rself into her uncle's arms,
voiceless except through tears and sobs.

Neither Popinot nor Pillerault knew or could know that Bidault, called
Gigonnet, and Claparon were du Tillet under two shapes; and that du
Tillet was resolved to read in the "Journal des Petites Affiches" this
terrible article:--

"Judgment of the Court of Commerce, which declares the Sieur Cesar
Birotteau, merchant-perfumer, living in Paris, Rue Saint-Honore,
no. 397, insolvent, and appoints the preliminary examination on
the 17th of January, 1819. Commissioner, Monsieur
Gobenheim-Keller. Agent, Monsieur Molineux."

Anselme and Pillerault examined Cesar's affairs until daylight. At eight
o'clock in the morning the two brave friends,--one an old soldier,
the other a young recruit, who had never known, except by hearsay, the
terrible anguish of those who commonly went up the staircase of Bidault
called Gigonnet,--wended their way, without a word to each other,
towards the Rue Grenetat. Both were suffering; from time to time
Pillerault passed his hand across his brow.

The Rue Grenetat is a street where all the houses, crowded with trades
of every kind, have a repulsive aspect. The buildings are horrible.
The vile uncleanliness of manufactories is their leading feature. Old
Gigonnet lived on the third floor of a house whose window-sashes,
with small and very dirty panes, swung by the middle, on pivots. The
staircase opened directly upon the street. The porter's lodge was on the
_entresol_, in a space which was lighted only from the staircase. All
the lodgers, with the exception of Gigonnet, worked at trades. Workmen
were continually coming and going. The stairs were caked with a layer
of mud, hard or soft according to the state of the atmosphere, and were
covered with filth. Each landing of this noisome stairway bore the
names of the occupants in gilt letters on a metal plate, painted red and
varnished, to which were attached specimens of their craft. As a rule,
the doors stood open and gave to view queer combinations of the domestic
household and the manufacturing operations. Strange cries and grunts
issued therefrom, with songs and whistles and hisses that recalled the
hour of four o'clock in the Jardin des Plantes. On the first floor,
in an evil-smelling lair, the handsomest braces to be found in the
_article-Paris_ were made. On the second floor, the elegant boxes which
adorn the shop-windows of the boulevards and the Palais-Royal at