hair.

"He is your passion, that fellow," said the painter. "We all have our
hopeless passions."

That afternoon, about four o'clock, Joseph went to the rue du Sentier
and found his brother, who had taken Giroudeau's place. The old dragoon
had been promoted to be cashier of a weekly journal established by his
nephew. Although Finot was still proprietor of the other newspaper,
which he had divided into shares, holding all the shares himself, the
proprietor and editor "de visu" was one of his friends, named Lousteau,
the son of that very sub-delegate of Issoudun on whom the Bridaus'
grandfather, Doctor Rouget, had vowed vengeance; consequently he was the
nephew of Madame Hochon. To make himself agreeable to his uncle, Finot
gave Philippe the place Giroudeau was quitting; cutting off, however,
half the salary. Moreover, daily, at five o'clock, Giroudeau audited the
accounts and carried away the receipts. Coloquinte, the old veteran,
who was the office boy and did errands, also kept an eye on the slippery
Philippe; who was, however, behaving properly. A salary of six hundred
francs, and the five hundred of his cross sufficed him to live, all the
more because, living in a warm office all day and at the theatre on a
free pass every evening, he had only to provide himself with food and a
place to sleep in. Coloquinte was departing with the stamped papers on
his head, and Philippe was brushing his false sleeves of green linen,
when Joseph entered.

"Bless me, here's the cub!" cried Philippe. "Well, we'll go and dine
together. You shall go to the opera; Florine and Florentine have got
a box. I'm going with Giroudeau; you shall be of the party, and I'll
introduce you to Nathan."

He took his leaded cane, and moistened a cigar.

"I can't accept your invitation; I am to take our mother to dine at a
table d'hote."

"Ah! how is she, the poor, dear woman?"

"She is pretty well," answered the painter, "I have just repainted our
father's portrait, and aunt Descoings's. I have also painted my own, and
I should like to give our mother yours, in the uniform of the dragoons
of the Imperial Guard."

"Very good."

"You will have to come and sit."

"I'm obliged to be in this hen-coop from nine o'clock till five."

"Two Sundays will be enough."

"So be it, little man," said Napoleon's staff officer, lighting his
cigar at the porter's lamp.

When Joseph related Philippe's position to his mother, on their way to
dinner in the r