“Monsieur, I have never received a summons in my life,” said Birotteau.

“There is a beginning to everything,” said Molineux.

Dismayed by the curt malevolence of the old man, Cesar was cowed; he heard the knell of failure ringing in his ears, and every jangle woke a memory of the stern sayings his pitiless justice had uttered against bankrupts.  His former opinions now seared, as with fire, the soft substance of his brain.

“By the by,” said Molineux, “you neglected to put upon your notes, ‘for value received in rental,’ which would secure me preference.”

“My position will prevent me from doing anything to the detriment of my creditors,” said Cesar, stunned by the sudden sight of the precipice yawning before him.

“Very good, monsieur, very good; I thought I knew everything relating to rentals and tenants, but I have learned through you never to take notes in payment.  Ah!  I shall sue you, for your answer shows plainly enough that you are not going to meet your liabilities.  Hard cash is a matter which concerns every landlord in Paris.”

Birotteau went out, weary of life.  It is in the nature of such soft and tender souls to be disheartened by a first rebuff, just as a first success encourages them.  Cesar no longer had any hope except in the devotion of little Popinot, to whom his thoughts naturally turned as he crossed the Marche des Innocents.

“Poor boy! who could have believed it when I launched him, only six weeks ago, in the Tuileries?”

It was just four o’clock, the hour at which the judges left their court-rooms.  Popinot the elder chanced to go and see his nephew.  This judge, whose mind was singularly acute on all moral questions, was also gifted with a second-sight which enabled him to discover secret intentions, to perceive the meaning of insignificant human actions, the germs of crime, the roots of wrongdoing; and he now watched Birotteau, though Birotteau was not aware of it.  The perfumer, who was annoyed at finding the judge with his nephew, seemed to him harassed, preoccupied, pensive.  Little Popinot, always busy, with his pen behind his ear, lay down as usual flat on his stomach before the father of his Cesarine.  The empty phrases which Cesar addressed to his partner seemed to the judge to mask some important request.  Instead of going away, the crafty old man stayed in spite of his nephew’s evident desire, for he guessed that the perfumer would soon try to get rid of him by going away himself.  Accordingly, when Birotteau went out the judge followed, and saw Birotteau hanging about that part of the Rue des Cinq-Diamants which leads into the Rue Aubry-le-Boucher.  This trifling circumstance roused the suspicions of old Popinot as to Cesar’s intentions; he turned into the Rue des Lombards, and when he saw the perfumer re-enter Anselme’s door, he came hastily back again.

“My dear Popinot,” said Cesar to his partner, “I have come to ask a service of you.”