"My dear fellow," said Bixiou to Gazonal, pointing to the splendors of
the show-window, "Vital has forty thousand francs a year from invested
property."

"And he stays a hatter!" cried the Southerner, with a bound that
almost broke the arm which Bixiou had linked in his.

"You shall see the man," said Leon. "You need a hat and you shall have
one gratis."

"Is Monsieur Vital absent?" asked Bixiou, seeing no one behind the
desk.

"Monsieur is correcting proof in his study," replied the head clerk.

"Hein! what style!" said Leon to his cousin; then he added, addressing
the clerk: "Could we speak to him without injury to his inspiration?"

"Let those gentlemen enter," said a voice.

It was a bourgeois voice, the voice of one eligible to the Chamber, a
powerful voice, a wealthy voice.

Vital deigned to show himself, dressed entirely in black cloth, with a
splendid frilled shirt adorned with one diamond. The three friends
observed a young and pretty woman sitting near the desk, working at
some embroidery.

Vital is a man between thirty and forty years of age, with a natural
joviality now repressed by ambitious ideas. He is blessed with that