When M. Goriot went downstairs with the lady, the stout Sylvie
forthwith took her basket and followed the lover-like couple, under
pretext of going to do her marketing.

"M. Goriot must be awfully rich, all the same, madame," she reported
on her return, "to keep her in such style. Just imagine it! There was
a splendid carriage waiting at the corner of the Place de l'Estrapade,
and _she_ got into it."

While they were at dinner that evening, Mme. Vauquer went to the
window and drew the curtain, as the sun was shining into Goriot's
eyes.

"You are beloved of fair ladies, M. Goriot--the sun seeks you out,"
she said, alluding to his visitor. "_Peste!_ you have good taste; she
was very pretty."

"That was my daughter," he said, with a kind of pride in his voice,
and the rest chose to consider this as the fatuity of an old man who
wishes to save appearances.

A month after this visit M. Goriot received another. The same daughter
who had come to see him that morning came again after dinner, this
time in evening dress. The boarders, in deep discussion in the
dining-room, caught a glimpse of a lovely, fair-haired woman, slender,
graceful, and much too distinguished-looking to be a daughter of
Father Goriot's.

"Two of them!" cried the portly Sylvie, who did not recognize the lady
of the first visit.