As he said these words the worthy man swelled in his own eyes as much as he did in those of Popinot, and he uttered them with a plebeian and ***** emphasis which was the genuine expression of his counterfeit superiority.
"Ah, monsieur! have you guessed my love for--"
"For whom?" asked his master.
"For Mademoiselle Cesarine."
"Ah, boy, you are bold indeed!" exclaimed Birotteau. "Keep your secret. I promise to forget it. You leave my house to-morrow. I am not angry with you; in your place--the devil! the devil!--I should have done the same. She is so lovely!"
"Oh, monsieur!" said the clerk, who felt his shirt getting wet with perspiration.
"My boy, this matter is not one to be settled in a day. Cesarine is her own mistress, and her mother has fixed ideas. Control yourself, wipe your eyes, hold your heart in hand, and don't let us talk any more about it. I should not blush to have you for my son-in-law. The nephew of Monsieur Popinot, a judge of the civil courts, nephew of the Ragons, you have the right to make your way as well as anybody; but there are /buts/ and /ifs/ and /hows/ and /whys/. What a devil of a dog you have let loose upon me, in the midst of a business conversation! Here, sit down on that chair, and let the lover give place to the clerk. Popinot, are you a loyal man?" he said, looking fixedly at the youth. "Do you feel within you the nerve to struggle with something stronger than yourself, and fight hand to hand?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"To maintain a long and dangerous battle?"
"What for?"
"To destroy Macassar Oil!" said Birotteau, rising on his toes like a hero in Plutarch. "Let us not mistake; the enemy is strong, well entrenched, formidable! Macassar Oil has been vigorously launched. The conception was strong. The square bottles were original; I have thought of ****** ours triangular. Yet on the whole I prefer, after ripe reflection, smaller bottles of thin glass, encased in wicker;
they would have a mysterious look, and customers like things which puzzle them."
"They would be expensive," said Popinot. "We must get things out as cheap as we can, so as to make a good reduction at wholesale."
"Good, my lad! That's the right principle. But now, think of it.
Macassar Oil will defend itself; it is specious; the name is seductive. It is offered as a foreign importation; and we have the ill-luck to belong to our own country. Come, Popinot, have you the courage to kill Macassar? Then begin the fight in foreign lands. It seems that Macassar is really in the Indies. Now, isn't it much better to supply a French product to the Indians than to send them back what they are supposed to send to us? Make the venture. Begin the fight in India, in foreign countries, in the departments. Macassar Oil has been thoroughly advertised; we must not underrate its power, it has been pushed everywhere, the public knows it."
"I'll kill it!" cried Popinot, with fire in his eyes.
"What with?" said Birotteau. "That's the way with ardent young people.
Listen till I've done."
Anselme fell into position like a soldier presenting arms to a marshal of France.
"Popinot, I have invented an oil to stimulate the growth of hair, to titillate the scalp, to revive the color of male and female tresses.
This cosmetic will not be less successful than my Paste or my Lotion.
But I don't intend to work it myself. I think of retiring from business. It is you, my boy, who are to launch my Oil Comagene,--from the latin word /coma/, which signifies 'hair,' as Monsieur Alibert, the King's physician, says. The word is found in the tragedy of Berenice, where Racine introduces a king of Comagene, lover of the queen so celebrated for the beauty of her hair; the king--no doubt as a delicate flattery--gave the name to his country. What wit and intellect there is in genius! it condescends to the minutest details."
Little Popinot kept his countenance as he listened to this absurd flourish, evidently said for his benefit as an educated young man.
