.

"My dear and beloved master!" he cried, wiping the perspiration from his
forehead, "here is what you asked of me!" He held out the notes. "Yes, I
have carefully examined my situation; you need have no fear, I shall be
able to pay them. Save--save your honor!"

"I was sure of him!" cried Cesarine, seizing Popinot's hand, and
pressing it with convulsive force.

Madame Cesar embraced him; Birotteau rose up like the righteous at the
sound of the last trumpet, and issued, as it were, from the tomb. Then
he stretched out a frenzied hand to seize the fifty stamped papers.

"Stop!" said the terrible uncle, Pillerault, snatching the papers from
Popinot, "one moment!"

The four individuals present,--Cesar, his wife, Cesarine, and
Popinot,--bewildered by the action of the old man and by the tone of
his voice, saw him tear the papers and fling them in the fire, without
attempting to interfere.

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!"

"Monsieur!"

Four voices and but one heart; a startling unanimity! Uncle Pillerault
passed his arm round Popinot's neck, held him to his breast, and kissed
him.

"You are worthy of the love of those who have hearts," he said. "If you
loved a daughter of mine, had she a million and you had nothing but that
[pointing to the black ashes of the notes], you should marry her in a
fortnight, if she loved you. Your master," he said, pointing to Cesar,
"is beside himself. My nephew," resumed Pillerault, gravely, addressing
the poor man,--"my nephew, away with illusions! We must do business with
francs, not feelings. All this is noble, but useless. I spent two hours
at the Bourse this afternoon. You have not one farthing's credit; every
one is talking of your disaster, of your attempts to renew, of your
appeals to various bankers, of their refusals, of your follies,--going
up six flights of stairs to beg a gossiping landlord, who chatters like
a magpie, to renew a note of twelve hundred francs!--your ball, given to
conceal your embarrassments. They have gone so far as to say you had no
property in Roguin's hands; according to your enemies, Roguin is only
a blind. A friend of mine, whom I sent about to learn what is going on,
confirms what I tell you. Every one foresees that Popinot will issue
notes, and believes that you set him up in business expressly as a last
resource. In short, every calumny or slander which a man brings upon
himself when he tries to mount a rung of the social ladder, is going the