His wife, his father-in-law, and his friends had bled.

This superb diligence he had been to see the evening before at the painter's; all it needed now was to be set a-rolling, but to make it roll, payment in full must, alas! be made.
Now, a thousand francs were lacking to Pierrotin, and where to get them he did not know.

He was in debt to the master of the Lion d'Argent; he was in danger of his losing his two thousand francs already paid to the coach-builder, not counting five hundred for the mate to Rougeot, and three hundred for new harnesses, on which he had a three-months' credit.
Driven by the fury of despair and the madness of vanity, he had just openly declared that the new coach was to start on the morrow.

By offering fifteen hundred francs, instead of the two thousand five hundred still due, he was in hopes that the softened carriage-builders would give him his coach.

But after a few moments' meditation, his feelings led him to cry out aloud:-- "No! they're dogs! harpies! Suppose I appeal to Monsieur Moreau, the steward at Presles?
he is such a kind man," thought Pierrotin, struck with a new idea.