“If to accomplish that noble task you should ever want a few thousand francs, you will always find them with me,” said Camusot. “I would give them with a great deal of pleasure to witness a deed so rare in Paris.”
Pillerault, Ragon, and Birotteau retired.
“Well! that wasn’t the ocean to drink,” said Pillerault, as they left the court-room.
“I recognize your hand in it,” said the poor man, much affected.
“Now, here you are, free, and we are only a few steps from the Rue des Cinq-Diamants; come and see my nephew,” said Ragon.
A cruel pang shot through Cesar’s heart when he saw Constance sitting in a little office in the damp, dark entresol above the shop, whose single window was one third darkened by a sign which intercepted the daylight and bore the name,—A. POPINOT.
“Behold a lieutenant of Alexander,” said Cesar, with the gaiety of grief, pointing to the sign.
This forced gaiety, through which an inextinguishable sense of the superiority which Birotteau attributed to himself was naively revealed, made Ragon shudder in spite of his seventy years. Cesar saw his wife passing down letters and papers for Popinot to sign; he could neither restrain his tears nor keep his face from turning pale.
“Good-morning, my friend,” she said to him, smiling.
“I do not ask if you are comfortable here,” said Cesar, looking at Popinot.