could have
betrayed a secret contained in the minds of Contenson, Peyrade, and
Corentin. The old man accused the banker of wishing to avoid paying now
that he had gained his end. A single interview had been enough to enable
him to read the astuteness of this most astute of bankers.

"He tries to compound with every one, even with us; but I will be
revenged," thought the old fellow. "I have never asked a favor of
Corentin; I will ask him now to help me to be revenged on that imbecile
money-box. Curse the Baron!--Well, you will know the stuff I am made
of one fine morning when you find your daughter disgraced!--But does he
love his daughter, I wonder?"

By the evening of the day when this catastrophe had upset the old man's
hopes he had aged by ten years. As he talked to his friend Corentin, he
mingled his lamentations with tears wrung from him by the thought of
the melancholy prospects he must bequeath to his daughter, his idol, his
treasure, his peace-offering to God.

"We will follow the matter up," said Corentin. "First of all, we must
be sure that it was the Baron who peached. Were we wise in enlisting
Gondreville's support? That old rascal owes us too much not to be
anxious to swamp us; indeed, I am keeping an eye on his son-in-law
Keller, a simpleton in politics, and quite capable of meddling in
some conspiracy to overthrow the elder Branch to the advantage of the
younger.--I shall know to-morrow what is going on at Nucingen's, whether
he has seen his beloved, and to whom we owe this sharp pull up.--Do
not be out of heart. In the first place, the Prefet will not hold
his appointment much longer; the times are big with revolution, and
revolutions make good fishing for us."

A peculiar whistle was just then heard in the street.

"That is Contenson," said Peyrade, who put a light in the window, "and
he has something to say that concerns me."

A minute later the faithful Contenson appeared in the presence of the
two gnomes of the police, whom he revered as though they were two genii.

"What is up?" asked Corentin.

"A new thing! I was coming out of 113, where I lost everything, when
whom do I spy under the gallery? Georges! The man has been dismissed by
the Baron, who suspects him of treachery."

"That is the effect of a smile I gave him," said Peyrade.

"Bah! when I think of all the mischief I have known caused by smiles!"
said Corentin.

"To say nothing of that caused by a whip-lash," said Peyrade, refe