s which strayed upon their kerchiefs, will doubtless remember.

The Sieur Ragon was a little man, not over five feet high, with a face
like a nut-cracker, in which could be seen only two eyes, two sharp
cheek-bones, a nose and a chin. Having no teeth he swallowed half
his words, though his style of conversation was effluent, gallant,
pretentious, and smiling, with the smile he formerly wore when he
received beautiful great ladies at the door of his shop. Powder, well
raked off, defined upon his cranium a nebulous half-circle, flanked by
two pigeon-wings, divided by a little queue tied with a ribbon. He wore
a bottle-blue coat, a white waistcoat, small-clothes and silk stockings,
shoes with gold buckles, and black silk gloves. The most marked feature
of his behavior was his habit of going through the street holding his
hat in his hand. He looked like a messenger of the Chamber of Peers, or
an usher of the king's bedchamber, or any of those persons placed near
to some form of power from which they get a reflected light, though of
little account themselves.

"Well, Birotteau," he said, with a magisterial air, "do you repent, my
boy, for having listened to us in the old times? Did we ever doubt the
gratitude of our beloved sovereigns?"

"You have been very happy, dear child," said Madame Ragon to Madame
Birotteau.

"Yes, indeed," answered Constance, always under the spell of the cane
parasol, the butterfly cap, the tight sleeves, and the great kerchief _a
la Julie_ which Madame Ragon wore.

"Cesarine is charming. Come here, my love," said Madame Ragon, in her
shrill voice and patronizing manner.

"Shall we do the business before dinner?" asked uncle Pillerault.

"We are waiting for Monsieur Claparon," said Roguin, "I left him
dressing himself."

"Monsieur Roguin," said Cesar, "I hope you told him that we should dine
in a wretched little room on the _entresol_--"

"He thought it superb sixteen years ago," murmured Constance.

"--among workmen and rubbish."

"Bah! you will find him a good fellow, with no pretension," said Roguin.

"I have put Raguet on guard in the shop. We can't go through our own
door; everything is pulled down."

"Why did you not bring your nephew?" said Pillerault to Madame Ragon.

"Shall we not see him?" asked Cesarine.

"No, my love," said Madame Ragon; "Anselme, dear boy, is working himself
to death. That bad-smelling Rue des Cinq-Diamants, without sun and
without air, frightens me. T