broker named Metivier, "ha, that's
an old monkey well up in his tricks."

"And you," retorted Mitral, "you are an old crow who knows all about
carcasses."

"True," said the stern Gobseck.

"What are you here for? Have you come to seize friend Metivier?" asked
Gigonnet, pointing to the broker, who had the bluff face of a porter.

"Your great-niece Elisabeth is out there, papa Gigonnet," whispered
Mitral.

"What! some misfortune?" said Bidault. The old man drew his eyebrows
together and assumed a tender look like that of an executioner when
about to go to work officially. In spite of his Roman virtue he must
have been touched, for his red nose lost somewhat of its color.

"Well, suppose it is misfortune, won't you help Saillard's daughter?--a
girl who has knitted your stockings for the last thirty years!" cried
Mitral.

"If there's good security I don't say I won't," replied Gigonnet.
"Falleix is in with them. Falleix has just set up his brother as a
broker, and he is doing as much business as the Brezacs; and what with?
his mind, perhaps! Saillard is no simpleton."

"He knows the value of money," put in Chaboisseau.

That remark, uttered among those old men, would have made an artist and
thinker shudder as they all nodded their heads.

"But it is none of my business," resumed Bidault-Gigonnet. "I'm not
bound to care for my neighbors' misfortunes. My principle is never to be
off my guard with friends or relatives; you can't perish except through
weakness. Apply to Gobseck; he is softer."

The usurers all applauded these doctrines with a shake of their metallic
heads. An onlooker would have fancied he heard the creaking of ill-oiled
machinery.

"Come, Gigonnet, show a little feeling," said Chaboisseau, "they've knit
your stockings for thirty years."

"That counts for something," remarked Gobseck.

"Are you all alone? Is it safe to speak?" said Mitral, looking carefully
about him. "I come about a good piece of business."

"If it is good, why do you come to us?" said Gigonnet, sharply,
interrupting Mitral.

"A fellow who was a gentleman of the Bedchamber," went on Mitral, "a
former 'chouan,'--what's his name?--La Billardiere is dead."

"True," said Gobseck.

"And our nephew is giving monstrances to the church," snarled Gigonnet.

"He is not such a fool as to give them, he sells them, old man," said
Mitral, proudly. "He wants La Billardiere's place, and in order to get
it, we must seize--"

"Seize!