py ever made of it. The former master and
his former clerk at last reached an elegant coquettish cabinet, more
redolent of love than finance. Madame Roguin had doubtless contributed,
in return for the care bestowed upon her fortune, the paper-knife in
chiselled gold, the paper-weights of carved malachite, and all the
costly knick-knacks of unrestrained luxury. The carpet, one of the rich
products of Belgium, was as pleasant to the eye as to the foot which
felt the soft thickness of its texture. Du Tillet made the poor, amazed,
bewildered perfumer sit down at a corner of the fireplace.

"Will you breakfast with me?"

He rang the bell. Enter a footman better dressed than Birotteau.

"Tell Monsieur Legras to come here, and then find Joseph at the door of
the Messrs. Keller; tell him to return to the stable. Leave word with
Adolphe Keller that instead of going to see him, I shall expect him at
the Bourse; and order breakfast served immediately."

These commands amazed Cesar.

"He whistles to that formidable Adolphe Keller like a dog!--he, du
Tillet!"

A little tiger, about a thumb high, set out a table, which Birotteau had
not observed, so slim was it, and brought in a _pate de foie gras_, a
bottle of claret, and a number of dainty dishes which only appeared in
Birotteau's household once in three months, on great festive occasions.
Du Tillet enjoyed the effect. His hatred towards the only man who had it
in his power to despise him burned so hotly that Birotteau seemed, even
to his own mind, like a sheep defending itself against a tiger. For an
instant, a generous idea entered du Tillet's heart: he asked himself if
his vengeance were not sufficiently accomplished. He hesitated between
this awakened mercy and his dormant hate.

"I can annihilate him commercially," he thought; "I have the power of
life or death over him,--over his wife who insulted me, and his daughter
whose hand once seemed to me a fortune. I have got his money; suppose I
content myself with letting the poor fool swim at the end of a line I'll
hold for him?"

Honest minds are devoid of tact; their excellence is uncalculating,
even unreflecting, because they are wholly without evasions or mental
reservations of their own. Birotteau now brought about his downfall; he
incensed the tiger, pierced him to the heart without knowing it,
made him implacable by a thoughtless word, a eulogy, a virtuous
recognition,--by the kind-heartedness, as it were, of his o