ever have. If she were
beautiful, he would love her madly to her dying day; his fondness would
inspire him with ambition; he would sacrifice his own life that his
wife's might be happy; he would make her mistress of their home, and
be himself the first to accept her sway. Thus thought Cesarine,
involuntarily perhaps, yet not altogether crudely; she gave a bird's-eye
glance at the harvest of love in her own home, and reasoned by
induction; the happiness of her mother was before her eyes,--she wished
for no better fate; her instinct told her that Anselme was another
Cesar, improved by his education, as she had been improved by hers. She
dreamed of Popinot as mayor of an arrondissement, and liked to picture
herself taking up the collections in their parish church as her mother
did at Saint-Roch. She had reached the point of no longer perceiving the
difference between the left leg and the right leg of her lover, and
was even capable of saying, in all sincerity, "Does he limp?" She loved
those liquid eyes, and liked to watch the effect her own glance had
upon them, as they lighted up for a moment with a chaste flame, and then
fell, sadly.

Roguin's head-clerk, Alexandre Crottat, who was gifted with the
precocious experience which comes from knowledge acquired in a lawyer's
office, had an air and manner that was half cynical, half silly, which
revolted Cesarine, already disgusted by the trite and commonplace
character of his conversation. The silence of Popinot, on the other
hand, revealed his gentle nature; she loved the smile, partly mournful,
with which he listened to trivial vulgarities. The silly nonsense which
made him smile filled her with repulsion; they were grave or gay
in sympathy. This hidden vantage-ground did not hinder Anselme from
plunging into his work, and his indefatigable ardor in it pleased
Cesarine, for she guessed that when his comrades in the shop said,
"Mademoiselle Cesarine will marry Roguin's head-clerk," the poor lame
Anselme, with his red hair, did not despair of winning her himself. A
high hope is the proof of a great love.

"Where is he going?" asked Cesarine of her father, trying to appear
indifferent.

"He is to set up for himself in the Rue des Cinq-Diamants; and, my
faith! by the grace of God!" cried Cesar, whose exclamations were not
understood by his wife, nor by his daughter.

When Birotteau encountered a moral difficulty he did as the insects do
when there is an obstacle in their w