ur-Marne the porter told him that monsieur and madame had
started for Paris. Birotteau returned home, shattered in mind and body.
When he related his wild-goose chase to his wife and daughter he was
amazed to find his Constance, usually perched like a bird of ill omen
on the smallest commercial mishap, now giving him the tenderest
consolation, and assuring him that everything would turn out well.

The next morning, Birotteau mounted guard as early as seven o'clock
before du Tillet's door. He begged the porter, slipping ten francs
into his hand, to put him in communication with du Tillet's valet, and
obtained from the latter a promise to show him in to his master the
moment that du Tillet was visible: he slid two pieces of gold into the
valet's hand. By such little sacrifices and great humiliations, common
to all courtiers and petitioners, he was able to attain his end.
At half-past eight, just as his former clerk was putting on a
dressing-gown, yawning, stretching, and shaking off the cobwebs of
sleep, Birotteau came face to face with the tiger, hungry for revenge,
whom he now looked upon as his only friend.

"Go on with your dressing," said Birotteau.

"What do you want, _my good Cesar_?" said du Tillet.

Cesar stated, with painful trepidation, the answer and requirements
of Monsieur de Nucingen to the inattentive ears of du Tillet, who was
looking for the bellows and scolding his valet for the clumsy manner in
which he had lighted the fire.

The valet listened. At first Cesar did not notice him; when he did so
he stopped short, confused, but resumed what he was saying as du Tillet
touched him with the spur exclaiming, "Go on! go on! I am listening to
you."

The poor man's shirt was wet; his perspiration turned to ice as du
Tillet looked fixedly at him, and he saw the silver-lined pupils of
those eyes, streaked with threads of gold, which pierced to his very
heart with a diabolical gleam.

"My dear master, the Bank has refused to take your notes which the house
of Claparon passed over to Gigonnet _not guaranteed_. Is that my
fault? How is it that you, an old commercial judge, should commit such
blunders? I am, first and foremost, a banker. I will give you my money,
but I cannot risk having my signature refused at the Bank. My credit is
my life; that is the case with all of us. Do you want money?"

"Can you give me what I want?"

"That depends on how much you owe. How much do you want?"

"Thirty thousand fra