“Mon-sieur de B-B-Bonfons.” (This was the second time in three years that he had called the younger Cruchot “M. de Bonfons,” and the president might well consider that this was almost tantamount to being acknowledged as the crafty cooper’s son-in-law.)
“You were s-s-s-saying that in certain cases, p-p-p-proceedings in b-b-bankruptcy might be s-s-s-stopped b-b-by—”
“At the instance of a Tribunal of Commerce. That is done every day of the year,” said M. C. de Bonfons, guessing, as he thought, at old Grandet’s idea, and running away with it. “Listen!” he said, and in the most amiable way he prepared to explain himself.
“I am l-listening,” replied the older man meekly, and his face assumed a demure expression; he looked like some small boy who is laughing in his sleeve at his schoolmaster while appearing to pay the most respectful attention to every word.
“When anybody who is in a large way of business and is much looked up to, like your late brother in Paris, for instance—”
“My b-b-brother, yes.”
“When anyone in that position is likely to find himself insolvent—”
“Ins-s-solvent, do they call it?”
“Yes. When his failure is imminent, the Tribunal of Commerce, to which he is amenable (do you follow me?) has power by a judgment to appoint liquidators to wind up the business. Liquidation is not bankruptcy, do you understand? It is a disgraceful thing to be a bankrupt, but a liquidation reflects no discredit on a man.”
“It is quite a d-d-d-different thing, if only it d-d-does not cost any more,” said Grandet.
“Yes. But a liquidation can be privately arranged without having recourse to the Tribunal of Commerce,” said the president as he took a pinch of snuff. “How is a man declared bankrupt?”
“Yes, how?” inquired Grandet. “I have n-n-never thought about it.”
“In the first place, he may himself file a petition and leave his schedule with the clerk of the court, the debtor himself draws it up or authorizes someone else to do so, and it is duly registered. Or, in the second place, his creditors may make him a bankrupt. But supposing the debtor does not file a petition, and none of his creditors make application to the court for a judgment declaring him bankrupt; now let us see what happens then!”
“Yes, let us s-s-see.”
“In that case, the family of the deceased, or his representatives, or his residuary legatee, or the man himself (if he is not dead), or his friends for him (if he has absconded), liquidate his affairs. Now, possibly, you may intend to do this in your brother’s case?” inquired the president.
“Oh! Grandet,” exclaimed the notary, “that would be acting very handsomely. We in the provinces have our notions of honor. If you saved your name from dishonor, for it is your name, you would be—”
“Sublime!” cried the president, interrupting his uncle.
“Of course, my b-b-brother’s n-n-name was Grandet, th-that is certain sure, I d-d-don’t deny it, and anyhow this l-l-l-l-liquidation would be a very g-good thing for my n-n-nephew in every way, and I am very f-f-fond of him. But we shall see. I know n-n-nothing of those sharpers in P-Paris, and their t-tricks. And here am I at S-Saumur, you see! There are my vine-cuttings, m-my d-d-draining; in sh-sh-short, there are my own af-f-affairs, to s-s-see after. I have n-n-never accepted a bill. What is a bill? I have t-t-taken many a one, b-b-but I have n-n-never put my n-n-name to a piece of p-paper. You t-t-take ’em, and you can d-d-d-discount ’em, and that is all I know, I have heard s-s-say that you can b-b-b-buy them—”
“Yes,” assented the president. “You can buy bills on the market, less so much percent. Do you understand?”
Grandet held his hand to his ear, and the president repeated his remark.
“But it s-s-seems there are t-t-two s-sides to all this?” replied the vinegrower. “At my age, I know n-n-n-nothing about this s-s-s-sort of thing. I must st-top here to l-look after the g-g-grapes, the vines d-d-don’t stand still, and the g-g-grapes have to p-pay for everything. The vintage m-must be l-l-looked after before anything else. Then I have a g-great d-d-deal on my hands at Froidfond that I can’t p-p-possibly l-l-l-leave to anyone else. I don’t underst-t-tand a word of all this; it is a p-p-pretty kettle of fish, confound it; I can’t l-l-leave home to s-see after it. You s-s-s-say that to bring about a l-l-liquidation I ought to be in Paris. Now you can’t be in t-t-two p-places at once unless you are a b-b-bird.”
“I see what you mean,” cried the notary. “Well, my old friend, you have friends, friends of long standing ready to do a great deal for you.”
“Come, now!” said the vinegrower to himself, “so you are making up your minds, are you?”
“And if someone were to go to Paris, and find up your brother Guillaume’s largest creditor, and say to him—”
“Here, just l-l-listen to me a moment,” the cooper struck in. “Say to him what—? S-s-something like this: ‘M. Grandet of Saumur th-this, M. Grandet of Saumur th-th-that. He l-l-loves his brother, he has a r-r-regard for his n-nephew; Grandet thinks a l-l-lot of his f-family, he means to d-do well by them. He has just s-s-sold his
