If ever you explore a Parisian woman's heart, you will
find the money-lender first, and the lover afterwards. Your countess
is called Anastasie de Restaud, and she lives in the Rue du Helder."
The student stared hard at Vautrin. Father Goriot raised his head at
the words, and gave the two speakers a glance so full of intelligence
and uneasiness that the lodgers beheld him with astonishment.
"Then Christophe was too late, and she must have gone to him!" cried
Goriot, with anguish in his voice.
"It is just as I guessed," said Vautrin, leaning over to whisper in
Mme. Vauquer's ear.
Goriot went on with his breakfast, but seemed unconscious of what he
was doing. He had never looked more stupid nor more taken up with his
own thoughts than he did at that moment.
"Who the devil could have told you her name, M. Vautrin?" asked
Eugene.
"Aha! there you are!" answered Vautrin. "Old Father Goriot there knew
it quite well! and why should I not know it too?"
"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.
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