he had ruined himself by heavy speculation. Sometimes it was held that
he was one of those petty gamblers who nightly play for small stakes
until they win a few francs. A theory that he was a detective in the
employ of the Home Office found favor at one time, but Vautrin urged
that "Goriot was not sharp enough for one of that sort." There were
yet other solutions; Father Goriot was a skinflint, a shark of a
money-lender, a man who lived by selling lottery tickets. He was by
turns all the most mysterious brood of vice and shame and misery; yet,
however vile his life might be, the feeling of repulsion which he
aroused in others was not so strong that he must be banished from
their society--he paid his way. Besides, Goriot had his uses, every
one vented his spleen or sharpened his wit on him; he was pelted with
jokes and belabored with hard words. The general consensus of opinion
was in favor of a theory which seemed the most likely; this was Mme.
Vauquer's view. According to her, the man so well preserved at his
time of life, as sound as her eyesight, with whom a woman might be
very happy, was a libertine who had strange tastes. These are the
facts upon which Mme. Vauquer's slanders were based.

Early one morning, some few months after the departure of the unlucky
Countess who had managed to live for six months at the widow's
expense, Mme. Vauquer (not yet dressed) heard the rustle of a silk
dress and a young woman's light footstep on the stair; some one was
going to Goriot's room. He seemed to expect the visit, for his door
stood ajar. The portly Sylvie presently came up to tell her mistress
that a girl too pretty to be honest, "dressed like a goddess," and not
a speck of mud on her laced cashmere boots, had glided in from the
street like a snake, had found the kitchen, and asked for M. Goriot's
room. Mme. Vauquer and the cook, listening, overheard several words
affectionately spoken during the visit, which lasted for some time.