cognize,
there were some, like Giroudeau, who were unable to revenge
themselves; but it happened that he had wounded Bixiou, who, thanks to
his brilliant qualities, was everywhere received, and who never
forgave an insult. One day at the Rocher de Cancale, before a number
of well-bred persons who were supping there, Philippe had replied to
Bixiou, who spoke of visiting him at the hotel de Brambourg: "You can
come and see me when you are made a minister."

"Am I to turn Protestant before I can visit you?" said Bixiou,
pretending to misunderstand the speech; but he said to himself, "You
may be Goliath, but I have got my sling, and plenty of stones."

The next day he went to an actor, who was one of his friends, and
metamorphosed himself, by the all-powerful aid of dress, into a
secularized priest with green spectacles; then he took a carriage and
drove to the hotel de Soulanges. Received by the count, on sending in
a message that he wanted to speak with him on a matter of serious
importance, he related in a feigned voice the whole story of the dead
countess, the secret particulars of whose horrible death had been
confided to him by Bianchon; the history of Agathe's death; the
history of old Rouget's death, of which the Comte de Brambourg had
openly boasted; the history of Madame Descoings's death; the history
of the theft from the newspaper; and the history of Philippe's private
morals during his early days.

"Monsieur le comte, don't give him your daughter until you have made
every inquiry; interrogate his former comrades,--Bixiou, Giroudeau,
and others."

Three months later, the Comte de Brambourg gave a supper to du Tillet,
Nucingen, Eugene de Rastignac, Maxime de Trailles, and Henri de
Marsay. The amphitryon accepted with much nonchalance the
half-consolatory condolences they made to him as to his rupture with
the house of Soulanges.

"You can do better," said Maxime de Trailles.

"How much money must a man have to marry a demoiselle de Grandlieu?"
asked Philippe of de Marsay.

"You? They wouldn't give you the ugliest of the six for less than ten
millions," answered de Marsay insolently.

"Bah!" said Rastignac. "With an income of two hundred thousand francs
you can have Mademoiselle de Langeais, the daughter of the marquis;
she is thirty years old, and ugly, and she hasn't a sou; that ought to
suit you."

"I shall have ten millions two years from now," said Philippe Bridau.

"It is now the 16th of Januar