he science of finance was limited to his dealings with
the needy students who ate his wares on credit, and paid for them
accordingly. The Mississippi mania whirled him along with it also. In
those days every man in Paris meant to be a millionaire. In the streets,
alleys, and public squares every one was either buying or selling
Mississippi shares. Monsieur Griffard left his pastry-shop in the charge
of his eldest assistant while he himself went in search of millions,
and, what is more, found them. But one day, like a beautiful
soap-bubble, the whole Mississippi joke collapsed, and Monsieur Griffard
found himself out in the cold with but nine sous in his pocket.

Now, when a man who has not been a millionaire finds he has only nine
sous in his purse, there's no reason why he should be particularly
angry. But when a man has stood on an eminence from whence he can survey
his own coaches, horses, liveried flunkies, magnificently furnished
rooms, sumptuous table, pretty mistresses, and other agreeable things of
the same sort, a relapse into insignificance may be very unpleasant
indeed. So poor Monsieur Griffard, frantic with rage, hastened off to a
cutler's shop, bought a large knife with seven of his sous, and had it
well sharpened with the remaining two; but in the mean time up came a
mob of ragged citizens with Phrygian caps on, bawling at the top of
their voices, "Down with the aristocrats!" and carrying on a pole by way
of a banner the last number of Marat's newspaper, whereupon it occurred
to Monsieur Griffard that he might make a better use of his
well-sharpened knife than applying it to his own throat, so he mingled
with the crowd, and cried, "Down with the aristocrats!" as loudly as
anybody.

How or where he was pitched and tossed about during the next few years
he himself probably could not have told you; but when, a few years
later, we come across him again under the Directory, we find him
attached as commissary of stores to the army of the Rhine, or the army
of Italy, and dodging from one to the other, according as this or that
general showed a disposition to shoot him. For army commissaries are of
two classes, those whose business makes them beggars and those who
become millionaires; the former generally shoot themselves, while the
latter are shot by others. But the last case is much the rarer.

Fortunately for himself, Monsieur Griffard belonged to the class who are
not shot, but become millionaires. He manag