Mme. Vauquer (nee de Conflans) is an elderly person, who for the pastforty years has kept a lodging-house in the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve,in the district that lies between the Latin Quarter and the FaubourgSaint-Marcel. Her house (known in the neighborhood as the MaisonVauquer) receives men and women, old and young, and no word has everbeen breathed against her respectable establishment; but, at the sametime, it must be said that as a matter of fact no young woman has beenunder her roof for thirty years, and that if a young man stays there forany length of time it is a sure sign that his allowance must be of theslenderest. In 1819, however, the time when this drama opens, there wasan almost penniless young girl among Mme. Vauquer's boarders.That word drama has been somewhat discredited of late; it has beenoverworked and twisted to strange uses in these days of dolorousliterature; but it must do service again here, not because this story isdramatic in the restricted sense of the word, but because some tears mayperhaps be shed intra et extra muros before it is over.Will any one without the walls of Paris understand it? It is open todoubt. The only audience who could appreciate the results of closeobservation, the careful reproduction of minute detail and local color,are dwellers between the heights of Montrouge and Montmartre, in a valeof crumbling stucco watered by streams of black mud, a vale of sorrowswhich are real and joys too often hollow; but this audience is soaccustomed to terrible sensations, that only some unimaginable andwell-neigh impossible woe could produce any lasting impression there.Now and again there are tragedies so awful and so grand by reason of thecomplication of virtues and vices that bring them about, that egotismand selfishness are forced to pause and are moved to pity; but theimpression that they receive is like a luscious fruit, soon consumed.Civilization, like the car of Juggernaut, is scarcely stayed perceptiblyin its progress by a heart less easy to break than the others that liein its course; this also is broken, and Civilization continues on hercourse triumphant. And you, too, will do the like; you who with thisbook in your white hand will sink back among the cushions of yourarmchair, and say to yourself, "Perhaps this may amuse me." You willread the story of Father Goriot's secret woes, and, dining thereafterwith an unspoiled appetite, will lay the blame of your insensibilityupon the writer, and accuse him of exaggeration, of writing romances.Ah! once for all, this drama is neither a fiction nor a romance! All istrue,--so true, that every one can discern the elements of the tragedyin his own house, perhaps in his own heart.The lodging-house is Mme. Vauquer's own property. It is still standingin the lower end of the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, just where the roadslopes so sharply down to the Rue de l'Arbalete, that wheeled trafficseldom passes that way, because it is so stony and steep. This positionis sufficient to account for the silence prevalent in the streets shutin between the dome of the Pantheon and the dome of the Val-de-Grace,two conspicuous public buildings which give a yellowish tone to thelandscape and darken the whole district that lies beneath the shadow oftheir leaden-hued cupolas.In that district the pavements are clean and dry, there is neither mudnor water in the gutters, grass grows in the chinks of the walls. Themost heedless passer-by feels the depressing influences of a place wherethe sound of wheels creates a sensation; there is a grim look about thehouses, a suggestion of a jail about those high garden walls. A Parisianstraying into a suburb apparently composed of lodging-houses and publicinstitutions would see poverty and dullness, old age lying down to die,and joyous youth condemned to drudgery. It is the ugliest quarter ofParis, and, it may be added, the least known. But, before all things,the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve is like a bronze frame for a picture forwhich the mind cannot be too well prepared by the contemplation of sadhues and sober images. Even so, step by step the daylight decreases,and the cicerone's droning voice grows hollower as the traveler descendsinto the Catacombs. The comparison holds good! Who shall say which ismore ghastly, the sight of the bleached skulls or of dried-up humanhearts?
