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Then what ought I to do with this advertisement, thrust, as it would seem, purposely under my notice? If I had not wrapped up the parcel myself at Barbet's, I should have missed seeing it; or if Barbet had picked up any other piece of paper, it would not have come under my eye.
But I was in haste to secure a parcel of books before the cutter should start home again, with its courageous little knot of market-people. I ran down to Barbet's, scarcely heeding the greetings which were flung after mo by every passer-by. I looked through the library-shelves with growing dissatisfaction, until I hit upon two of Mrs.
Barbet's shabby overcoat was fastened by a single button; his collar was greasy; he kept his hat on his head as he spoke; he wore low shoes, an open waistcoat gave glimpses of a homely shirt of coarse linen.
His first thought was that he had some extremely dangerous friends; his second, that it would be impolitic to break with them; for if Mme. d'Espard, Mme. de Bargeton, and Chatelet should fail to keep their word with him, he might need their terrible power yet. By this time Etienne and Lucien had reached Barbet's miserable bookshop on the Quai.
"Here, Gabusson," he added, handing Barbet's bill to the cashier, "let me have ninety francs for this individual. Fill in your name, old man." Lousteau signed his name while the cashier counted out the money; and Lucien, all eyes and ears, lost not a syllable of the conversation. "That is not all, my friend," Etienne continued; "I don't thank you, we have sworn an eternal friendship.
"And at Lavoisier's, on the Boulevard Poissonnière " "What is sold, pray, at Lavoisier's?" "Gloves, perfumes, hosiery, ready-made linen..." "Enough you can proceed." "I have also a bill at at Barbet's, in the Passage de l'Opéra." "And Barbet is ?" "A a florist!" I replied, very reluctantly. "Humph! a florist!" observed Dr. Chéron, again transfixing me with the cold, blue eye.
Godefroid's antecedents, his life as a man of the world and a journalist, served him in this, that he felt quite sure, unless he took this tone, that Barbet's spy would warn the old publisher of danger, and probably lead to active measures under which Monsieur Bernard would before long be arrested; whereas, if he left the trio of harpies to suppose that their scheme ran no risk of defeat, they would keep quiet.
The affair isn't in their names; they have put it into the hands of a publisher whom Barbet set up on the quai des Augustins." "What, that little fellow?" "Yes, that little Morand, who was formerly Barbet's clerk. It seems they expect a good bit of money out of the affair." "There's a good bit to spend," said Godefroid, with a significant grimace.
But Godefroid did not yet know Parisian human nature when embodied in a Vauthier. That woman resolved to have Godefroid's money and Barbet's too. She instantly ran off to her proprietor, while Godefroid changed his clothes in order to present himself properly before the daughter of Monsieur Bernard.
I could not do better than go down to Barbet's circulating library, and look out some good works there. "Well, no," I said; "never mind the books. If you will look out the other things, those can wait." "Whom are they for?" asked my mother. "For my patient," I replied, devoting myself to the breakfast before me. "What sort of a patient, Martin?" she inquired again. "Her name is Ollivier," I said.
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