n ornament which had at first been looked
upon as wanting in lustre, proceeded out of Cardillac's shop possessing
a dazzling magnificence. Every commission he accepted with burning
avidity, and fixed a price that seemed to bear no proportion whatever
to the work to be done--so small was it. Then the work gave him no
rest; both night and day he was heard hammering in his work-shop, and
often when the thing was nearly finished he would suddenly conceive a
dislike to the form; he had doubts as to the elegance of the setting of
some or other of the jewels, of a little link--quite a sufficient
reason for throwing all into the crucible, and beginning the entire
work over again. Thus every individual piece of jewellery that he
turned out was a perfect and matchless masterpiece, utterly astounding
to the person who had given the commission.

But it was now hardly possible to get any work that was once finished
out of his hands. Under a thousand pretexts he put off the owner from
week to week, and from month to month. It was all in vain to offer him
double for the work; he would not take a single _Louis d'or_[15] more
than the price bargained for. When at last he was obliged to yield to
the insistence of his customer, he could not help betraying all the
signs of the greatest annoyance, nay, of even fury seething in his
heart. If the piece of work which he had to deliver up was something of
more than ordinary importance, especially anything of great value,
worth many thousands owing to the costliness of the jewels or the
extreme delicacy of the gold-work, he was capable of running about like
a madman, cursing himself, his labour, and all about him. But then if
any person came up behind him and shouted, "Rene Cardillac, would you
not like to make a beautiful necklace for my betrothed?--bracelets
for my sweet-heart," or so forth, he would suddenly stop still, and
looking at him with his little eyes, would ask, as he rubbed his
hands, "Well, what have you got?" Thereupon the other would produce a
small jewel-case, and say, "Oh! some jewels--see; they are nothing
particular, only common things, but in your hands"---- Cardillac does
not let him finish what he has to say, but snatching the case out of
his hand takes out the stones (which are in reality of but little
value) and holds them up to the light, crying enraptured, "Ho! ho!
common things, are they? Not at all! Pretty stones--magnificent stones;
only let me make them up for you.