The front of the lodging-house is at right angles to the road, andlooks out upon a little garden, so that you see the side of the housein section, as it were, from the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. Beneath thewall of the house front there lies a channel, a fathom wide, paved withcobble-stones, and beside it runs a graveled walk bordered by geraniumsand oleanders and pomegranates set in great blue and white glazedearthenware pots. Access into the graveled walk is afforded by a door,above which the words MAISON VAUQUER may be read, and beneath, in rathersmaller letters, "Lodgings for both sexes, etc."During the day a glimpse into the garden is easily obtained through awicket to which a bell is attached. On the opposite wall, at the furtherend of the graveled walk, a green marble arch was painted once upona time by a local artist, and in this semblance of a shrine a statuerepresenting Cupid is installed; a Parisian Cupid, so blistered anddisfigured that he looks like a candidate for one of the adjacenthospitals, and might suggest an allegory to lovers of symbolism. Thehalf-obliterated inscription on the pedestal beneath determines the dateof this work of art, for it bears witness to the widespread enthusiasmfelt for Voltaire on his return to Paris in 1777:"Whoe'er thou art, thy master see;He is, or was, or ought to be."At night the wicket gate is replaced by a solid door. The little gardenis no wider than the front of the house; it is shut in between the wallof the street and the partition wall of the neighboring house. A mantleof ivy conceals the bricks and attracts the eyes of passers-by to aneffect which is picturesque in Paris, for each of the walls is coveredwith trellised vines that yield a scanty dusty crop of fruit, andfurnish besides a subject of conversation for Mme. Vauquer and herlodgers; every year the widow trembles for her vintage.A straight path beneath the walls on either side of the garden leads toa clump of lime-trees at the further end of it; line-trees, as Mme.Vauquer persists in calling them, in spite of the fact that she was a deConflans, and regardless of repeated corrections from her lodgers.The central space between the walls is filled with artichokes androws of pyramid fruit-trees, and surrounded by a border of lettuce,pot-herbs, and parsley. Under the lime-trees there are a fewgreen-painted garden seats and a wooden table, and hither, during thedog-days, such of the lodgers as are rich enough to indulge in a cupof coffee come to take their pleasure, though it is hot enough to roasteggs even in the shade.The house itself is three stories high, without counting the atticsunder the roof. It is built of rough stone, and covered with theyellowish stucco that gives a mean appearance to almost every house inParis. There are five windows in each story in the front of the house;all the blinds visible through the small square panes are drawn up awry,so that the lines are all at cross purposes. At the side of the housethere are but two windows on each floor, and the lowest of all areadorned with a heavy iron grating.Behind the house a yard extends for some twenty feet, a space inhabitedby a happy family of pigs, poultry, and rabbits; the wood-shed issituated on the further side, and on the wall between the wood-shed andthe kitchen window hangs the meat-safe, just above the place where thesink discharges its greasy streams. The cook sweeps all the refuseout through a little door into the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, andfrequently cleanses the yard with copious supplies of water, under painof pestilence.The house might have been built on purpose for its present uses. Accessis given by a French window to the first room on the ground floor, asitting-room which looks out upon the street through the two barredwindows already mentioned. Another door opens out of it into thedining-room, which is separated from the kitchen by the well of thestaircase, the steps being constructed partly of wood, partly of tiles,which are colored and beeswaxed. Nothing can be more depressing thanthe sight of that sitting-room. The furniture is covered with horse hairwoven in alternate dull and glossy stripes. There is a round table inthe middle, with a purplish-red marble top, on which there stands, byway of ornament, the inevitable white china tea-service, covered witha half-effaced gilt network. The floor is sufficiently uneven, thewainscot rises to elbow height, and the rest of the wall space isdecorated with a varnished paper, on which the principal scenes fromTelemaque are depicted, the various classical personages beingcolored. The subject between the two windows is the banquet given byCalypso to the son of Ulysses, displayed thereon for the admiration ofthe boarders, and has furnished jokes these forty years to the youngmen who show themselves superior to their position by making fun of thedinners to which poverty condemns them. The hearth is always so cleanand neat that it is evident that a fire is only kindled there on greatoccasions; the stone chimney-piece is adorned by a couple of vasesfilled with faded artificial flowers imprisoned under glass shades, oneither side of a bluish marble clock in the very worst taste.The first room exhales an odor for which there is no name in thelanguage, and which should be called the odeur de pension. The dampatmosphere sends a chill through you as you breathe it; it has a stuffy,musty, and rancid quality; it permeates your clothing; after-dinnerscents seem to be mingled in it with smells from the kitchen andscullery and the