"To-morrow I shall not breakfast here. I am going out, like your
authors, at cock-crow."

Godefroid's antecedents, his life as a man of the world and a
journalist, served him in this, that he felt quite sure, unless he took
this tone, that Barbet's spy would warn the old publisher of danger,
and probably lead to active measures under which Monsieur Bernard would
before long be arrested; whereas, if he left the trio of harpies to
suppose that their scheme ran no risk of defeat, they would keep quiet.

But Godefroid did not yet know Parisian human nature when embodied in
a Vauthier. That woman resolved to have Godefroid's money and Barbet's
too. She instantly ran off to her proprietor, while Godefroid changed
his clothes in order to present himself properly before the daughter of
Monsieur Bernard.

XV. AN EVENING WITH VANDA

Eight o'clock was striking from the convent of the Visitation, the clock
of the quarter, when the inquisitive Godefroid tapped gently at his
neighbor's door. Auguste opened it. As it happened to be a Saturday, the
young lad had his evening to himself. Godefroid beheld him in a little
sack-coat of black velvet, a blue silk cravat, and black trousers. But
his surprise at the youth's appearance, so different from that of this
outside life, ceased as soon as he had entered the invalid's chamber. He
then understood the reason why both father and son were well dressed.

For a moment the contrast between the squalor of the other rooms, as he
had seen them that morning, and the luxury of this chamber, was so great
that Godefroid was dazzled, though habituated for years to the luxury
and elegance procured by wealth.

The walls of the room were hung with yellow silk, relieved by twisted
fringes of a bright green, giving a gay and cheerful aspect to the
chamber, the cold tiled floor of which was hidden by a moquette carpet
with a white ground strewn with flowers. The windows, draped by handsome
curtains lined with white silk, were like conservatories, so full were
they of plants in flower. The blinds were lowered, which prevented this
luxury, so rare in that quarter of the town, from being seen from the
street. The woodwork was painted in white enamel, touched up, here and
there, by a few gold lines.

At the door was a heavy portiere, embroidered by hand with fantastic
foliage on a yellow ground, so thick that all sounds from without were
stifled. This magnificent curtain was made by the sick woman