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Updated: April 30, 2025
"M. Goriot?" the student cried. "What is it?" asked the old man. "So she was very beautiful, was she, yesterday night?" "Who?" "Mme. de Restaud." "Look at the old wretch," said Mme. Vauquer, speaking to Vautrin; "how his eyes light up!" "Then does he really keep her?" said Mlle. Michonneau, in a whisper to the student. "Oh! yes, she was tremendously pretty," Eugene answered.
Bianchon, flustered with wine, forgot to open the subject of Trompe-la-Mort with Mlle. Michonneau. The mere mention of the name would have set Vautrin on his guard; for Vautrin, or, to give him his real name, Jacques Collin, was in fact the notorious escaped convict. But it was the joke about the Venus of Pere-Lachaise that finally decided his fate. Mlle.
"Now you will be able to pay for those fencing lessons and go to the shooting gallery," he said. "Your ship has come in," said Mme. Vauquer, eyeing the bags. Mlle. Michonneau did not dare to look at the money, for fear her eyes should betray her cupidity. "You have a kind mother," said Mme. Couture. "You have a kind mother, sir," echoed Poiret.
The head of the department received his visitors courteously. There was a little talk, and the details were definitely arranged. Mlle. Michonneau asked for the draught that she was to administer in order to set about her investigation. But the great man's evident satisfaction set Mlle.
Michonneau. "You see how it is, mademoiselle," Gondureau continued. "The Government may have the strongest reasons for getting this illicit hoard into its hands; it mounts up to something considerable, by all that we can make out. Trompe-la-Mort not only holds large sums for his friends the convicts, but he has other amounts which are paid over to him by the Society of the Ten Thousand "
Wherefore, M. Gondureau, who seemed to know something of human nature, recognized Poiret at once as one of those dupes of officialdom, and brought out for his benefit, at the proper moment, the deus ex machina, the magical words "His Excellency," so as to dazzle Poiret just as he himself unmasked his batteries, for he took Poiret and the Michonneau for the male and female of the same species.
In the twinkling of an eye it was clear that every one in the room, save Poiret, was of the medical student's opinion, so that the latter, strong in the support of the majority, went up to that elderly person. "You are more intimate with Mlle. Michonneau than the rest of us," he said; "speak to her, make her understand that she must go, and go at once." "At once!" echoed Poiret in amazement.
The Savoyard, who was fast asleep, suddenly woke up at this, and said, "Madame," questioningly. "Poor fellow!" said Sylvie, "he is like a dog." "In the dead season, too! Nobody is moving now. I would like to know where the lodgers are to drop down from. It drives me distracted. And that old witch of a Michonneau goes and takes Poiret with her! What can she have done to make him so fond of her?
Michonneau who made all this mischief is to have a thousand crowns a year for it, so I hear," cried Sylvie. "Don't speak of her, she is a wicked woman!" said Mme. Vauquer. "She is going to the Buneaud, who charges less than cost. But the Buneaud is capable of anything; she must have done frightful things, robbed and murdered people in her time.
"Look here," said Bianchon; "if you do not go, all the rest of us will," and the boarders, to a man, made for the sitting-room-door. "Oh! mademoiselle, what is to be done?" cried Mme. Vauquer. "I am a ruined woman. You can't stay here; they will go further, do something violent." Mlle. Michonneau rose to her feet. "She is going! She is not going! She is going! No, she isn't."
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