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By the time they reached the Maison Vauquer he had tacked together a whole string of examples and quotations more or less irrelevant to the subject in hand, which led him to give a full account of his own deposition in the case of the Sieur Ragoulleau versus Dame Morin, when he had been summoned as a witness for the defence.

The Pension Vauquer was dark, brown, sordid, graisseuse; but this is in quite a different tone, with high, clear, lightly-draped windows, tender, subtle, almost morbid, colours, and furniture in elegant, studied, reed-like lines. Madame de Maisonrouge reminds me of Madame Hulot do you remember "la belle Madame Hulot?" in Les Barents Pauvres.

"There's Poiret," suggested Bianchon. "Oh! Poiret shall pose as Poiret. He can be a garden god!" cried Vautrin; "his name means a pear " "A sleepy pear!" Bianchon put in. "You will come in between the pear and the cheese." "What stuff are you all talking!" said Mme. Vauquer; "you would do better to treat us to your Bordeaux; I see a glimpse of a bottle there.

Vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, the Baronne de Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte de Picquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais, where the terms were higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both these ladies, moreover, would be very well to do when the people at the War Office had come to an end of their formalities.

"That is something, certainly," said Franchessini, aloud; but he thought to himself that since the days of the pension Vauquer the minister had taken long strides and that roles had changed between himself and Vautrin. "You can tell him what I say," continued Rastignac, going up the steps of the portico, "but be cautious how you word it." "Don't be uneasy," replied the colonel.

"Very well, his Excellency is at this moment absolutely certain that the so-called Vautrin, who lodges at the Maison Vauquer, is a convict who escaped from penal servitude at Toulon, where he is known by the nickname Trompe-la-Mort." "Trompe-la-Mort?" said Pioret. "Dear me, he is very lucky if he deserves that nickname." "Well, yes," said the detective.

"That is the way, young man," returned he of the forty years and the dyed whiskers: "The rose has lived the life of a rose A morning's space." "Aha! here is a magnificent soupe-au-rama," cried Poiret as Christophe came in bearing the soup with cautious heed. "I beg your pardon, sir," said Mme. Vauquer; "it is soupe aux choux." All the young men roared with laughter. "Had you there, Poiret!"

"Good-bye, mamma," said Vautrin; "I am going to a theatre on the boulevard to see M. Marty in Le Mont Sauvage, a fine play taken from Le Solitaire.... If you like, I will take you and these two ladies " "Thank you; I must decline," said Mme. Couture. "What! my good lady!" cried Mme. Vauquer, "decline to see a play founded on the Le Solitaire, a work by Atala de Chateaubriand?

"You said there was no one here," said he in a whisper to Europe. And with an excess of prudence, after looking at the messenger, he went straight into the drawing-room. Trompe-la-Mort did not know that for some time past the famous constable of the detective force who had arrested him at the Maison Vauquer had a rival, who, it was supposed, would replace him. This rival was the messenger.

Vauquer and the cook, listening, overheard several words affectionately spoken during the visit, which lasted for some time. "M. Goriot must be awfully rich, all the same, madame," she reported on her return, "to keep her in such style. Just imagine it! There was a splendid carriage waiting at the corner of the Place de l'Estrapade, and she got into it."