"My uncle Bidault and Monsieur Gobseck helped in him 1814," thought
she. "Is he in debt?" she asked, aloud.

"Yes," cried the cashier with a hissing and prolonged sound on the
last letter; "his salary was attached, but some of the higher powers
released it by a bill at sight."

"Where is the des Lupeaulx estate?"

"Why, don't you know? in the part of the country where your
grandfather and your great-uncle Bidault belong, in the arrondissement
of the deputy who wants to resign."

When her colossus of a husband had gone to bed, Elisabeth leaned over
him, and though he always treated her remarks as women's nonsense, she
said, "Perhaps you will really get Monsieur de la Billardiere's
place."

"There you go with your imaginations!" said Baudoyer; "leave Monsieur
Gaudron to speak to the Dauphine and don't meddle with politics."

At eleven o'clock, when all were asleep in the place Royale, Monsieur
des Lupeaulx was leaving the Opera for the rue Duphot. This particular
Wednesday was one of Madame Rabourdin's most brilliant evenings. Many
of her customary guests came in from the theatres and swelled the
company already assembled, among whom were several celebrities, such
as: Canalis the poet, Schinner the painter, Dr. Bianchon, Lucien de
Rubempre, Octave de Camps, the Comte de Granville, the Vicomte de
Fontaine, du Bruel the vaudevillist, Andoche Finot the journalist,