"Let her alone!" cried the boarders.
Rastignac folded his arms and was silent.
"Let us have no more of Mlle. Judas," said the painter, turning to
Mme. Vauquer. "If you don't show the Michonneau the door, madame, we
shall all leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there
are only convicts and spies left there. If you do the other thing, we
will hold our tongues about the business; for when all is said and
done, it might happen in the best society until they brand them on the
forehead, when they send them to the hulks. They ought not to let
convicts go about Paris disguised like decent citizens, so as to carry
on their antics like a set of rascally humbugs, which they are."
At this Mme. Vauquer recovered miraculously. She sat up and folded her
arms; her eyes were wide open now, and there was no sign of tears in
them.
"Why, do you really mean to be the ruin of my establishment, my dear
sir? There is M. Vautrin----Goodness," she cried, interrupting
herself, "I can't help calling him by the name he passed himself off
by for an honest man! There is one room to let already, and you want
me to turn out two more lodgers in the middle of the season, when no
one is moving----"
"Gentlemen, let us take our hats and go and dine at Flicoteaux's in
the Place Sorbonne," cried Bianchon.
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