“Well,” cried Peyrade, “and what is she like?”
“Oh,” said Contenson, “he said but one word—‘A sun of loveliness.’”
“We are being tricked by some rascals who beat us at the game,” said Peyrade. “Those villains mean to sell their woman very dear to the Baron.”
“Ja, mein Herr,” said Contenson. “And so, when I heard you got slapped in the face at the Prefecture, I made Georges blab.”
“I should like very much to know who it is that has stolen a march on me,” said Peyrade. “We would measure our spurs!”
“We must play eavesdropper,” said Contenson.
“He is right,” said Peyrade. “We must get into chinks to listen, and wait——”
“We will study that side of the subject,” cried Corentin. “For the present, I am out of work. You, Peyrade, be a very good boy. We must always obey Monsieur le Prefet!”
“Monsieur de Nucingen wants bleeding,” said Contenson; “he has too many banknotes in his veins.”
“But it was Lydie’s marriage-portion I looked for there!” said Peyrade, in a whisper to Corentin.