a wealthy voice.

Vital deigned to show himself, dressed entirely in black cloth, with
a splendid frilled shirt adorned with one diamond. The three friends
observed a young and pretty woman sitting near the desk, working at some
embroidery.

Vital is a man between thirty and forty years of age, with a natural
joviality now repressed by ambitious ideas. He is blessed with that
medium height which is the privilege of sound organizations. He is
rather plump, and takes great pains with his person. His forehead is
getting bald, but he uses that circumstance to give himself the air of a
man consumed by thought. It is easy to see by the way his wife looks at
him and listens to him that she believes in the genius and glory of her
husband. Vital loves artists, not that he has any taste for art, but
from fellowship; for he feels himself an artist, and makes this felt by
disclaiming that title of nobility, and placing himself with constant
premeditation at so great a distance from the arts that persons may be
forced to say to him: "You have raised the construction of hats to the
height of a science."

"Have you at last discovered a hat to suit me?" asked Leon de Lora.

"Why, monsieur! in fifteen days?" replied Vital, "and for you! Two
months would hardly suffice to invent a shape in keeping with your
countenance. See, here is your lithographic portrait: I have studied it
most carefully. I would not give myself that trouble for a prince; but
you are more; you are an artist, and you understand me."

"This is one of our greatest inventors," said Bixiou presenting Gazonal.
"He might be as great as Jacquart if he would only let himself die. Our
friend, a manufacturer of cloth, has discovered a method of replacing
the indigo in old blue coats, and he wants to see you as another great
phenomenon, because he has heard of your saying, 'The hat is the man.'
That speech of yours enraptured him. Ah! Vital, you have faith; you
believe in something; you have enthusiasm for your work."

Vital scarcely listened; he grew pale with pleasure.

"Rise, my wife! Monsieur is a man of science."

Madame Vital rose at her husband's gesture. Gazonal bowed to her.

"Shall I have the honor to cover your head?" said Vital, with joyful
obsequiousness.

"At the same price as mine," interposed Bixiou.

"Of course, of course; I ask no other fee than to be quoted by you,
messieurs--Monsieur needs a picturesque hat, something in the style of
Monsieur Lo