ill allow me to say so, you have got a head of
gold."

"No, no, my boy, that's not it. I don't say that my head-piece isn't as
good as another's; but the thing is, I've been honest,--_tenaciously_!
I've kept to good conduct; I never loved any woman except my wife.
Love is a famous _vehicle_,--happy word used by Monsieur Villele in the
tribune yesterday."

"Love!" exclaimed Popinot. "Oh, monsieur! can it be--"

"Bless me! there's Pere Roguin, on foot at this hour, at the top of
the Place Louis XV. I wonder what he is doing there!" thought Cesar,
forgetting all about Anselme and the oil of nuts.

The suspicions of his wife came back to his mind; and instead of turning
in to the Tuileries Gardens, Birotteau walked on to meet the notary.
Anselme followed his master at a distance, without being able to define
the reason why he suddenly felt an interest in a matter so apparently
unimportant, and full of joy at the encouragement he derived from
Cesar's mention of the hob-nailed shoes, the one louis, and love.

In times gone by, Roguin--a large stout man, with a pimpled face, a very
bald forehead, and black hair--had not been wanting in a certain
force of character and countenance. He had once been young and daring;
beginning as a mere clerk, he had risen to be a notary; but at this
period his face showed, to the eyes of an observer, certain haggard
lines, and an expression of weariness in the pursuit of pleasure. When
a man plunges into the mire of excesses it is seldom that his face shows
no trace of it. In the present instance the lines of the wrinkles and
the heat of the complexion were markedly ignoble. Instead of the pure
glow which suffuses the tissues of a virtuous man and stamps them, as
it were, with the flower of health, the impurities of his blood could
be seen to master the soundness of his body. His nose was ignominiously
shortened like those of men in whom scrofulous humors, attacking that
organ, produce a secret infirmity which a virtuous queen of France
innocently believed to be a misfortune common to the whole human race,
for she had never approached any man but the king sufficiently near to
become aware of her blunder. Roguin hoped to conceal this misfortune by
the excessive use of snuff, but he only increased the trouble which was
the principal cause of his disasters.

Is it not a too-prolonged social flattery to paint men forever under
false colors, and never to reveal the actual causes which underlie