Cesarine, nothing tired him. Love, in a youth of twenty, feeds on
devotion.

"He is a true merchant; he will succeed," Cesar would say to Madame
Ragon, as he praised Anselme's activity in preparing the work at the
factory, or boasted of his readiness in learning the niceties of the
trade, or recalled his arduous labors when shipments had to be made, and
when, with his sleeves rolled up and his arms bare, the lame lad packed
and nailed up, himself alone, more cases than all the other clerks put
together.

The well-known and avowed intentions of Alexandre Crottat, head-clerk
to Roguin, and the wealth of his father, a rich farmer of Brie, were
certainly obstacles in the lad's way; but even these were not the
hardest to conquer. Popinot buried in the depths of his heart a sad
secret, which widened the distance between Cesarine and himself. The
property of the Ragons, on which he might have counted, was involved,
and the orphan lad had the satisfaction of enabling them to live by
making over to them his meagre salary. Yet with all these drawbacks
he believed in success! He had sometimes caught a glance of dignified
approval from Cesarine; in the depths of her blue eyes he had dared
to read a secret thought full of caressing hopes. He now walked beside
Cesar, heaving with these ideas, trembling, silent, agitated, as any
young lad might well have been by such an occurrence in the burgeoning
time of youth.

"Popinot," said the worthy man, "is your aunt well?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"She has seemed rather anxious lately. Does anything trouble her?
Listen, my boy; you must not be too reticent with me. I am half one of
the family. I have known your uncle Ragon thirty-five years. I went to
him in hob-nailed shoes, just as I came from my village. That place is
called Les Tresorieres, but I can tell you that all my worldly goods
were one louis, given me by my godmother the late Marquise d'Uxelles,
a relation of Monsieur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Lenoncourt, who
are now customers of ours. I pray every Sunday for her and for all her
family; I send yearly to her niece in Touraine, Madame de Mortsauf,
all her perfumery. I get a good deal of custom through them; there's
Monsieur de Vandenesse who spends twelve hundred francs a year with
us. If I were not grateful out of good feeling, I ought to be so out of
policy; but as for you Anselme, I wish you well for you own sake, and
without any other thought."

"Ah, monsieur! if you w