reek of a hospital. It might be possible to describeit if some one should discover a process by which to distil from theatmosphere all the nauseating elements with which it is charged by thecatarrhal exhalations of every individual lodger, young or old. Yet,in spite of these stale horrors, the sitting-room is as charming andas delicately perfumed as a boudoir, when compared with the adjoiningdining-room.The paneled walls of that apartment were once painted some color, nowa matter of conjecture, for the surface is incrusted with accumulatedlayers of grimy deposit, which cover it with fantastic outlines. Acollection of dim-ribbed glass decanters, metal discs with a satin sheenon them, and piles of blue-edged earthenware plates of Touraine warecover the sticky surfaces of the sideboards that line the room. In acorner stands a box containing a set of numbered pigeon-holes, in whichthe lodgers' table napkins, more or less soiled and stained with wine,are kept. Here you see that indestructible furniture never met withelsewhere, which finds its way into lodging-houses much as the wrecks ofour civilization drift into hospitals for incurables. You expect in suchplaces as these to find the weather-house whence a Capuchin issues onwet days; you look to find the execrable engravings which spoil yourappetite, framed every one in a black varnished frame, with a giltbeading round it; you know the sort of tortoise-shell clock-case, inlaidwith brass; the green stove, the Argand lamps, covered with oil anddust, have met your eyes before. The oilcloth which covers the longtable is so greasy that a waggish externe will write his name on thesurface, using his thumb-nail as a style. The chairs are broken-downinvalids; the wretched little hempen mats slip away from under yourfeet without slipping away for good; and finally, the foot-warmers aremiserable wrecks, hingeless, charred, broken away about the holes. Itwould be impossible to give an idea of the old, rotten, shaky, cranky,worm-eaten, halt, maimed, one-eyed, rickety, and ramshackle condition ofthe furniture without an exhaustive description, which would delaythe progress of the story to an extent that impatient people would notpardon. The red tiles of the floor are full of depressions brought aboutby scouring and periodical renewings of color. In short, there isno illusory grace left to the poverty that reigns here; it is dire,parsimonious, concentrated, threadbare poverty; as yet it has not sunkinto the mire, it is only splashed by it, and though not in rags as yet,its clothing is ready to drop to pieces.This apartment is in all its glory at seven o'clock in the morning,when Mme. Vauquer's cat appears, announcing the near approach of hismistress, and jumps upon the sideboards to sniff at the milk in thebowls, each protected by a plate, while he purrs his morning greeting tothe world. A moment later the widow shows her face; she is tricked outin a net cap attached to a false front set on awry, and shuffles intothe room in her slipshod fashion. She is an oldish woman, with a bloatedcountenance, and a nose like a parrot's beak set in the middle ofit; her fat little hands (she is as sleek as a church rat) and hershapeless, slouching figure are in keeping with the room that reeks ofmisfortune, where hope is reduced to speculate for the meaneststakes. Mme. Vauquer alone can breathe that tainted air without beingdisheartened by it. Her face is as fresh as a frosty morning in autumn;there are wrinkles about the eyes that vary in their expression fromthe set smile of a ballet-dancer to the dark, suspicious scowl ofa discounter of bills; in short, she is at once the embodiment andinterpretation of her lodging-house, as surely as her lodging-houseimplies the existence of its mistress. You can no more imagine the onewithout the other, than you can think of a jail without a turnkey. Theunwholesome corpulence of the little woman is produced by the life sheleads, just as typhus fever is bred in the tainted air of a hospital.The very knitted woolen petticoat that she wears beneath a skirt madeof an old gown, with the wadding protruding through the rents in thematerial, is a sort of epitome of the sitting-room, the dining-room,and the little garden; it discovers the cook, it foreshadows thelodgers--the picture of the house is completed by the portrait of itsmistress.Mme. Vauquer at the age of fifty is like all women who "have seen a dealof trouble." She has the glassy eyes and innocent air of a traffickerin flesh and blood, who will wax virtuously indignant to obtain a higherprice for her services, but who is quite ready to betray a Georges ora Pichegru, if a Georges or a Pichegru were in hiding and still to bebetrayed, or for any other expedient that may alleviate her lot. Still,"she is a good woman at bottom," said the lodgers who believed thatthe widow was wholly dependent upon the money that they paid her, andsympathized when they heard her cough and groan like one of themselves.What had M. Vauquer