Vautrin came through the
sitting-room, singing loudly:

"'Tis the same old story everywhere,
A roving heart and a roving glance..

"Oh! Mamma Vauquer! good-morning!" he cried at the sight of his hostess,
and he put his arm gaily round her waist.

"There! have done----"

"'Impertinence!' Say it!" he answered. "Come, say it! Now, isn't that
what you really mean? Stop a bit, I will help you to set the table. Ah!
I am a nice man, am I not?

"For the locks of brown and the golden hair
A sighing lover...

"Oh! I have just seen something so funny----

.... led by chance."

"What?" asked the widow.

"Father Goriot in the goldsmith's shop in the Rue Dauphine at half-past
eight this morning. They buy old spoons and forks and gold lace there,
and Goriot sold a piece of silver plate for a good round sum. It had
been twisted out of shape very neatly for a man that's not used to the
trade."

"Really? You don't say so?"

"Yes. One of my friends is expatriating himself; I had been to see him
off on board the Royal Mail steamer, and was coming back here. I waited
after that to see what Father Goriot would do; it is a comical affair.
He came back to this quarter of the world, to the Rue des Gres, and went
into a money-lender's house; everybody knows him, Gobseck, a stuck-up
rascal, that would make dominoes out of his father's bones, a Turk,
a heathen, an old Jew, a Greek; it would be a difficult matter to rob
_him_, for he puts all his coin into the Bank."

"Then what was Father Goriot doing there?"

"Doing?" said Vautrin. "Nothing; he was bent on his own undoing. He is a
simpleton, stupid enough to ruin himself by running after----"

"There he is!" cried Sylvie.

"Christophe," cried Father Goriot's voice, "come upstairs with me."

Christophe went up, and shortly afterwards came down again.

"Where are you going?" Mme. Vauquer asked of her servant.

"Out on an errand for M. Goriot."

"What may that be?" said Vautrin, pouncing on a letter in Christophe's
hand. "_Mme. la Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud_," he read. "Where are you
going with it?" he added, as he gave the letter back to Christophe.

"To the Rue du Helder. I have orders to give this into her hands
myself."

"What is there inside it?" said Vautrin, holding the letter up to the
light. "A banknote? No." He peered into the envelope. "A receipted
account!" he cried. "My word! 'tis a gallant old dotard. Off with you,
old chap