was educated at my expense."

"A good deed is always rewarded," said Baudoyer.

While these four personages were sitting down to their game of boston,
Elisabeth and her uncle Mitral reached the cafe Themis, with much
discourse as they drove along about a matter which Elisabeth's keen
perceptions told her was the most powerful lever that could be used to
force the minister's hand in the affair of her husband's appointment.
Uncle Mitral, a former sheriff's officer, crafty, clever at sharp
practice, and full of expedients and judicial precautions, believed the
honor of his family to be involved in the appointment of his nephew.
His avarice had long led him to estimate the contents of old Gigonnet's
strong-box, for he knew very well they would go in the end to benefit
his nephew Baudoyer; and it was therefore important that the latter
should obtain a position which would be in keeping with the combined
fortunes of the Saillards and the old Gigonnet, which would finally
devolve on the Baudoyer's little daughter; and what an heiress she would
be with an income of a hundred thousand francs! to what social position
might she not aspire with that fortune? He adopted all the ideas of his
niece Elisabeth and thoroughly understood them. He had helped in sending
off Falleix expeditiously, explaining to him the advantage of taking
post horses. After which, while eating his dinner, he reflected that
it be as well to give a twist of his own to the clever plan invented by
Elisabeth.

When they reached the Cafe Themis he told his niece that he alone could
manage Gigonnet in the matter they both had in view, and he made her
wait in the hackney-coach and bide her time to come forward at the right
moment. Elisabeth saw through the window-panes the two faces of Gobseck
and Gigonnet (her uncle Bidault), which stood out in relief against
the yellow wood-work of the old cafe, like two cameo heads, cold and
impassible, in the rigid attitude that their gravity gave them. The two
Parisian misers were surrounded by a number of other old faces, on which
"thirty per cent discount" was written in circular wrinkles that started
from the nose and turned round the glacial cheek-bones. These remarkable
physiognomies brightened up on seeing Mitral, and their eyes gleamed
with tigerish curiosity.

"Hey, hey! it is papa Mitral!" cried one of them, named Chaboisseau, a
little old man who discounted for a publisher.

"Bless me, so it is!" said another, a