“Cesar, you can go to your meeting to-day without fear; nobody will be
there.”
Monsieur Ragon wished to accompany his debtor. When the former master of
“The Queen of Roses” first made known the wish in his little dry voice,
his ex-successor turned pale; but the good old man opened his arms,
and Birotteau threw himself into them as a child into the arms of its
father, and the two perfumers mingled their tears. The bankrupt gathered
courage as he felt the indulgences shown to him, and he got into the
coach with his uncle and Ragon. Precisely at half past ten o’clock the
three reached the cloister Saint-Merri, where the Court of Commerce was
then held. At that hour there was no one in the Hall of Bankruptcy. The
day and the hour had been chosen by agreement with the judge and the
assignees. The three solicitors were already there on behalf of their
clients. There was nothing, therefore, to distress or intimidate Cesar
Birotteau; yet the poor man could not enter the office of Monsieur
Camusot--which chanced to be the one he had formerly occupied--without
deep emotion, and he shuddered as he passed through the Hall of
Bankruptcy.
“It is cold,” said Monsieur Camusot to Birotteau. “I am sure these
gentlemen will not be sorry to stay here, instead of our going to freeze
in the Hall.” He did not say the word “Bankruptcy.” “Gentlemen, be
seated.”
Each took his seat, and the judge gave his own armchair to Birotteau,
who was bewildered. The solicitors and the assignees signed the papers.
“In consideration of the surrender of your entire property,” said
Camusot to Birotteau, “your creditors unanimously agree to relinquish
the rest of their claims. Your certificate is couched in terms which
may well soften your pain; your solicitor will see that it is promptly
recorded; you are now free. All the judges of this court, dear Monsieur
Birotteau,” said Camusot, taking him by the hand, “feel for your
position, and are not surprised at your courage; none have failed to do
justice to your integrity. In the midst of a great misfortune you have
been worthy of what you once were here. I have been in business for
twenty years, and this is only the second time that I have seen a fallen
merchant gaining, instead of losing, public respect.”
Birotteau took the hands of the judge and wrung them, with tears in his
eyes. Camusot asked him what he now meant to do. Birotteau replied that
he should work till he had paid his creditors in full to the last penny.
“If to accomplish that noble task you should ever want a few thousand
francs, you will always find them with me,” said Camusot. “I would give
them with a great deal of pleasure to witness a deed so rare in Paris.”
Pillerault, Ragon, and Birotteau retired.
“Well! that wasn’t the ocean to drink,” said Pillerault, as they left
the court-room.
“I recognize your hand in it,” said the poor man, much affected.
“Now, here you are, free, and we are only a few steps from the Rue des
Cinq-Diamants; come and see my nephew,” said Ragon.
A cruel pang shot through Cesar’s heart when he saw Constance sitting
in a little office in the damp, dark _entresol_ above the shop, whose
single window was one third darkened by a sign which intercepted the
daylight and bore the name,--A. POPINOT.
“Behold a lieutenant of Alexander,” said Cesar, with the gaiety of
grief, pointing to the sign.
This forced gaiety, through which an inextinguishable sense of the
superiority which Birotteau attributed to himself was naively revealed,
made Ragon shudder in spite of his seventy years. Cesar saw his wife
passing down letters and papers for Popinot to sign; he could neither
restrain his tears nor keep his face from turning pale.
“Good-morning, my friend,” she said to him, smiling.
“I do not ask if you are comfortable here,” said Cesar, looking at
Popinot.
“As if I were living with my own son,” she answered, with a tender
manner that struck her husband.