francs　a　year　for　him。　Misfortune　had　accustomed　Eugene　de
  Rastignac；　for　that　was　his　name；　to　work。　He　belonged　to　the
  number　of　young　men　who　know　as　children　that　their　parents'
  hopes　are　centered　on　them；　and　deliberately　prepare　themselves
  for　a　great　career；　subordinating　their　studies　from　the　first　to
  this　end；　carefully　watching　the　indications　of　the　course　of
  events；　calculating　the　probable　turn　that　affairs　will　take；
  that　they　may　be　the　first　to　profit　by　them。　But　for　his
  observant　curiosity；　and　the　skill　with　which　he　managed　to
  introduce　himself　into　the　salons　of　Paris；　this　story　would　not
  have　been　colored　by　the　tones　of　truth　which　it　certainly　owes
  to　him；　for　they　are　entirely　due　to　his　penetrating　sagacity　and
  desire　to　fathom　the　mysteries　of　an　appalling　condition　of
  things；　which　was　concealed　as　carefully　by　the　victim　as　by
  those　who　had　brought　it　to　pass。
  Above　the　third　story　there　was　a　garret　where　the　linen　was　hung
  to　dry；　and　a　couple　of　attics。　Christophe；　the　man…of…all…work；
  slept　in　one；　and　Sylvie；　the　stout　cook；　in　the　other。　Beside
  the　seven　inmates　thus　enumerated；　taking　one　year　with　another；
  some　eight　law　or　medical　students　dined　in　the　house；　as　well　as
  two　or　three　regular　comers　who　lived　in　the　neighborhood。　There
  were　usually　eighteen　people　at　dinner；　and　there　was　room；　if
  need　be；　for　twenty　at　Mme。　Vauquer's　table；　at　breakfast；
  however；　only　the　seven　lodgers　appeared。　It　was　almost　like　a
  family　party。　Every　one　came　down　in　dressing…gown　and　slippers；
  and　the　conversation　usually　turned　on　anything　that　had　happened
  the　evening　before；　comments　on　the　dress　or　appearance　of　the
  dinner　contingent　were　exchanged　in　friendly　confidence。
  These　seven　lodgers　were　Mme。　Vauquer's　spoiled　children。　Among
  them　she　distributed；　with　astronomical　precision；　the　exact
  proportion　of　respect　and　attention　due　to　the　varying　amounts
  they　paid　for　their　board。　One　single　consideration　influenced
  all　these　human　beings　thrown　together　by　chance。　The　two　second…
  floor　lodgers　only　paid　seventy…two　francs　a　month。　Such　prices
  as　these　are　confined　to　the　Faubourg　Saint…Marcel　and　the
  district　between　La　Bourbe　and　the　Salpetriere；　and；　as　might　be
  expected；　poverty；　more　or　less　apparent；　weighed　upon　them　all；
  Mme。　Couture　being　the　sole　exception　to　the　rule。
  The　dreary　surroundings　were　reflected　in　the　costumes　of　the
  inmates　of　the　house；　all　were　alike　threadbare。　The　color　of　the
  men's　coats　were　problematical；　such　shoes；　in　more　fashionable
  quarters；　are　only　to　be　seen　lying　in　the　gutter；　the　cuffs　and
  collars　were　worn　and　frayed　at　the　edges；　every　limp　article　of
  clothing　looked　like　the　ghost　of　its　former　self。　The　women's
  dresses　were　faded；　old…fashioned；　dyed　and　re…dyed；　they　wore
  gloves　that　were　glazed　with　hard　wear；　much…mended　lace；　dingy
  ruffles；　crumpled　muslin　fichus。　So　much　for　their　clothing；　but；
  for　the　most　part；　their　frames　were　solid　enough；　their
  constitutions　had　weathered　the　storms　of　life；　their　cold；　hard
  faces　were　worn　like　coins　that　have　been　withdrawn　from
  circulation；　but　there　were　greedy　teeth　behind　the　withered
  lips。　Dramas　brought　to　a　close　or　still　in　progress　are
  foreshadowed　by　the　sight　of　such　actors　as　these；　not　the　dramas
  that　are　played　before　the　footlights　and　against　a　background　of
  painted　canvas；　but　dumb　dramas　of　life；　frost…bound　dramas　that
  sere　hearts　like　fire；　dramas　that　do　not　end　with　the　actors'
  lives。
  Mlle。　Michonneau；　that　elderly　young　lady；　screened　her　weak　eyes
  from　the　daylight　by　a　soiled　green　silk　shade　with　a　rim　of
  brass；　an　object　fit　to　scare　away　the　Angel　of　Pity　himself。　Her
  shawl；　with　its　scanty；　draggled　fringe；　might　have　covered　a
  skeleton；　so　meagre　and　angular　was　the　form　beneath　it。　Yet　she
  must　have　been　pretty　and　shapely　once。　What　corrosive　had
  destroyed　the　feminine　outlines？　Was　it　trouble；　or　vice；　or
  greed？　Had　she　loved　too　well？　Had　she　been　a　second…hand　clothes
  dealer；　a　frequenter　of　the　backstairs　of　great　houses；　or　had
  she　been　merely　a　courtesan？　Was　she　expiating　the　flaunting
  triumphs　of　a　youth　overcrowded　with　pleasures　by　an　old　age　in
  which　she　was　shunned　by　every　passer…by？　Her　vacant　gaze　sent　a
  chill　through　you；　her　shriveled　face　seemed　like　a　menace。　Her
  voice　was　like　the　shrill；　thin　note　of　the　grasshopper　sounding
  from　the　thicket　when　winter　is　at　hand。　She　said　that　she　had
