fairly by my nickname.--If I had
as much as raised my hand," he went on, addressing the other lodgers,
"those three sneaking wretches yonder would have drawn claret on Mamma
Vauquer's domestic hearth. The rogues have laid their heads together to
set a trap for me."

Mme. Vauquer felt sick and faint at these words.

"Good Lord!" she cried, "this does give one a turn; and me at the Gaite
with him only last night!" she said to Sylvie.

"Summon your philosophy, mamma," Collin resumed. "Is it a misfortune to
have sat in my box at the Gaite yesterday evening? After all, are you
better than we are? The brand upon our shoulders is less shameful than
the brand set on your hearts, you flabby members of a society rotten
to the core. Not the best man among you could stand up to me." His
eyes rested upon Rastignac, to whom he spoke with a pleasant smile
that seemed strangely at variance with the savage expression in his
eyes.--"Our little bargain still holds good, dear boy; you can accept
any time you like! Do you understand?" And he sang:

"A charming girl is my Fanchette
In her simplicity."

"Don't you trouble yourself," he went on; "I can get in my money. They
are too much afraid of me to swindle me."

The convicts' prison, its language and customs, its sudden sharp
transitions from the humorous to the horrible, its appalling grandeur,
its triviality and its dark depths, were all revealed in turn by the
speaker's discourse; he seemed to be no longer a man, but the type and
mouthpiece of a degenerate race, a brutal, supple, clear-headed race of
savages. In one moment Collin became the poet of an inferno, wherein all
thoughts and passions that move human nature (save repentance) find a
place. He looked about him like a fallen archangel who is for war to the
end. Rastignac lowered his eyes, and acknowledged this kinship claimed
by crime as an expiation of his own evil thoughts.

"Who betrayed me?" said Collin, and his terrible eyes traveled round the
room. Suddenly they rested on Mlle. Michonneau.

"It was you, old cat!" he said. "That sham stroke of apoplexy was your
doing, lynx eyes!... Two words from me, and your throat would be cut in
less than a week, but I forgive you, I am a Christian. You did not sell
me either. But who did?----Aha! you may rummage upstairs," he shouted,
hearing the police officers opening his cupboards and taking possession
of his effects. "The nest is empty, the birds flew away yesterda