“What can I do?” cried Popinot with generous ardor.

“Ah! you save my life,” exclaimed the poor man, comforted by this warmth of heart which flamed upon the sea of ice he had traversed for twenty-five days.

“You must give me a note for fifty thousand francs on my share of the profits; we will arrange later about the payment.”

Popinot looked fixedly at Cesar.  Cesar dropped his eyes.  At this moment the judge re-entered.

“My son—­ah! excuse me, Monsieur Birotteau—­Anselme, I forget to tell you—­” and with an imperious gesture he led his nephew into the street and forced him, in his shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, to listen as they walked towards the Rue des Lombards.  “My nephew, your old master may find himself so involved that he will be forced to make an assignment.  Before taking that step, honorable men who have forty years of integrity to boast of, virtuous men seeking to save their good name, will play the part of reckless gamblers; they become capable of anything; they will sell their wives, traffic with their daughters, compromise their best friends, pawn what does not belong to them; they will frequent gambling-tables, become dissemblers, hypocrites, liars; they will even shed tears.  I have witnessed strange things.  You yourself have seen Roguin’s respectability,—­a man to whom they would have given the sacraments without confession.  I do not apply these remarks in their full force to Monsieur Birotteau,—­I believe him to be an honest man; but if he asks you to do anything, no matter what, against the rules of business, such as endorsing notes out of good-nature, or launching into a system of ‘circulations,’ which, to my mind, is the first step to swindling,—­for it is uttering counterfeit paper-money,—­if he asks you to do anything of the kind, promise me that you will sign nothing without consulting me.  Remember that if you love his daughter you must not—­in the very interests of your love you must not—­destroy your future.  If Monsieur Birotteau is to fall, what will it avail if you fall too?  You will deprive yourselves, one as much as the other, of all the chances of your new business, which may prove his only refuge.”

“Thank you, my uncle; a word to the wise is enough,” said Popinot, to whom Cesar’s heart-rending exclamation was now explained.

The merchant in oils, refined and otherwise, returned to his gloomy shop with an anxious brow.  Birotteau saw the change.

“Will you do me the honor to come up into my bedroom?  We shall be better there.  The clerks, though very busy, might overhear us.”

Birotteau followed Popinot, a prey to the anxiety a condemned man goes through from the moment of his appeal for mercy until its rejection.

“My dear benefactor,” said Anselme, “you cannot doubt my devotion; it is absolute.  Permit me only to ask you one thing.  Will this sum clear you entirely, or is it only a means of delaying some catastrophe?  If it is that, what good will it do to drag me down also?  You want notes at ninety days.  Well, it is absolutely impossible that I could meet them in that time.”