and all the little trifles that young girls like, completed the
arrangements of the room. The dining-room was behind the bedroom of
Cesar and his wife, and was entered from the staircase; it was treated
in the style called Louis XIV., with a clock in buhl, buffets of the
same, inlaid with brass and tortoise-shell; the walls were hung with
purple stuff, fastened down by gilt nails. The happiness of these three
persons is not to be described, more especially when, re-entering her
room, Madame Birotteau found upon her bed (where Virginie had just
carried it, on tiptoe) the robe of cherry-colored velvet, with lace
trimmings, which was her husband's "surprise."

"Monsieur, this appartement will win you great distinction," said
Constance to Grindot. "We shall receive a hundred and more persons
to-morrow evening, and you will win praises from everybody."

"I shall recommend you," said Cesar. "You will meet the very _heads_ of
commerce, and you will be better known through that one evening than if
you had built a hundred houses."

Constance, much moved, thought no longer of costs, nor of blaming her
husband; and for the following reason: That morning, when he brought the
engraving of Hero and Leander, Anselme Popinot, whom Constance credited
with much intelligence and practical ability, had assured her of the
inevitable success of Cephalic Oil, for which he was working night and
day with a fury that was almost unprecedented. The lover promised that
no matter what was the round sum of Birotteau's extravagance, it should
be covered in six months by Cesar's share in the profits of the oil.
After fearing and trembling for nineteen years it was so sweet to give
herself up to one day of unalloyed happiness, that Constance promised
her daughter not to poison her husband's pleasure by any doubts or
disapproval, but to share his happiness heartily. When therefore, about
eleven o'clock, Grindot left them, she threw herself into her husband's
arms and said to him with tears of joy, "Cesar! ah, I am beside myself!
You have made me very happy!"

"Provided it lasts, you mean?" said Cesar, smiling.

"It will last; I have no more fears," said Madame Birotteau.

"That's right," said the perfumer; "you appreciate me at last."

People who are sufficiently large-minded to perceive their own innate
weakness will admit that an orphan girl who eighteen years earlier was
saleswoman at the Petit-Matelot, Ile Saint-Louis, and a poor peasant lad