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Updated: June 25, 2025
The daughter in Charenton, the father in a pauper's grave!" said Corentin "Contenson, go and fetch the parish hearse. And now, Don Carlos Herrera, you and I will fight it out!" "Carlos?" said Contenson, "he is in Spain." "He is in Paris," said Corentin positively. "There is a touch of Spanish genius of the Philip II. type in all this; but I have pitfalls for everybody, even for kings."
"We must close his eyes," said Contenson, lifting Peyrade on to the bed. "We are doing a stupid thing," said Corentin. "Let us carry him into his own room. His daughter is half demented, and she will go quite mad when she sees that he is dead; she will fancy that she has killed him." Lydie, seeing them carry away her father, looked quite stupefied.
Very good; and what, Monsieur le Baron, do you want for it?" "I haf been told dat dere vas in Paris one man vat could find the voman vat I lof, and dat you know his address.... A real master to spy." "Very true." "Vell den, gif me dat address, and I gif you fife hundert franc." "Where are they?" said Contenson. "Here dey are," said the Baron, drawing a note out of his pocket.
At the moment when Contenson re-entered the dining-room, old Peyrade, who had drunk a great deal, was swallowing the cherry off his ice. They were drinking to the health of Madame du Val-Noble; the nabob filled his glass with Constantia and emptied it.
Esther got into her carriage again, a handsome carriage drawn by the finest pair of dappled gray horses at that time to be seen in Paris. "The woman who is getting into the carriage is handsome," said Peyrade to Contenson, "but I like the one who is walking best; follow her, and find out who she is."
"A professor would work it up into a system." "Let us find out all we can," replied Corentin with a smile, as he made his way down the street with the spy, "as to what goes on at Monsieur de Nucingen's with regard to this girl the main facts; never mind the details " "Just watch to see if his chimneys are smoking!" said Contenson.
After enjoying for some hours the joys of paternity, Peyrade, his hair washed and dyed for his powder was a disguise dressed in a stout, coarse, blue frock-coat buttoned up to the chin, and a black cloak, shod in strong, thick-soled boots, furnished himself with a private card and walked slowly along the Avenue Gabriel, where Contenson, dressed as an old costermonger woman, met him in front of the gardens of the Elysee-Bourbon.
"I am but sixty-six," replied Contenson, as a man whom vice has kept young as a bad example. "And vat do she do?" "She helps me," said Contenson. "When a man is a thief, and an honest woman loves him, either she becomes a thief or he becomes an honest man. I have always been a spy." "And you vant money alvays?" asked Nucingen. "Always," said Contenson, with a smile.
Asie, without its being known to Contenson and Peyrade, had been asked by Madame du Val-Noble to come and help her cook. As they sat down to table, Peyrade, who had given Madame du Val-Noble five hundred francs that the thing might be well done, found under his napkin a scrap of paper on which these words were written in pencil, "The ten days are up at the moment when you sit down to supper."
Peyrade handed the paper to Contenson, who was standing behind him, saying in English: "Did you put my name here?"
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