“With such ideas, young man,” said Birotteau in a patronizing tone, “you will succeed.”
“Therefore,” resumed Grindot, “employ the masons, painters, locksmiths, carpenters, and upholsterers yourself. I will simply look over their accounts. Pay me only two thousand francs commission. It will be money well laid out. Give me the premises to-morrow at twelve o’clock, and have your workmen on the spot.”
“How much it will cost, at a rough guess?” said Birotteau.
“From ten to twelve thousand francs,” said Grindot. “That does not count the furniture; of course you will renew that. Give me the address of your cabinet-maker; I shall have to arrange with him about the choice of colors, so as to have everything in keeping.”
“Monsieur Braschon, Rue Saint-Antoine, takes my orders,” said Birotteau, assuming a ducal air.
The architect wrote down the address in one of those pretty note-books which invariably come from women.
“Well,” said Birotteau, “I trust to you, monsieur; only you must wait till the lease of the adjoining house is made over to me, and I will get permission to cut through the wall.”
“Send me a note this evening,” said the architect; “it will take me all night to draw the plans—we would rather work for a bourgeois than for the King of Prussia, that is to say for ourselves. I will now take the dimensions, the pitch, the size of the widows, the pictures—”
“It must be finished on the appointed day,” said Birotteau. “If not, no pay.”
“It shall be done,” said the architect. “The workmen must do without sleep; we will use drying oil in the paint. But don’t let yourself be taken in by the contractors; always ask their price in advance, and have a written agreement.”