  nursed　an　old　gentleman；　ill　of　catarrh　of　the　bladder；　and　left
  to　die　by　his　children；　who　thought　that　he　had　nothing　left。　His
  bequest　to　her；　a　life　annuity　of　a　thousand　francs；　was
  periodically　disputed　by　his　heirs；　who　mingled　slander　with
  their　persecutions。　In　spite　of　the　ravages　of　conflicting
  passions；　her　face　retained　some　traces　of　its　former　fairness
  and　fineness　of　tissue；　some　vestiges　of　the　physical　charms　of
  her　youth　still　survived。
  M。　Poiret　was　a　sort　of　automaton。　He　might　be　seen　any　day
  sailing　like　a　gray　shadow　along　the　walks　of　the　Jardin　des
  Plantes；　on　his　head　a　shabby　cap；　a　cane　with　an　old　yellow
  ivory　handle　in　the　tips　of　his　thin　fingers；　the　outspread
  skirts　of　his　threadbare　overcoat　failed　to　conceal　his　meagre
  figure；　his　breeches　hung　loosely　on　his　shrunken　limbs；　the
  thin；　blue…stockinged　legs　trembled　like　those　of　a　drunken　man；
  there　was　a　notable　breach　of　continuity　between　the　dingy　white
  waistcoat　and　crumpled　shirt　frills　and　the　cravat　twisted　about
  a　throat　like　a　turkey　gobbler's；　altogether；　his　appearance　set
  people　wondering　whether　this　outlandish　ghost　belonged　to　the
  audacious　race　of　the　sons　of　Japhet　who　flutter　about　on　the
  Boulevard　Italien。　What　devouring　kind　of　toil　could　have　so
  shriveled　him？　What　devouring　passions　had　darkened　that　bulbous
  countenance；　which　would　have　seemed　outrageous　as　a　caricature？
  What　had　he　been？　Well；　perhaps　he　had　been　part　of　the　machinery
  of　justice；　a　clerk　in　the　office　to　which　the　executioner　sends
  in　his　accounts；so　much　for　providing　black　veils　for
  parricides；　so　much　for　sawdust；　so　much　for　pulleys　and　cord　for
  the　knife。　Or　he　might　have　been　a　receiver　at　the　door　of　a
  public　slaughter…house；　or　a　sub…inspector　of　nuisances。　Indeed；
  the　man　appeared　to　have　been　one　of　the　beasts　of　burden　in　our
  great　social　mill；　one　of　those　Parisian　Ratons　whom　their
  Bertrands　do　not　even　know　by　sight；　a　pivot　in　the　obscure
  machinery　that　disposes　of　misery　and　things　unclean；　one　of
  those　men；　in　short；　at　sight　of　whom　we　are　prompted　to　remark
  that；　〃After　all；　we　cannot　do　without　them。〃
  Stately　Paris　ignores　the　existence　of　these　faces　bleached　by
  moral　or　physical　suffering；　but；　then；　Paris　is　in　truth　an
  ocean　that　no　line　can　plumb。　You　may　survey　its　surface　and
  describe　it；　but　no　matter　how　numerous　and　painstaking　the
  toilers　in　this　sea；　there　will　always　be　lonely　and　unexplored
  regions　in　its　depths；　caverns　unknown；　flowers　and　pearls　and
  monsters　of　the　deep　overlooked　or　forgotten　by　the　divers　of
  literature。　The　Maison　Vauquer　is　one　of　these　curious
  monstrosities。
  Two；　however；　of　Mme。　Vauquer's　boarders　formed　a　striking
  contrast　to　the　rest。　There　was　a　sickly　pallor；　such　as　is　often
  seen　in　anaemic　girls；　in　Mlle。　Victorine　Taillefer's　face；　and
  her　unvarying　expression　of　sadness；　like　her　embarrassed　manner
  and　pinched　look；　was　in　keeping　with　the　general　wretchedness　of
  the　establishment　in　the　Rue　Nueve…Saint…Genevieve；　which　forms　a
  background　to　this　picture；　but　her　face　was　young；　there　was
  youthfulness　in　her　voice　and　elasticity　in　her　movements。　This
  young　misfortune　was　not　unlike　a　shrub；　newly　planted　in　an
  uncongenial　soil；　where　its　leaves　have　already　begun　to　wither。
  The　outlines　of　her　figure；　revealed　by　her　dress　of　the　simplest
  and　cheapest　materials；　were　also　youthful。　There　was　the　same
  kind　of　charm　about　her　too　slender　form；　her　faintly　colored
  face　and　light…brown　hair；　that　modern　poets　find　in　mediaeval
  statuettes；　and　a　sweet　expression；　a　look　of　Christian
  resignation　in　the　dark　gray　eyes。　She　was　pretty　by　force　of
  contrast；　if　she　had　been　happy；　she　would　have　been　charming。
  Happiness　is　the　poetry　of　woman；　as　the　toilette　is　her　tinsel。
  If　the　delightful　excitement　of　a　ball　had　made　the　pale　face
  glow　with　color；　if　the　delights　of　a　luxurious　life　had　brought
  the　color　to　the　wan　cheeks　that　were　slightly　hollowed　already；
  if　love　had　put　light　into　the　sad　eyes；　then　Victorine　might
  have　ranked　among　the　fairest；　but　she　lacked　the　two　things
  which　create　woman　a　second　timepretty　dresses　and　love…
  letters。
  A　book　might　have　been　made　of　her　story。　Her　father　was
  persuaded　that　he　had　sufficient　reason　for　declining　to
  acknowledge　her；　and　allowed　her　a　bare　six　hundred　francs　a
  year；　he　had　further　taken　measures　to　disinherit　his　daughter；
  and　ha