adame Roguin won't have a
penny, except by claiming her rights of dower; the scoundrel's whole
property is encumbered to its full value. I bought the practice for
three hundred thousand francs,--I, who thought I was getting a good
thing!--and paid a hundred thousand down. I have no receipt; the
creditors will think I am an accomplice if I say a word about that
hundred thousand francs, and when a man is starting in life he must be
careful of his reputation. There will hardly be thirty per cent saved
for the creditors. At my age, to get such a set-back! A man fifty-nine
years of age to keep a mistress! the old villain! It is only two weeks
since he told me not to marry Cesarine; he said you would soon be
without bread,--the monster!"

Alexandre might have talked on indefinitely, for Birotteau stood still,
petrified. Every phrase was a calamity, like the blows of a bludgeon. He
heard the death-bells tolling in his ears,--just as his eyes had seen,
at the first word, the flames of his fortune. Alexandre Crottat, who
thought the worthy perfumer a strong and able man, was alarmed at his
paleness and rigidity. He was not aware that Roguin had carried off
Cesar's whole property. The thought of immediate suicide passed through
the brain of the victim, deeply religious as he was. In such a case
suicide is only a way to escape a thousand deaths; it seems logical to
take it. Alexandre Crottat gave him his arm, and tried to make him walk
on, but it was impossible: his legs gave way under him as if he were
drunk.

"What is the matter?" said Crottat. "Dear Monsieur Cesar, take courage!
it is not the death of a man. Besides, you will get back your forty
thousand francs. The lender hadn't the money ready, you never received
it,--that is sufficient to set aside the agreement."

"My ball--my cross--two hundred thousand francs in paper on the
market,--no money in hand! The Ragons, Pillerault,--and my wife, who saw
true--"

A rain of confused words, revealing a weight of crushing thoughts and
unutterable suffering, poured from his lips, like hail lashing the
flowers in the garden of "The Queen of Roses."

"I wish they would cut off my head," he said at last; "its weight
troubles me, it is good for nothing."

"Poor Pere Birotteau," said Alexandre, "are you in danger?"

"Danger!"

"Well, take courage; make an effort."

"Effort!"

"Du Tillet was your clerk; he has a good head; he will help you."

"Du Tillet!"

"Come, try to wa