At times he was capable of doing almost anything to gratify his
lust for gold, for the privations which he had endured so long
were like oil cast upon the flame of covetousness which was ever
burning in his breast. In calmer moments he asked himself at what
other door he could knock, in view of hastening the arrival of
Fortune. Sometimes he thought of turning dentist, or of trying to
find some capitalist who would join him in manufacturing one of
those patent medicines which are warranted to yield their
promoters a hundred thousand francs a year. On other occasions he
dreamed of establishing a monster pharmacy, or of opening a
private hospital. But money was needed to carry out any one of
these plans, and he had no money. There was the rub. However the
time was fast approaching when he must decide upon his course; he
could not possibly hold out much longer.
His third year of practice in the Rue de Courcelles had not
yielded him enough to pay his servant's wages. For he had a
servant, of course. He had a valet for the same reason as he had
a suite of rooms of a superficially sumptuous aspect. Faithful to
his system, or, rather, to his master's system, he had sacrificed
everything to show. The display of gilding in his apartments was
such as to make a man of taste shut his eyes to escape the sight
of it. There were gorgeous carpets and hangings, frescoed
ceilings, spurious objects of virtu, and pier-tables loaded with
ornaments.
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