“Now come to breakfast,” replied the kind old man, leading Oscar by the ear.

During the meal uncle Cardot observed his nephew without appearing to do so, and soon saw that the lad knew nothing of life.

“Send him here to me now and then,” he said to Madame Clapart, as he bade her good-bye, “and I’ll form him for you.”

This visit calmed the anxieties of the poor mother, who had not hoped for such brilliant success.  For the next fortnight she took Oscar to walk daily, and watched him tyrannically.  This brought matters to the end of October.  One morning as the poor household was breakfasting on a salad of herring and lettuce, with milk for a dessert, Oscar beheld with terror the formidable ex-steward, who entered the room and surprised this scene of poverty.

“We are now living in Paris—­but not as we lived at Presles,” said Moreau, wishing to make known to Madame Clapart the change in their relations caused by Oscar’s folly.  “I shall seldom be here myself; for I have gone into partnership with Pere Leger and Pere Margueron of Beaumont.  We are speculating in land, and we have begun by purchasing the estate of Persan.  I am the head of the concern, which has a capital of a million; part of which I have borrowed on my own securities.  When I find a good thing, Pere Leger and I examine it; my partners have each a quarter and I a half in the profits; but I do nearly all the work, and for that reason I shall be constantly on the road.  My wife lives here, in the faubourg du Roule, very plainly.  When we see how the business turns out, if we risk only the profits, and if Oscar behaves himself, we may, perhaps, employ him.”

“Ah! my friend, the catastrophe caused by my poor boy’s heedlessness may prove to be the cause of your making a brilliant fortune; for, really and truly, you were burying your energy and your capacity at Presles.”

Madame Clapart then went on to relate her visit to uncle Cardot, in order to show Moreau that neither she nor her son need any longer be a burden on him.

“He is right, that old fellow,” said the ex-steward.  “We must hold Oscar in that path with an iron hand, and he will end as a barrister or a notary.  But he mustn’t leave the track; he must go straight through with it.  Ha!  I know how to help you.  The legal business of land-agents is quite important, and I have heard of a lawyer who has just bought what is called a “titre nu”; that means a practice without clients.  He is a young man, hard as an iron bar, eager for work, ferociously active.  His name is Desroches.  I’ll offer him our business on condition that he takes Oscar as a pupil; and I’ll ask him to let the boy live with him at nine hundred francs a year, of which I will pay three, so that your son will cost you only six hundred francs, without his living, in future.  If the boy ever means to become a man it can only be under a discipline like that.  He’ll come out of that office, notary, solicitor, or barrister, as he may elect.”