"Thank heaven!" said du Tillet, "ask for what money you want. When Nucingen reads my letter he will give you all you need. Unhappily, my own funds are tied up for a few days; if not, I certainly would not send you to the great banking princes. The Kellers are mere pygmies compared to Baron de Nucingen. Law reappears on earth in Nucingen.
With this letter of mine you can face the 15th of January, and after that, we will see about it. Nucingen and I are the best friends in the world; he would not disoblige me for a million."
"It is a guarantee in itself," thought Birotteau, as he went away full of gratitude to his old clerk. "Well, a benefit is never lost!" he continued, philosophizing very wide of the mark. Nevertheless, one thought embittered his joy. For several days he had prevented his wife from looking into the ledgers; he had put the business on Celestin's shoulders and assisted in it himself; he wished, apparently, that his wife and daughter should be at liberty to take full enjoyment out of the beautiful appartement he had given them. But the first flush of happiness over, Madame Birotteau would have died rather than renounce her right of personally inspecting the affairs of the house,--of holding, as she phrased it, the handle of the frying-pan. Birotteau was at his wits' end; he had used all his cunning in trying to hide from his wife the symptoms of his embarrassment. Constance strongly disapproved of sending round the bills; she had scolded the clerks and accused Celestin of wishing to ruin the establishment, thinking that it was all his doing. Celestin, by Birotteau's order, had allowed himself to be scolded. In the eyes of the clerks Madame Cesar governed her husband; for though it is possible to deceive the public, the inmates of a household are never deceived as to who exercises the real authority. Birotteau knew that he must now reveal his real situation to his wife, for the account with du Tillet needed an explanation.
When he got back to the shop, he saw, not without a shudder, that Constance was sitting in her old place behind the counter, examining the expense account, and no doubt counting up the money in the desk.
"How will you meet your payments to-morrow?" she whispered as he sat down beside her.
"With money," he answered, pulling out the bank-bills, and signing to Celestin to take them.
"Where did you get that money?"
"I'll tell you all about it this evening. Celestin, write down, 'Last of March, note for ten thousand francs, to du Tillet's order.'"
"Du Tillet!" repeated Constance, struck with consternation.
"I am going to see Popinot," said Cesar; "it is very wrong in me not to have gone before. Have we sold his oil?"
"The three hundred bottles he sent us are all gone."
"Birotteau, don't go out; I want to speak to you," said Constance, taking him by the arm, and leading him into her bedroom with an impetuosity which would have caused a laugh under other circumstances.
"Du Tillet," she said, when she had made sure no one but Cesarine was with them,--"du Tillet, who robbed us of three thousand francs! So you are doing business with du Tillet,--a monster, who wished to seduce me," she whispered in his ear.
"Folly of youth," said Birotteau, assuming for the nonce the tone of a free-thinker.
"Listen to me, Birotteau! You are all upset; you don't go to the manufactory any more; there is something the matter, I feel it! You must tell me; I must know what it is."
"Well," said Birotteau, "we came very near being ruined,--we were ruined this very morning; but it is all safe now."
And he told the horrible story of his two weeks' misery.
"So that was the cause of your illness!" exclaimed Constance.
"Yes, mamma," cried Cesarine, "and papa has been so courageous! All that I desire in life is to be loved as he loves you. He has thought only of your grief."
"My dream is fulfilled!" said the poor woman, dropping upon the sofa at the corner of the fireplace, pale, livid, terrified. "I foresaw it all. I warned you on that fatal night, in our old room which you pulled to pieces, that we should have nothing left but our eyes to weep with. My poor Cesarine, I--"
"Now, there you go!" cried Cesar; "you will take away from me the courage I need."
"Forgive me, dear friend," said Constance, taking his hand, and pressing it with a tenderness which went to the heart of the poor man.
"I do wrong. Misfortune has come; I will be silent, resigned, strong to bear it. No, you shall never hear a complaint from me." She threw herself into his arms, weeping, and whispering, "Courage, dear friend, courage! I will have courage for both, if necessary."
"My oil, wife,--my oil will save us!"
"May God help us!" said Constance.
"Anselme will help my father," said Cesarine.
"I'll go and see him," cried Cesar, deeply moved by the passionate accents of his wife, who after nineteen years of married life was not yet fully known to him. "Constance, fear nothing! Here, read du Tillet's letter to Monsieur de Nucingen; we are sure to obtain a credit. Besides," he said, allowing himself a necessary lie, "there is our uncle Pillerault; that is enough to give us courage."
"If that were all!" said Constance, smiling.
Birotteau, relieved of a heavy weight, walked away like a man suddenly set at liberty, though he felt within him that indefinable sinking which succeeds great moral struggles in which more of the nervous fluid, more of the will is emitted than should be spent at one time, and by which, if we may say so, the capital of the existence is drawn upon. Birotteau had aged already.
