"Well, neighbor," said Birotteau familiarly, as he entered the man's
shop, "my wife consents to the enlargement of our premises. If you
like, we will go and see Monsieur Molineux at eleven o'clock."

"My dear Monsieur Birotteau," said the umbrella-man, "I have not asked
you any compensation for this cession; but you are aware that a good
merchant ought to make money out of everything."

"What the devil!" cried Birotteau. "I'm not made of money. I don't
know that my architect can do the thing at all. He told me that before
concluding my arrangements I must know whether the floors were on the
same level. Then, supposing Monsieur Molineux does allow me to cut a
door in the wall, is it a party-wall? Moreover, I have to turn my
staircase, and make a new landing, so as to get a passage-way on the
same floor. All that costs money, and I don't want to ruin myself."

"Oh, monsieur," said the southerner. "Before you are ruined, the sun
will have married the earth and they'll have had children."

Birotteau stroked his chin, rose on the points of his toes, and fell
back upon his heels.

"Besides," resumed Cayron, "all I ask you to do is to cash these
securities for me--"

And he held out sixteen notes amounting in all to five thousand
francs.

"Ah!" said the perfumer turning them over. "Small fry, two months,
three months--"