ght in anagrammatizing
your name as follows:" [proudly] "Isidore C. T. Baudoyer,--Director,
decorated by us (his Majesty the King, of course)."

Baudoyer bowed and remarked piously that names were given in baptism.

Monsieur and Madame Baudoyer, senior, father and mother of the
new director, were there to enjoy the glory of their son and
daughter-in-law. Uncle Gigonnet-Bidault, who had dined at the house, had
a restless, fidgety look in his eye which frightened Bixiou.

"There's a queer one," said the latter to du Bruel, calling his
attention to Gigonnet, "who would do in a vaudeville. I wonder if he
could be bought. Such an old scarecrow is just the thing for a sign
over the Two Baboons. And what a coat! I did think there was nobody
but Poiret who could show the like after that after ten years' public
exposure to the inclemencies of Parisian weather."

"Baudoyer is magnificent," said du Bruel.

"Dazzling," answered Bixiou.

"Gentlemen," said Baudoyer, "let me present you to my own uncle,
Monsieur Mitral, and to my great-uncle through my wife, Monsieur
Bidault."

Gigonnet and Mitral gave a glance at the three clerks so penetrating,
so glittering with gleams of gold, that the two scoffers were sobered at
once.

"Hein?" said Bixiou, when they were safely under the arcades in the
place Royale; "did you examine those uncles?--two copies of Shylock.
I'll bet their money is lent in the market at a hundred per cent per
week. They lend on pawn; and sell most that they lay hold of, coats,
gold lace, cheese, men, women, and children; they are a conglomeration
of Arabs, Jews, Genoese, Genevese, Greeks, Lombards, and Parisians,
suckled by a wolf and born of a Turkish woman."

"I believe you," said Godard. "Uncle Mitral used to be a sheriff's
officer."

"That settles it," said du Bruel.

"I'm off to see the proof of my caricature," said Bixiou; "but I should
like to study the state of things in Rabourdin's salon to-night. You are
lucky to be able to go there, du Bruel."

"I!" said the vaudevillist, "what should I do there? My face doesn't
lend itself to condolences. And it is very vulgar in these days to go
and see people who are down."

CHAPTER IX. THE RESIGNATION

By midnight Madame Rabourdin's salon was deserted; only two or three
guests remained with des Lupeaulx and the master and mistress of the
house. When Schinner and Monsieur and Madame de Camps had likewise
departed, des Lupeaulx rose with a myst