has been given to us; don't ask for any more.'"

"Done to the life!" cried Couture. And indeed it seemed to us that we
heard all that went on in the church. Bixiou imitated everything, even
the shuffling sound of the feet of the men that carried the coffin
over the stone floor.

"There are poets and romancers and writers that say many fine things
abut Parisian manners," continued Bixiou, "but that is what really
happens at a funeral. Ninety-nine out of a hundred that come to pay
their respects to some poor devil departed, get together and talk
business or pleasure in the middle of the church. To see some poor
little touch of real sorrow, you need an impossible combination of
circumstances. And, after all, is there such a thing as grief without
a thought of self in it?"

"Ugh!" said Blondet. "Nothing is less respected than death; is it that
there is nothing less respectable?"

"It is so common!" resumed Bixiou. "When the service was over Nucingen
and du Tillet went to the graveside. The old man-servant walked;
Nucingen and du Tillet were put at the head of the procession of
mourning coaches.--'Goot, mein goot friend,' said Nucingen as they
turned into the boulevard. 'It ees a goot time to marry Malfina; you
vill be der brodector off that boor family vat ess in tears; you vill
haf ein family, a home off your own; you vill haf a house ready
vurnished, und Malfina is truly ein dreashure.'"

"I seem to hear that old Robert Macaire of a Nucingen himself," said
Finot.