“That beautiful engraving is given to you by Monsieur Anselme,” said Cesarine.
(Anselme, too, had allowed himself a “surprise.”)
“Poor boy! he has done just as I did for Monsieur Vauquelin.”
The bedroom of Madame Birotteau came next. The architect had there displayed a magnificence well calculated to please the worthy people whom he was anxious to snare; he had really kept his word and studied this decoration. The room was hung in blue silk, with white ornaments; the furniture was in white cassimere touched with blue. On the chimney-piece, of white marble, stood a clock representing Venus crouching, on a fine block of marble; a moquette carpet, of Turkish design, harmonized this room with that of Cesarine, which opened out of it, and was coquettishly hung with Persian chintz. A piano, a pretty wardrobe with a mirror door, a chaste little bed with simple curtains, and all the little trifles that young girls like, completed the arrangements of the room. The dining-room was behind the bedroom of Cesar and his wife, and was entered from the staircase; it was treated in the style called Louis XIV., with a clock in buhl, buffets of the same, inlaid with brass and tortoise-shell; the walls were hung with purple stuff, fastened down by gilt nails. The happiness of these three persons is not to be described, more especially when, re-entering her room, Madame Birotteau found upon her bed (where Virginie had just carried it, on tiptoe) the robe of cherry-colored velvet, with lace trimmings, which was her husband’s “surprise.”
“Monsieur, this appartement will win you great distinction,” said Constance to Grindot. “We shall receive a hundred and more persons to-morrow evening, and you will win praises from everybody.”
“I shall recommend you,” said Cesar. “You will meet the very heads of commerce, and you will be better known through that one evening than if you had built a hundred houses.”
Constance, much moved, thought no longer of costs, nor of blaming her husband; and for the following reason: That morning, when he brought the engraving of Hero and Leander, Anselme Popinot, whom Constance credited with much intelligence and practical ability, had assured her of the inevitable success of Cephalic Oil, for which he was working night and day with a fury that was almost unprecedented. The lover promised that no matter what was the round sum of Birotteau’s extravagance, it should be covered in six months by Cesar’s share in the profits of the oil. After fearing and trembling for nineteen years it was so sweet to give herself up to one day of unalloyed happiness, that Constance promised her daughter not to poison her husband’s pleasure by any doubts or disapproval, but to share his happiness heartily. When therefore, about eleven o’clock, Grindot left them, she threw herself into her husband’s arms and said to him with tears of joy, “Cesar! ah, I am beside myself! You have made me very happy!”
“Provided it lasts, you mean?” said Cesar, smiling.
“It will last; I have no more fears,” said Madame Birotteau.
“That’s right,” said the perfumer; “you appreciate me at last.”