pouting fits, while she, by way of trimming the balance, was very nice
to the Baron. As for the Baron, he laughed in his sleeve; but whenever
he saw that Rastignac was bending under the strain of the burden, he
made 'as if he suspected something,' and reunited the lovers by a
common dread."

"I can imagine that a wealthy wife would have put Rastignac in the way
of a living, and an honorable living, but where did he pick up his
fortune?" asked Couture. "A fortune so considerable as his at the
present day must come from somewhere; and nobody ever accused him of
inventing a good stroke of business."

"Somebody left it to him," said Finot.

"Who?" asked Blondet.

"Some fool that he came across," suggested Couture.

"He did not steal the whole of it, my little dears," said Bixiou.

  "Let not your terrors rise to fever-heat,
   Our age is lenient with those who cheat.

Now, I will tell you about the beginnings of his fortune. In the
first place, honor to talent! Our friend is not a 'chap,' as Finot
describes him, but a gentleman in the English sense, who knows the
cards and knows the game; whom, moreover, the gallery respects.
Rastignac has quite as much intelligence as is needed at a given
moment, as if a soldier should make his courage payable at ninety
days' sight, with three witnesses and guarantees. He may seem
captious, wrong-headed, inconsequent, vacillating, and without any
fixed opinions; but let something serious turn up, some combination to
scheme out, he will not scatter himself like Blondet here, who chooses
these occasions to look at things from his neighbor's point of view.
Rastignac concentrates himself, pulls himself together, looks for the
point to carry by storm, and goes full tilt for it. He charges like a
Murat, breaks squares, pounds away at shareholders, promoters, and the
whole shop, and returns, when the breach is made, to his lazy,
careless life. Once more he becomes the man of the South, the man of
pleasure, the trifling, idle Rastignac. He has earned the right of
lying in bed till noon because a crisis never finds him asleep."

"So far so good, but just get to his fortune," said Finot.

"Bixiou will lash that off at a stroke," replied Blondet. "Rastignac's
fortune was Delphine de Nucingen, a remarkable woman; she combines
boldness with foresight."

"Did she ever lend you money?" inquired Bixiou. Everybody burst out
laughing.

"You are mistaken in her," said Couture, speaking to Blondet; "her
cleverness simply consists in making more or less piquant remarks, in
loving Rastignac with tedious fidelity, and obeying him blindly. She
is a regular Italian."

"Money apart," Andoche Finot put in sourly.

"Oh, come, come," said Bixiou coaxingly; "after what we have just been
saying, will you venture to blame poor Rastignac for living at the
expense of the firm of Nucingen, for being installed in furnished
rooms precisely as La Torpille was once installed by our friend des
Lupeaulx? You would sink to the vulgarity of the Rue Saint-Denis!
First of all, 'in the abstract,' as Royer-Collard says, the question
may abide the Kritik of Pure Reason; as for the impure reason----"

"There he goes!" said Finot, turning to Blondet.

"But there is reason in what he says," exclaimed Blondet. "The problem
is a very old one; it was the grand secret of the famous duel between
La Chataigneraie and Jarnac. It was cast up to Jarnac that he was on
good terms with his mother-in-law, who, loving him only too well,
equipped him sumptuously. When a thing is so true, it ought not to be
said. Out of devotion to Henry II., who permitted himself this
slander, La Chataigneraie took it upon himself, and there followed the
duel which enriched the French language with the expression coup de
Jarnac."

"Oh! does it go so far back? Then it is noble?" said Finot.

"As a proprietor of newspapers and reviews of old standing, you are
not bound to know that," said Blondet.

"There are women," Bixiou gravely resumed, "and for that matter, men
too, who can cut their lives in two and give away but one-half.
(Remark how I word my phrase for you in humanitarian language.) For
these, all material interests lie without the range of sentiment. They
give their time, their life, their honor to a woman, and hold that
between themselves it is not the thing to meddle with bits of tissue
paper bearing the legend, 'Forgery is punishable with death.' And
equally they will take nothing from a woman. Yes, the whole thing is
debased if fusion of interests follows on fusion of souls. This is a
doctrine much preached, and very seldom practised."

