session; he
soars far above earth; he has forgotten what the word _poverty_ means;
all Paris is his. Those are days when the whole world shines radiant
with light, when everything glows and sparkles before the eyes of youth,
days that bring joyous energy that is never brought into harness, days
of debts and of painful fears that go hand in hand with every delight.
Those who do not know the left bank of the Seine between the Rue
Saint-Jacques and the Rue des Saints-Peres know nothing of life.

"Ah! if the women of Paris but knew," said Rastignac, as he devoured
Mme. Vauquer's stewed pears (at five for a penny), "they would come here
in search of a lover."

Just then a porter from the Messageries Royales appeared at the door of
the room; they had previously heard the bell ring as the wicket opened
to admit him. The man asked for M. Eugene de Rastignac, holding out two
bags for him to take, and a form of receipt for his signature. Vautrin's
keen glance cut Eugene like a lash.

"Now you will be able to pay for those fencing lessons and go to the
shooting gallery," he said.

"Your ship has come in," said Mme. Vauquer, eyeing the bags.

Mlle. Michonneau did not dare to look at the money, for fear her eyes
should betray her cupidity.

"You have a kind mother," said Mme. Couture.

"You have a kind mother, sir," echoed Poiret.

"Yes, mamma has been drained dry," said Vautrin, "and now you can have
your fling, go into society, and fish for heiresses, and dance with
countesses who have peach blossom in their hair. But take my advice,
young man, and don't neglect your pistol practice."

Vautrin struck an attitude, as if he were facing an antagonist.
Rastignac, meaning to give the porter a tip, felt in his pockets and
found nothing. Vautrin flung down a franc piece on the table.

"Your credit is good," he remarked, eyeing the student, and Rastignac
was forced to thank him, though, since the sharp encounter of wits at
dinner that day, after Eugene came in from calling on Mme. de Beauseant,
he had made up his mind that Vautrin was insufferable. For a week, in
fact, they had both kept silence in each other's presence, and watched
each other. The student tried in vain to account to himself for this
attitude.

An idea, of course, gains in force by the energy with which it
is expressed; it strikes where the brain sends it, by a law as
mathematically exact as the law that determines the course of a shell
from a mortar. The am