“No, a piece of idiocy.  Baron de Nucingen, you know, the old certified swindler, is neighing after a woman he saw in the Bois de Vincennes, and she has got to be found, or he will die of love.—­They had a consultation of doctors yesterday, by what his man tells me.—­I have already eased him of a thousand francs under pretence of seeking the fair one.”

And Contenson related Nucingen’s meeting with Esther, adding that the Baron had now some further information.

“All right,” said Peyrade, “we will find his Dulcinea; tell the Baron to come to-night in a carriage to the Champs-Elysees—­the corner of the Avenue de Gabriel and the Allee de Marigny.”

Peyrade saw Contenson out, and knocked at his daughter’s rooms, as he always knocked to be let in.  He was full of glee; chance had just offered the means, at last, of getting the place he longed for.

He flung himself into a deep armchair, after kissing Lydie on the forehead, and said: 

“Play me something.”

Lydie played him a composition for the piano by Beethoven.

“That is very well played, my pet,” said he, taking Lydie on his knees.  “Do you know that we are one-and-twenty years old?  We must get married soon, for our old daddy is more than seventy——­”

“I am quite happy here,” said she.

“You love no one but your ugly old father?” asked Peyrade.

“Why, whom should I love?”

“I am dining at home, my darling; go and tell Katt.  I am thinking of settling, of getting an appointment, and finding a husband worthy of you; some good young man, very clever, whom you may some day be proud of——­”

“I have never seen but one yet that I should have liked for a husband——­”

“You have seen one then?”

“Yes, in the Tuileries,” replied Lydie.  “He walked past me; he was giving his arm to the Comtesse de Serizy.”

“And his name is?”

“Lucien de Rubempre.—­I was sitting with Katt under a lime-tree, thinking of nothing.  There were two ladies sitting by me, and one said to the other, ’There are Madame de Serizy and that handsome Lucien de Rubempre.’—­I looked at the couple that the two ladies were watching.  ‘Oh, my dear!’ said the other, ’some women are very lucky!  That woman is allowed to do everything she pleases just because she was a de Ronquerolles, and her husband is in power.’—­’But, my dear,’ said the other lady, ’Lucien costs her very dear.’—­What did she mean, papa?”

“Just nonsense, such as people of fashion will talk,” replied Peyrade, with an air of perfect candor.  “Perhaps they were alluding to political matters.”

“Well, in short, you asked me a question, so I answer you.  If you want me to marry, find me a husband just like that young man.”

“Silly child!” replied her father.  “The fact that a man is handsome is not always a sign of goodness.  Young men gifted with an attractive appearance meet with no obstacles at the beginning of life, so they make no use of any talent; they are corrupted by the advances made to them by society, and they have to pay interest later for their attractiveness!—­What I should like for you is what the middle classes, the rich, and the fools leave unholpen and unprotected——­”