"You do nothing but make mistakes. Where did you carry those letters I
gave you Saturday?"

Joseph became stolid. Like a statue in some cathedral porch, he stood
motionless, entirely absorbed in the labors of imagination. Suddenly
he smiled idiotically, and said:--

"Monsieur, one was for the Marquise de Listomere, the other was for
Monsieur's lawyer."

"You are certain of what you say?"

Joseph was speechless. I saw plainly that I must interfere, as I
happened to be again in Eugene's apartment.

"Joseph is right," I said.

Eugene turned and looked at me.

"I read the addresses quite involuntarily, and--"

"And," interrupted Eugene, "one of them was _not_ for Madame de
Nucingen?"

"No, by all the devils, it was not. Consequently, I supposed, my dear
fellow, that your heart was wandering from the rue Saint-Lazare to the
rue Saint-Dominique."

Eugene struck his forehead with the flat of his hand and began to
laugh; by which Joseph perceived that the blame was not on him.