"Make notes," replied Bixiou, whistling for his porter; "for I want
some money, and I'll show you the use of porters. You think they only
pull the gate-cord; whereas they really pull poor devils like me and
artists whom they take under their protection out of difficulties.
Mine will get the Montyon prize one of these days."

Gazonal opened his eyes to their utmost roundness.

A man between two ages, partly a graybeard, partly an office-boy, but
more oily within and without, hair greasy, stomach puffy, skin dull
and moist, like that of the prior of a convent, always wearing list
shoes, a blue coat, and grayish trousers, made his appearance.

"What is it, monsieur?" he said with an air which combined that of a
protector and a subordinate.

"Ravenouillet-- His name is Ravenouillet," said Bixiou turning to
Gazonal. "Have you our notebook of bills due with you?"

Ravenouillet pulled out of his pocket the greasiest and stickiest book
that Gazonal's eyes had ever beheld.

"Write down at three months' sight two notes of five hundred francs
each, which you will proceed to sign."

And Bixiou handed over two notes already drawn to his order by
Ravenouillet, which Ravenouillet immediately signed and inscribed on
the greasy book, in which his wife also kept account of the debts of
the other lodgers.