ve seen a great deal of the seamy side of the world. I have known its
back-stairs, and I have discerned, in the march of events, a Power which
you call Providence and I call Chance, and which my companions call
Luck. Every evil deed, however quickly it may hide its traces, is
overtaken by some retribution. In this struggle for existence, when the
game is going well--when you have quint and quartorze in your hand
and the lead--the candle tumbles over and the cards are burned, or the
player has a fit of apoplexy!--That is Lucien's story. That boy, that
angel, had not committed the shadow of a crime; he let himself be led,
he let things go! He was to marry Mademoiselle de Grandlieu, to be made
marquis; he had a fine fortune;--well, a prostitute poisons herself, she
hides the price of a certificate of stock, and the whole structure so
laboriously built up crumbles in an instant.

"And who is the first man to deal a blow? A man loaded with secret
infamy, a monster who, in the world of finance, has committed such
crimes that every coin of his vast fortune has been dipped in the tears
of a whole family [see _la Maison Nucingen_]--by Nucingen, who has been
a legalized Jacques Collin in the world of money. However, you know as
well as I do all the bankruptcies and tricks for which that man deserves
hanging. My fetters will leave a mark on all my actions, however
virtuous. To be a shuttlecock between two racquets--one called the
hulks, and the other the police--is a life in which success means
never-ending toil, and peace and quiet seem quite impossible.

"At this moment, Monsieur de Granville, Jacques Collin is buried with
Lucien, who is being now sprinkled with holy water and carried away to
Pere-Lachaise. What I want is a place not to live in, but to die in.
As things are, you, representing Justice, have never cared to make the
released convict's social status a concern of any interest. Though the
law may be satisfied, society is not; society is still suspicious, and
does all it can to justify its suspicions; it regards a released convict
as an impossible creature; it ought to restore him to his full rights,
but, in fact, it prohibits his living in certain circles. Society says
to the poor wretch, 'Paris, which is the only place you can be hidden
in; Paris and its suburbs for so many miles round is the forbidden
land, you shall not live there!' and it subjects the convict to the
watchfulness of the police. Do you think that li