u mean to refuse it?"

"No," said Cesar; "but that won't keep me from saving up everything to
pay you."

"Irrational folly!" cried Pillerault. "In matters of honor I ought to
be believed. What nonsense were you saying just now? How have you robbed
your creditors when you have paid them all in full?"

Cesar looked earnestly at Pillerault, and Pillerault was touched to see,
for the first time in three years, a genuine smile on the face of his
poor nephew.

"It is true," he said, "they would be paid; but it would be selling my
daughter."

"And I wish to be bought!" cried Cesarine, entering with Popinot.

The lovers had heard Birotteau's last words as they came on tiptoe
through the antechamber of their uncle's little appartement, Madame
Birotteau following. All three had driven round to the creditors who
were still unpaid, requesting them to meet at Alexandre Crottat's that
evening to receive their money. The all-powerful logic of the enamored
Popinot triumphed in the end over Cesar's scruples, though he persisted
for some time in calling himself a debtor, and in declaring that he
was circumventing the law by a substitution. But the refinements of his
conscience gave way when Popinot cried out: "Do you want to kill your
daughter?"

"Kill my daughter!" said Cesar, thunderstruck.

"Well, then," said Popinot, "I have the right to convey to you the sum
which I conscientiously believe to be your share in my profits. Do you
refuse it?"

"No," said Cesar.

"Very good; then let us go at once to Crottat and settle the matter,
so that there may be no backing out of it. We will arrange about our
marriage contract at the same time."

* * * * *

A petition for reinstatement with corroborative documents was at once
deposited by Derville at the office of the _procureur-general_ of the
Cour Royale.

During the month required for the legal formalities and for the
publication of the banns of marriage between Cesarine and Anselme,
Birotteau was a prey to feverish agitation. He was restless. He
feared he should not live till the great day when the decree for his
vindication would be rendered. His heart throbbed, he said, without
cause. He complained of dull pains in that organ, worn out as it was
by emotions of sorrow, and now wearied with the rush of excessive joy.
Decrees of rehabilitation are so rare in the bankrupt court of Paris
that seldom more than one is granted in ten years.

To those