During the first three days of the year, two hundred visiting cards were sent to Birotteau. This rush of fictitious friendship, these empty testimonials of favor, are horrible to those who feel themselves drawn down into the vortex of misfortune. Birotteau presented himself three times at the hotel of the famous banker, the Baron de Nucingen, but in vain. The opening of the year with all its festivities sufficiently explained the absences of the financier. On the last occasion Birotteau got as far as the office of the banker, where the head-clerk, a German, told him that Monsieur de Nucingen had returned at five in the morning from a ball at the Kellers', and would not be visible until half-past nine o'clock. Birotteau had the luck to interest this man in his affairs, and remained talking with him more than half an hour. In the course of the afternoon this prime minister of the house of Nucingen wrote Birotteau that the baron would receive him the next day, 13th, at noon. Though every hour brought its drop of absinthe, the day went by with frightful rapidity. Cesar took a hackney coach, but stopped it several paces distant from the hotel, whose courtyard was crowded with carriages. The poor man's heart sank within him when he saw the splendors of that noted house.
"And yet he has failed twice," he said to himself as he went up a superb staircase banked with flowers, and crossed the sumptuous rooms which helped to make Madame Delphine de Nucingen famous in the Chaussee d'Antin. The baronne's ambition was to rival the great ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, to whose houses she was not as yet admitted. The baron was breakfasting with his wife. In spite of the crowd which was waiting for him in the counting-room, he had left word that any friend of du Tillet was to be admitted. Birotteau trembled with hope as he noticed the change which the baron's order had wrought in the hitherto insolent manner of the footman.
"Pardon me, my tear," said the baron to his wife, in a strong German accent, as he rose and nodded to Birotteau, "monsieur is a good royalist, and der intimate frient of tu Tillet. Bezides, monsieur is debudy-mayor of der zecond arrondissement, and gifs palls of Aziatigue magnifissence; so vill you mak his acquentence mit blaysure."
"I should be delighted to take lessons from Madame Birotteau, for Ferdinand--"
"She calls him Ferdinand!" thought Cesar.
"--spoke of the ball with great admiration, which is all the more valuable because he usually admires nothing. Ferdinand is a harsh critic; in his eyes everything ought to be perfect. Shall you soon give another ball?" she inquired affably.
"Madame, poor people, such as we are, seldom have many amusements of that kind," said the perfumer, not knowing whether she meant to ridicule him, or was merely paying an empty compliment.
"Monsieur Grindot suberintented der resdoration of your abbartement, I
zink?" said the baron.
"Ah, Grindot! that nice little architect who has just returned from Rome," said Delphine de Nucingen. "I dote on him; he makes delicious drawings in my album."
No culprit enduring the torments of hell in Venetian dungeons ever suffered more from the torture of the boot than Birotteau did, standing there in his ordinary clothes. He felt a sneer in every word.
"Vill you gif oder little palls?" said the banker, with a searching look at the perfumer. "You see all der vorld ist inderesded."
"Will Monsieur Birotteau breakfast with us, without ceremony?" said Delphine, motioning towards the table which was sumptuously served.
"Madame la baronne, I came on business, and I am--"
"Yes, matame, vill you bermit us to speak of business?"
Delphine made a little sign of assent, saying to her husband, "Are you going to buy perfumery?" The baron shrugged his shoulders and turned to Cesar, who trembled with anxiety.
"Tu Tillet takes der graadest inderest in you," he said.
"At last," thought the poor man, "we are coming to the point."
"His ledder gif you in my house a creydit vich is only limided by der limids of my privade fortune."
The exhilarating balm infused into the water offered by the angel to Hagar in the desert, must have been the same cordial which flowed through Cesar's veins as he listened to these words. The wily banker retained the horrible pronunciation of the German Jews,--possibly that he might be able to deny promises actually given, but only half-
understood.
"You shall haf a running aggont. Ve vill broceed in dis vay--" said this great and good and venerable financier, with Alsatian good-humor.
Birotteau doubted no longer; he was a merchant, and new very well that those who have no intention of rendering a service never enter into the details of executing it.
"I neet not tell you dat der Bank demands of all, graat and small alaike, dree zignatures. So denn, you traw a cheque to die order of our frient tu Tillet, and I vill sent it, same tay, to der Bank mit mein zignature; so shall you haf, at four o'clock, der amount of die cheque you trew in der morning; and at der costs of die Bank. I vill not receif a commission, no! I vill haf only der blaysure to be agreeaple to you. But I mak one condeetion," he added, laying his left finger lightly on his nose with an inimitably sly gesture.
"Monsieur le baron, it is granted on the sport," said Birotteau, who thought it concerned some tithe to be levied on his profits.
"A condeetion to vich I attache der graatest imbortance, because I
vish Matame de Nucingen should receif, as she say, zom lessons from Matame Pirodot."
"Monsieur le baron! pray do not laugh at me, I entreat you."
"Monsieur Pirodot," said the financier, with a serious air, "it is deen agreet; you vill invite us to your nex pall? My vife is shalous;
she vish to see your abbartement, of vich she hear so mooch."
"Monsieur le baron!--"
"Oh! if you reffuse me, no creydit! Yes, I know der Prayfic of die Seine was at your las pall."
"Monsieur le baron!--"
"You had Pillartiere, shentelman of der betchamber; goot royalist like you, who vas vounded at Zaint-Roqque--"
