costume,
language, and audacity.

They all ate and drank so well and so heartily, while talking and
laughing, that it went on till four in the morning. Bixiou flattered
himself that he had achieved one of the victories so pleasantly related
by Brillat-Savarin. But at the moment when he was saying to himself,
as he offered his "uncle" some more wine, "I have vanquished England!"
Peyrade replied in good French to this malicious scoffer, "Toujours, mon
garcon" (Go it, my boy), which no one heard but Bixiou.

"Hallo, good men all, he is as English as I am!--My uncle is a Gascon! I
could have no other!"

Bixiou and Peyrade were alone, so no one heard this announcement.
Peyrade rolled off his chair on to the floor. Paccard forthwith picked
him up and carried him to an attic, where he fell sound asleep.

At six o'clock next evening, the Nabob was roused by the application
of a wet cloth, with which his face was being washed, and awoke to find
himself on a camp-bed, face to face with Asie, wearing a mask and a
black domino.

"Well, Papa Peyrade, you and I have to settle accounts," said she.

"Where am I?" asked he, looking about him.

"Listen to me," said Asie, "and that will sober you.--Though you do not
love Madame du Val-Noble, you love your daughter, I suppose?"

"My daughter?" Peyrade echoed with a roar.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Lydie."

"What then?"

"What then? She is no longer in the Rue des Moineaux; she has been
carried off."

Peyrade breathed a sigh like that of a soldier dying of a mortal wound
on the battlefield.

"While you were pretending to be an Englishman, some one else was
pretending to be Peyrade. Your little Lydie thought she was with her
father, and she is now in a safe place.--Oh! you will never find her!
unless you undo the mischief you have done."

"What mischief?"

"Yesterday Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre had the door shut in his face at
the Duc de Grandlieu's. This is due to your intrigues, and to the man
you let loose on us. Do not speak, listen!" Asie went on, seeing Peyrade
open his mouth. "You will have your daughter again, pure and spotless,"
she added, emphasizing her statement by the accent on every word, "only
on the day after that on which Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre walks out of
Saint-Thomas d'Aquin as the husband of Mademoiselle Clotilde. If, within
ten days Lucien de Rubempre is not admitted, as he has been, to the
Grandlieus' house, you, to begin with, will die a violent deat