and
grasping as to profit by your father's share which I have acquired
in the Cephalic Oil. I am keeping his share for him; I nurse it with
careful love. I invest the profits; if there is any loss I put it to
my own account. We can only belong to one another on the day when your
father is restored to his position, free of debt. I work for that day
with all the strength that love has given me."

"Will it come soon?" she said.

"Soon," said Popinot. The word was uttered in a tone so full of meaning,
that the chaste and pure young girl inclined her head to her dear
Anselme, who laid an eager and respectful kiss upon her brow,--so noble
was her gesture and action.

"Papa, all is well," she said to Cesar with a little air of confidence.
"Be good and sweet; talk to us, put away that sad look."

When this family, so tenderly bound together, re-entered the house, even
Cesar, little observing as he was, saw a change in the manner of the
Ragons which seemed to denote some remarkable event. The greeting of
Madame Ragon was particularly impressive; her look and accent seemed to
say to Cesar, "We are paid."

At the dessert, the notary of Sceaux appeared. Pillerault made him sit
down, and then looked at Cesar, who began to suspect a surprise, though
he was far indeed from imagining the extent of it.

"My nephew, the savings of your wife, your daughter, and yourself, for
the last eighteen months, amounted to twenty thousand francs. I have
received thirty thousand by the dividend on my claim. We have therefore
fifty thousand francs to divide among your creditors. Monsieur Ragon has
received thirty thousand francs for his dividend, and you have now
paid him the balance of his claim in full, interest included, for which
monsieur here, the notary of Sceaux, has brought you a receipt. The
rest of the money is with Crottat, ready for Lourdois, Madame Madou, the
mason, carpenter, and the other most pressing creditors. Next year, we
may do as well. With time and patience we can go far."

Birotteau's joy is not to be described; he threw himself into his
uncle's arms, weeping.

"May he not wear his cross?" said Ragon to the Abbe Loraux.

The confessor fastened the red ribbon to Cesar's buttonhole. The poor
clerk looked at himself again and again during the evening in the
mirrors of the salon, manifesting a joy at which people thinking
themselves superior might have laughed, but which these good bourgeois
thought quite natural.

Th