"Oh, what rubbish!" cried Blondet. "The Marechal de Richelieu
understood something of gallantry, and he settled an allowance of a
thousand louis d'or on Mme. de la Popeliniere after that affair of the
hiding-place behind the hearth. Agnes Sorel, in all simplicity, took
her fortune to Charles VII., and the King accepted it. Jacques Coeur
kept the crown for France; he was allowed to do it, and woman-like,
France was ungrateful."

"Gentlemen," said Bixiou, "a love that does not imply an indissoluble
friendship, to my thinking, is momentary libertinage. What sort of
entire surrender is it that keeps something back? Between these two
diametrically opposed doctrines, the one as profoundly immoral as the
other, there is no possible compromise. It seems to me that any
shrinking from a complete union is surely due to a belief that the
union cannot last, and if so, farewell to illusion. The passion that
does not believe that it will last for ever is a hideous thing. (Here
is pure unadulterated Fenelon for you!) At the same time, those who
know the world, the observer, the man of the world, the wearers of
irreproachable gloves and ties, the men who do not blush to marry a
woman for her money, proclaim the necessity of a complete separation
of sentiment and interest. The other sort are lunatics that love and
imagine that they and the woman they love are the only two beings in
the world; for them millions are dirt; the glove or the camellia
flower that She wore is worth millions. If the squandered filthy lucre
is never to be found again in their possession, you find the remains
of floral relics hoarded in dainty cedar-wood boxes. They cannot
distinguish themselves one from the other; for them there is no 'I'
left. THOU--that is their Word made flesh. What can you do? Can you
stop the course of this 'hidden disease of the heart'? There are fools
that love without calculation and wise men that calculate while they
love."

"To my thinking Bixiou is sublime," cried Blondet. "What does Finot
say to it?"

"Anywhere else," said Finot, drawing himself up in his cravat,
"anywhere else, I should say, with the 'gentlemen'; but here, I
think----"

"With the scoundrelly scapegraces with whom you have the honor to
associate?" said Bixiou.

"Upon my word, yes."

"And you?" asked Bixiou, turning to Couture.

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Couture. "The woman that will not make a
stepping-stone of her body, that the man she singles out may reach his
goal, is a woman that has no heart except for her own purposes."

"And you, Blondet?"

"I do not preach, I practise."

"Very good," rejoined Bixiou in his most ironical tones. "Rastignac
was not of your way of thinking. To take without repaying is
detestable, and even rather bad form; but to take that you may render
a hundred-fold, like the Lord, is a chivalrous deed. This was
Rastignac's view. He felt profoundly humiliated by his community of
interests with Delphine de Nucingen; I can tell you that he regretted
it; I have seen him deploring his position with tears in his eyes.
Yes, he shed tears, he did indeed--after supper. Well, now to OUR way
of thinking----"

"I say, you are laughing at us," said Finot.

"Not the least in the world. We were talking of Rastignac. From your
point of view his affliction would be a sign of his corruption; for by
that time he was not nearly so much in love with Delphine. What would
you have? he felt the prick in his heart, poor fellow. But he was a
man of noble descent and profound depravity, whereas we are virtuous
artists. So Rastignac meant to enrich Delphine; he was a poor man, she
a rich woman. Would you believe it?--he succeeded. Rastignac, who
might have fought at need, like Jarnac, went over to the opinion of
Henri II. on the strength of his great maxim, 'There is no such thing
as absolute right; there are only circumstances.' This brings us to
the history of his fortune."

"You might just as well make a start with your story instead of
drawing us on to traduce ourselves," said Blondet with urbane good
humor.

"Aha! my boy," returned Bixiou, administering a little tap to the back
of Blondet's head, "you are making up for lost time over the
champagne!"

"Oh! by the sacred name of shareholder, get on with your story!" cried
Couture.

"I was within an ace of it," retorted Bixiou, "but you with your
profanity have brought me to the climax."

"Then, are there shareholders in the tale?" inquired Finot.

"Yes; rich as rich can be--like yours."

"It seems to me," Finot began stiffly, "that some consideration is
owing to a good fellow to whom you look for a bill for five hundred
francs upon occasion----"

"Waiter!" called Bixiou.

"What do you want with the waiter?" asked Blondet.

"I want five hundred francs to repay Finot, so that I can tear up my
I. O. U. and set my tongue free."