"Do you know your Balzac?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said Paul.

"I wonder if you do," said Colonel Winwood. "I'm rather a Balzacian
myself."

"I can't say I've read all Balzac. That's a colossal order," said
Paul, rather excited-for, in his limited acquaintance with
cultivated folk, Colonel Winwood was the only human being who could
claim acquaintance with one of the literary gods of his idolatry--
"but I know him pretty well. I can't stand his 'Theatre'--that's
footle--but the big things--'Le Pere Goriot,' 'La Cousine Bette,'
'Cesar Birotteau'--what a great book 'Cesar Birotteau' is!--"

"You're right," said Colonel Winwood, forgetful of any possible
barriers between himself and the young enthusiast. "It's one of the
four or five great books, and very few people recognize it."

"'Le Lys dans la Vallee,'" said Paul.

"There's another--"

And they talked for half an hour of the Baron Nucingen, and
Rastignac, and Hulot, and Bixiou, and Lousteau, and Gobsec, and
Gaudissart, and Vautrin, and many another vivid personage in the
human comedy.

"That man could have gone on writing for a hundred years," cried