talk of it at our ease; no one
can overhear us. Your aunt is in trouble; how did she lose her money?
Tell me."

"Monsieur, my uncle and aunt put all their property into the hands of
Monsieur de Nucingen, and they were forced to accept as security certain
shares in the mines at Wortschin, which as yet pay no dividends; and it
is hard at their age to live on hope."

"How do they live, then?"

"They do me the great pleasure of accepting my salary."

"Right, right, Anselme!" said the perfumer, as a tear rolled down his
cheek. "You are worthy of the regard I feel for you. You are about to
receive a great recompense for your fidelity to my interests."

As he said these words the worthy man swelled in his own eyes as much
as he did in those of Popinot, and he uttered them with a plebeian
and naive emphasis which was the genuine expression of his counterfeit
superiority.

"Ah, monsieur! have you guessed my love for--"

"For whom?" asked his master.

"For Mademoiselle Cesarine."

"Ah, boy, you are bold indeed!" exclaimed Birotteau. "Keep your secret.
I promise to forget it. You leave my house to-morrow. I am not angry
with you; in your place--the devil! the devil!--I should have done the
same. She is so lovely!"

"Oh, monsieur!" said the clerk, who felt his shirt getting wet with
perspiration.

"My boy, this matter is not one to be settled in a day. Cesarine is her
own mistress, and her mother has fixed ideas. Control yourself, wipe
your eyes, hold your heart in hand, and don't