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. “Thanks, Ravenouillet,” said Bixiou. “And here’s a box at the Vaudeville for you.” “Oh! my daughter will enjoy that,” said Ravenouillet, departing. “There are seventy-one tenants in this house,” said Bixiou, “and the average of what they owe Ravenouillet is six thousand francs a month, eighteen thousand quarterly for money advanced, postage, etc., not counting the rents due. He is Providence--at thirty per cent, which we all pay him, though he never asks for anything.” “Oh, Paris! Paris!” cried Gazonal. “I’m going to take you now, cousin Gazonal,” said Bixiou, after indorsing the notes, “to see another comedian, who will play you a charming scene gratis.” “Who is it?” said Gazonal. “A usurer. As we go along I’ll tell you the debut of friend Ravenouillet in Paris.” Passing in front of the porter’s lodge, Gazonal saw Mademoiselle Lucienne Ravenouillet holding in her hand a music score (she was a pupil of the Conservatoire), her father reading a newspaper, and Madame Ravenouillet with a package of letters to be carried up to the lodgers. “Thanks, Monsieur Bixiou!” said the girl. “She’s not a rat,” explained Leon to his cousin; “she is the larva of the grasshopper.”