and that was that father when he came home in the evening always sat
down to table with a great appetite. I believe it! Since he lost his
place the poor man had gone without his luncheon.

The days passed. M. Joyeuse found nothing. Yes, one place as accountant
in the Territorial Bank, which he refused, however, knowing too much
about banking operations, about all the corners and innermost recesses
of the financial Bohemia in general, and of the Territorial bank in
particular, to set foot in that den.

"But," said Passajon to him--for it was Passajon who, meeting the honest
fellow and hearing that he was out of employment, had suggested to
him that he should come to Paganetti's--"but since I repeat that it is
serious. We have lots of money. They pay one. I have been paid. See how
prosperous I look."

In effect, the old office porter had a new livery, and beneath his tunic
with its buttons of silver-gilt his paunch protruded, majestic. All
the same M. Joyeuse had not allowed himself to be tempted, even after
Passajon, opening wide his shallow-set blue eyes, had whispered into his
ear with emphasis these words rich in promises:

"The Nabob is in the concern."

Even after that, M. Joyeuse had had the courage to say No. Was it not
better to die of hunger than to enter a fraudulent house of which
he might perhaps one day be summoned to report upon the books in the
courts?

So he continued to wander; but, discouraged, he no longer sought employ.