ning to the
melting-pot, and I saw him at Daddy Gobseck's in the Rue des Gres. And
now, mark what follows--he came back here, and gave a letter for the
Comtesse de Restaud to that noodle of a Christophe, who showed us the
address; there was a receipted bill inside it. It is clear that it was
an urgent matter if the Countess also went herself to the old money
lender. Father Goriot has financed her handsomely. There is no need to
tack a tale together; the thing is self-evident. So that shows you, sir
student, that all the time your Countess was smiling, dancing, flirting,
swaying her peach-flower crowned head, with her gown gathered into her
hand, her slippers were pinching her, as they say; she was thinking of
her protested bills, or her lover's protested bills."

"You have made me wild to know the truth," cried Eugene; "I will go to
call on Mme. de Restaud to-morrow."

"Yes," echoed Poiret; "you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud."

"And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take payment
for the assistance he politely rendered."

Eugene looked disgusted. "Why, then, this Paris of yours is a slough."

"And an uncommonly queer slough, too," replied Vautrin. "The mud
splashes you as you drive through it in your carriage--you are a
respectable person; you go afoot and are splashed--you are a scoundrel.
You are so unlucky as to walk off with something or other belonging
to somebody else, and they exhibit you as a curiosity in the Place du
Palais-de-Justice; you steal a million, and you are pointed out in every
salon as a model of virtue. And you pay thirty millions for the police
and the courts of justice, for the maintenance of law and order! A
pretty slate of things it is!"

"What," cried Mme. Vauquer, "has Father Goriot really melted down his
silver posset-dish?"

"There were two turtle-doves on the lid, were there not?" asked Eugene.

"Yes, that there were."

"Then, was he fond of it?" said Eugene. "He cried while he was breaking
up the cup and plate. I happened to see him by accident."

"It was dear to him as his own life," answered the widow.

"There! you see how infatuated the old fellow is!" cried Vautrin. "The
woman yonder can coax the soul out of him."

The student went up to his room. Vautrin went out, and a few moments
later Mme. Couture and Victorine drove away in a cab which Sylvie had
called for them. Poiret gave his arm to Mlle. Michonneau, and they went
together to spend the two