rring
to the Simeuse case. (In _Une Tenebreuse affaire_.) "But come,
Contenson, what is going on?"

"This is what is going on," said Contenson. "I made Georges blab by
getting him to treat me to an endless series of liqueurs of every
color--I left him tipsy; I must be as full as a still myself!--Our Baron
has been to the Rue Taitbout, crammed with Pastilles du Serail. There he
found the fair one you know of; but--a good joke! The English beauty is
not his fair unknown!--And he has spent thirty thousand francs to bribe
the lady's-maid, a piece of folly!

"That creature thinks itself a great man because it does mean things
with great capital. Reverse the proposition, and you have the problem
of which a man of genius is the solution.--The Baron came home in a
pitiable condition. Next day Georges, to get his finger in the pie, said
to his master:

"'Why, Monsieur le Baron, do you employ such blackguards? If you would
only trust to me, I would find the unknown lady, for your description
of her is enough. I shall turn Paris upside down.'--'Go ahead,' says the
Baron; 'I shall reward you handsomely!'--Georges told me the whole story
with the most absurd details. But--man is born to be rained upon!

"Next day the Baron received an anonymous letter something to this
effect: 'Monsieur de Nucingen is dying of love for an unknown lady; he
has already spent a great deal utterly in vain; if he will repair at
midnight to the end of the Neuilly Bridge, and get into the carriage
behind which the chasseur he saw at Vincennes will be standing, allowing
himself to be blindfolded, he will see the woman he loves. As his wealth
may lead him to suspect the intentions of persons who proceed in such
a fashion, he may bring, as an escort, his faithful Georges. And there
will be nobody in the carriage.'--Off the Baron goes, taking Georges
with him, but telling him nothing. They both submit to have their eyes
bound up and their heads wrapped in veils; the Baron recognizes the
man-servant.

"Two hours later, the carriage, going at the pace of Louis XVIII.--God
rest his soul! He knew what was meant by the police, he did!--pulled up
in the middle of a wood. The Baron had the handkerchief off, and saw, in
a carriage standing still, his adored fair--when, whiff! she vanished.
And the carriage, at the same lively pace, brought him back to the
Neuilly Bridge, where he found his own.

"Some one had slipped into Georges' hand a note to this effect: 'H