hen only ten or twelve persons
were left in the room, Birotteau resolved that the next time the outer
door of the study turned on its hinges he would rise and face the great
orator, and say to him, "I am Birotteau!" The grenadier who sprang first
into the redoubt at Moscow displayed no greater courage than Cesar now
summoned up to perform this act.

"After all, I am his mayor," he said to himself as he rose to proclaim
his name.

The countenance of Francois Keller at once became affable; he evidently
desired to be cordial. He glanced at Cesar's red ribbon, and stepping
back, opened the door of his study and motioned him to enter, remaining
himself for some time to speak with two men, who rushed in from the
staircase with the violence of a waterspout.

"Decazes wants to speak to you," said one of them.

"It is a question of defeating the Pavillon Marsan!" cried the other.
"The King's eyes are opened. He is coming round to us."

"We will go together to the Chamber," said the banker, striking the
attitude of the frog who imitates an ox.

"How can he find time to think of business?" thought Birotteau, much
disturbed.

The sun of successful superiority dazzled the perfumer, as light blinds
those insects who seek the falling day or the half-shadows of a starlit
night. On a table of immense size lay the budget, piles of the Chamber
records, open volumes of the "Moniteur," with passages carefully marked,
to throw at the head of a Minister his forgotten words and force him to
recant them, under the jeering plaudits of a foolish crowd incapable of
perceiving how circumstances alter cases. On another table were heaped
portfolios, minutes, projects, specifications, and all the thousand
memoranda brought to bear upon a man into whose funds so many nascent
industries sought to dip. The royal luxury of this cabinet, filled with
pictures, statues, and works of art; the encumbered chimney-piece; the
accumulation of many interests, national and foreign, heaped together
like bales,--all struck Birotteau's mind, dwarfed his powers, heightened
his terror, and froze his blood. On Francois Keller's desk lay bundles
of notes and checks, letters of credit, and commercial circulars.
Keller sat down and began to sign rapidly such letters as needed no
examination.

"Monsieur, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

At these words, uttered for him alone by a voice which influenced
all Europe, while the eager hand was running over the