Esther’s coachman was Paccard—­for her household had been made up in five days by Asie, Europe, and Paccard under Carlos’ instructions, and in such a way that the house in the Rue Saint-Georges was an impregnable fortress.

Peyrade, on his part, prompted by deep hatred, by the thirst for vengeance, and, above all, by his wish to see his darling Lydie married, made the Champs-Elysees the end of his walks as soon as he heard from Contenson that Monsieur de Nucingen’s mistress might be seen there.  Peyrade could dress so exactly like an Englishman, and spoke French so perfectly with the mincing accent that the English give the language; he knew England itself so well, and was so familiar with all the customs of the country, having been sent to England by the police authorities three times between 1779 and 1786, that he could play his part in London and at ambassadors’ residences without awaking suspicion.  Peyrade, who had some resemblance to Musson the famous juggler, could disguise himself so effectually that once Contenson did not recognize him.

Followed by Contenson dressed as a mulatto, Peyrade examined Esther and her servants with an eye which, seeming heedless, took everything in.  Hence it quite naturally happened that in the side alley where the carriage-company walk in fine dry weather, he was on the spot one day when Esther met Madame du Val-Noble.  Peyrade, his mulatto in livery at his heels, was airing himself quite naturally, like a nabob who is thinking of no one but himself, in a line with the two women, so as to catch a few words of their conversation.

“Well, my dear child,” said Esther to Madame du Val-Noble, “come and see me.  Nucingen owes it to himself not to leave his stockbroker’s mistress without a sou——­”

“All the more so because it is said that he ruined Falleix,” remarked Theodore Gaillard, “and that we have every right to squeeze him.”

“He dines with me to-morrow,” said Esther; “come and meet him.”  Then she added in an undertone: 

“I can do what I like with him, and as yet he has not that!” and she put the nail of a gloved finger under the prettiest of her teeth with the click that is familiarly known to express with peculiar energy:  “Just nothing.”

“You have him safe——­”

“My dear, as yet he has only paid my debts.”

“How mean!” cried Suzanne du Val-Noble.

“Oh!” said Esther, “I had debts enough to frighten a minister of finance.  Now, I mean to have thirty thousand a year before the first stroke of midnight.  Oh! he is excellent, I have nothing to complain of.  He does it well.—­In a week we give a house-warming; you must come.—­That morning he is to make me a present of the lease of the house in the Rue Saint-Georges.  In decency, it is impossible to live in such a house on less than thirty thousand francs a year—­of my own, so as to have them safe in case of accident.  I have known poverty, and I want no more of it.  There are certain acquaintances one has had enough of at once.”