These were the events which had led three men, so clever, each in his way, as Jacques Collin, Peyrade, and Corentin, to a hand-to-hand fight on the same ground, each exerting his talents in a struggle for his own passions or interests. It was one of those obscure but terrible conflicts on which are expended in marches and countermarches, in strategy, skill, hatred, and vexation, the powers that might make a fine fortune. Men and means were kept absolutely secret by Peyarde, seconded in this business by his friend Corentin--a business they thought but a trifle. And so, as to them, history is silent, as it is on the true causes of many revolutions. But this was the result. Five days after Monsieur de Nucingen’s interview with Peyrade in the Champs Elysees, a man of about fifty called in the morning, stepping out of a handsome cab, and flinging the reins to his servant. He had the dead-white complexion which a life in the “world” gives to diplomates, was dressed in blue cloth, and had a general air of fashion--almost that of a Minister of State. He inquired of the servant who sat on a bench on the steps whether the Baron de Nucingen were at home; and the man respectfully threw open the splendid plate-glass doors. “Your name, sir?” said the footman. “Tell the Baron that I have come from the Avenue Gabriel,” said Corentin. “If anybody is with him, be sure not to say so too loud, or you will find yourself out of place!” A minute later the man came back and led Corentin by the back passages to the Baron’s private room. Corentin and the banker exchanged impenetrable glances, and both bowed politely. “Monsieur le Baron,” said Corentin, “I come in the name of Peyrade----” “Ver’ gott!” said the Baron, fastening the bolts of both doors. “Monsieur de Rubempre’s mistress lives in the Rue Taitbout, in the apartment formerly occupied by Mademoiselle de Bellefeuille, M. de Granville’s ex-mistress--the Attorney-General----” “Vat, so near to me?” exclaimed the Baron. “Dat is ver’ strange.” “I can quite understand your being crazy about that splendid creature; it was a pleasure to me to look at her,” replied Corentin. “Lucien is so jealous of the girl that he never allows her to be seen; and she loves him devotedly; for in four years, since she succeeded la Bellefeuille in those rooms, inheriting her furniture and her profession, neither the neighbors, nor the porter, nor the other tenants in the house have ever set eyes on her. My lady never stirs out but at night. When she sets out, the blinds of the carriage are pulled down, and she is closely veiled.