I
waited after that to see what Father Goriot would do; it is a comical
affair. He came back to this quarter of the world, to the Rue des
Gres, and went into a money-lender's house; everybody knows him,
Gobseck, a stuck-up rascal, that would make dominoes out of his
father's bones, a Turk, a heathen, an old Jew, a Greek; it would be a
difficult matter to rob _him_, for he puts all his coin into the
Bank."
"Then what was Father Goriot doing there?"
"Doing?" said Vautrin. "Nothing; he was bent on his own undoing. He is
a simpleton, stupid enough to ruin himself by running after----"
"There he is!" cried Sylvie.
"Christophe," cried Father Goriot's voice, "come upstairs with me."
Christophe went up, and shortly afterwards came down again.
"Where are you going?" Mme. Vauquer asked of her servant.
"Out on an errand for M. Goriot."
"What may that be?" said Vautrin, pouncing on a letter in Christophe's
hand. "_Mme. la Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud_," he read. "Where are
you going with it?" he added, as he gave the letter back to
Christophe.
"To the Rue du Helder. I have orders to give this into her hands
myself."
"What is there inside it?" said Vautrin, holding the letter up to the
light.
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