“And who knew the Père Goriot and Vautrin?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“You exist, then?” I stupidly inquired.
M. de Rastignac began to smile.
“Do you think that I present the appearance of a phantom?” he asked, as he gracefully twirled his moustache.
“Sir,” I said, “I can readily understand that M. de Balzac should have borrowed your personality and extracted a great deal therefrom for the edification of his readers; but that he should have taken your name!—that, indeed, is something that I cannot believe.”
“I had authorized him so to do.”
“You?”
“Not only I did so, but all my friends did the same.”
“All, you say?”