"There is a wonderful history in it," said the house student of the
Hopital Cochin. "Young Taillefer called out Count Franchessini, of the
Old Guard, and the Count put a couple of inches of steel into his
forehead. And here is little Victorine one of the richest heiresses in
Paris! If we had known that, eh? What a game of chance death is! They
say Victorine was sweet on you; was there any truth in it?"
"Shut up, Bianchon; I shall never marry her. I am in love with a
charming woman, and she is in love with me, so----"
"You said that as if you were screwing yourself up to be faithful to
her. I should like to see the woman worth the sacrifice of Master
Taillefer's money!"
"Are all the devils of hell at my heels?" cried Rastignac.
"What is the matter with you? Are you mad? Give us your hand," said
Bianchon, "and let me feel your pulse. You are feverish."
"Just go to Mother Vauquer's," said Rastignac; "that scoundrel Vautrin
has dropped down like one dead."
"Aha!" said Bianchon, leaving Rastignac to his reflections, "you
confirm my suspicions, and now I mean to make sure for myself."
The law student's long walk was a memorable one for him.
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