he baronne's ambition was to rival the great ladies of the
Faubourg Saint-Germain, to whose houses she was not as yet admitted. The
baron was breakfasting with his wife. In spite of the crowd which was
waiting for him in the counting-room, he had left word that any friend
of du Tillet was to be admitted. Birotteau trembled with hope as he
noticed the change which the baron's order had wrought in the hitherto
insolent manner of the footman.

"Pardon me, my tear," said the baron to his wife, in a strong German
accent, as he rose and nodded to Birotteau, "monsieur is a good
royalist, and der intimate frient of tu Tillet. Bezides, monsieur is
debudy-mayor of der zecond arrondissement, and gifs palls of Aziatigue
magnifissence; so vill you mak his acquentence mit blaysure."

"I should be delighted to take lessons from Madame Birotteau, for
Ferdinand--"

"She calls him Ferdinand!" thought Cesar.

"--spoke of the ball with great admiration, which is all the more
valuable because he usually admires nothing. Ferdinand is a harsh
critic; in his eyes everything ought to be perfect. Shall you soon give
another ball?" she inquired affably.

"Madame, poor people, such as we are, seldom have many amusements of
that kind," said the perfumer, not knowing whether she meant to ridicule
him, or was merely paying an empty compliment.

"Monsieur Grindot suberintented der resdoration of your abbartement, I
zink?" said the baron.

"Ah, Grindot! that nice little architect who has just returned from
Rome," said Delphine de Nucingen. "I dote on him; he makes delicious
drawings in my album."

No culprit enduring the torments of hell in Venetian dungeons ever
suffered more from the torture of the boot than Birotteau did, standing
there in his ordinary clothes. He felt a sneer in every word.

"Vill you gif oder little palls?" said the banker, with a searching look
at the perfumer. "You see all der vorld ist inderesded."

"Will Monsieur Birotteau breakfast with us, without ceremony?" said
Delphine, motioning towards the table which was sumptuously served.

"Madame la baronne, I came on business, and I am--"

"Yes, matame, vill you bermit us to speak of business?"

Delphine made a little sign of assent, saying to her husband, "Are you
going to buy perfumery?" The baron shrugged his shoulders and turned to
Cesar, who trembled with anxiety.

"Tu Tillet takes der graadest inderest in you," he said.

"At last," thought the poor man, "we