After the lapse of a few years he had charge of the business.
His position was getting better; he was making fifteen thousand francs per annum, but that was nothing compared to his dreams.

He was then twenty-eight years of age.

He felt ready to do anything to succeed, except something unhandsome, for this lover of money would have died rather than enrich himself by dishonest means.
It was at this time that his lucky star threw him in Madame Desvarennes's way.

The mistress, understanding men, guessed Cayrol's worth quickly.

She was seeking a banker who would devote himself to her interests.