“No, for we don’t always go to bed,” said Popinot. “We must clutch success.”
“What did I tell you? My oil will make your fortune!”
“Yes, monsieur. But the means employed to sell it count for something. I have set your diamond well.”
“How do we stand?” said Cesar. “How far have you got? What are the profits?”
“Profits! at the end of two months! How can you expect it? Friend Gaudissart has only been on the road for twenty-five days; he took a post-chaise without saying a word to me. Oh, he is devoted! We owe a great deal to my uncle. The newspapers alone (here he whispered in Birotteau’s ear) will cost us twelve thousand francs.”
“Newspapers!” exclaimed the deputy-mayor.
“Haven’t you read them?”
“No.”
“Then you know nothing,” said Popinot. “Twenty thousand francs worth of placards, gilt frames, copies of the prospectus. One hundred thousand bottles bought. Ah, it is all paying through the nose at this moment! We are manufacturing on a grand scale. If you had set foot in the faubourg, where I often work all night, you would have seen a little nut-cracker which isn’t to be sneezed at, I can tell you. On my own account, I have made, in the last five days, not less than ten thousand francs, merely by commissions on the sale of druggists’ oils.”
“What a capable head!” said Birotteau, laying his hand on little Popinot’s thick hair and rubbing it about as if he were a baby. “I found it out.”