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You might be of some use in sparing my modesty," she said to Poiret, "instead of standing there like a stock." Vautrin was turned over; Mlle. Michonneau gave his shoulder a sharp slap, and the two portentous letters appeared, white against the red. "There, you have earned your three thousand francs very easily," exclaimed Poiret, supporting Vautrin while Mlle.
He turned pale, and staggered back. He turned his magnetic glance, like a ray of vivid light, on Mlle. Michonneau; the old maid shrank and trembled under the influence of that strong will, and collapsed into a chair.
Rastignac folded his arms and was silent. "Let us have no more of Mlle. Judas," said the painter, turning to Mme. Vauquer. "If you don't show the Michonneau the door, madame, we shall all leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there are only convicts and spies left there.
We want to be quite sure what we are about." "Yes, but what you want is a pretty woman," said Mlle. Michonneau briskly. "Trompe-la-Mort would not let a woman come near him," said the detective. "I will tell you a secret he does not like them." "Still, I do not see what I can do, supposing that I did agree to identify him for two thousand francs." "Nothing simpler," said the stranger.
"Get along with you; you must be dying to go, trahit sua quemque voluptas!" said Bianchon. "Every one to his taste free rendering from Virgil," said the tutor. Mlle. Michonneau made a movement as if to take Poiret's arm, with an appealing glance that he could not resist. The two went out together, the old maid leaning upon him, and there was a burst of applause, followed by peals of laughter.
He looked about him like a fallen archangel who is for war to the end. Rastignac lowered his eyes, and acknowledged this kinship claimed by crime as an expiation of his own evil thoughts. "Who betrayed me?" said Collin, and his terrible eyes traveled round the room. Suddenly they rested on Mlle. Michonneau. "It was you, old cat!" he said.
These alternate exclamations, and a suggestion of hostile intentions, borne out by the behavior of the insurgents, compelled Mlle. Michonneau to take her departure. She made some stipulations, speaking in a low voice in her hostess' ear, and then "I shall go to Mme. Buneaud's," she said, with a threatening look. "Go where you please, mademoiselle," said Mme.
Michonneau slipped on the shirt again. "Ouf! How heavy he is," he added, as he laid the convict down. "Hush! Suppose there is a strong-box here!" said the old maid briskly; her glances seemed to pierce the walls, she scrutinized every article of the furniture with greedy eyes. "Could we find some excuse for opening that desk?" "It mightn't be quite right," responded Poiret to this.
"Clk! clk! clk!" cried Bianchon, making the sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, like a driver urging on a horse. "He holds himself like a duke and a peer of France," said Mme. Vauquer. "Are you going a-courting?" inquired Mlle. Michonneau. "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried the artist. "My compliments to my lady your wife," from the employe at the Museum.
"But the provision merchant who lives in this street has been created, as it were, for my service. I have an open account with him, and every day he sends me a nice little basket; and while on this subject, and you are ready to do me a favor, beg good Mrs. Michonneau, who, by the way, is not so bad " "Ah! rogue rogue of a general!"
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