been? The lady was never very explicit on this head.How had she lost her money? "Through trouble," was her answer. He hadtreated her badly, had left her nothing but her eyes to cry over hiscruelty, the house she lived in, and the privilege of pitying nobody,because, so she was wont to say, she herself had been through everypossible misfortune.Sylvie, the stout cook, hearing her mistress' shuffling footsteps,hastened to serve the lodgers' breakfasts. Beside those who lived in thehouse, Mme. Vauquer took boarders who came for their meals; but theseexternes usually only came to dinner, for which they paid thirtyfrancs a month.At the time when this story begins, the lodging-house contained seveninmates. The best rooms in the house were on the first story, Mme.Vauquer herself occupying the least important, while the rest were letto a Mme. Couture, the widow of a commissary-general in the service ofthe Republic. With her lived Victorine Taillefer, a schoolgirl, to whomshe filled the place of mother. These two ladies paid eighteen hundredfrancs a year.The two sets of rooms on the second floor were respectively occupied byan old man named Poiret and a man of forty or thereabouts, the wearerof a black wig and dyed whiskers, who gave out that he was a retiredmerchant, and was addressed as M. Vautrin. Two of the four rooms onthe third floor were also let--one to an elderly spinster, a Mlle.Michonneau, and the other to a retired manufacturer of vermicelli,Italian paste and starch, who allowed the others to address him as"Father Goriot." The remaining rooms were allotted to various birds ofpassage, to impecunious students, who like "Father Goriot" and Mlle.Michonneau, could only muster forty-five francs a month to pay for theirboard and lodging. Mme. Vauquer had little desire for lodgers of thissort; they ate too much bread, and she only took them in default ofbetter.At that time one of the rooms was tenanted by a law student, a young manfrom the neighborhood of Angouleme, one of a large family who pinchedand starved themselves to spare twelve hundred francs a year for him.Misfortune had accustomed Eugene de Rastignac, for that was his name, towork. He belonged to the number of young men who know as children thattheir parents' hopes are centered on them, and deliberately preparethemselves for a great career, subordinating their studies from thefirst to this end, carefully watching the indications of the course ofevents, calculating the probable turn that affairs will take, that theymay be the first to profit by them. But for his observant curiosity, andthe skill with which he managed to introduce himself into the salonsof Paris, this story would not have been colored by the tones oftruth which it certainly owes to him, for they are entirely due to hispenetrating sagacity and desire to fathom the mysteries of an appallingcondition of things, which was concealed as carefully by the victim asby those who had brought it to pass.Above the third story there was a garret where the linen was hung todry, and a couple of attics. Christophe, the man-of-all-work, slept inone, and Sylvie, the stout cook, in the other. Beside the seven inmatesthus enumerated, taking one year with another, some eight law or medicalstudents dined in the house, as well as two or three regular comers wholived in the neighborhood. There were usually eighteen people at dinner,and there was room, if need be, for twenty at Mme. Vauquer's table; atbreakfast, however, only the seven lodgers appeared. It was almost likea family party. Every one came down in dressing-gown and slippers,and the conversation usually turned on anything that had happenedthe evening before; comments on the dress or appearance of the dinnercontingent were exchanged in friendly confidence.These seven lodgers were Mme. Vauquer's spoiled children. Among themshe distributed, with astronomical precision, the exact proportion ofrespect and attention due to the varying amounts they paid for theirboard. One single consideration influenced all these human beings throwntogether by chance. The two second-floor lodgers only paid seventy-twofrancs a month. Such prices as these are confined to the FaubourgSaint-Marcel and the district between La Bourbe and the Salpetriere;and, as might be expected, poverty, more or less apparent, weighed uponthem all, Mme. Couture being the sole exception to the rule.The dreary surroundings were reflected in the costumes of the inmates ofthe house; all were alike threadbare. The color of the men's coats wereproblematical; such shoes, in more fashionable quarters, are only to beseen lying in the gutter; the cuffs and collars were worn and frayed atthe edges; every limp article of clothing looked like the ghost of itsformer self. The women's dresses were faded, old-fashioned, dyed andre-dyed; they wore gloves that were glazed with hard wear, much-mendedlace, dingy ruffles, crumpled muslin fichus. So much for theirclothing; but, for the most part, their frames were solid enough; theirconstitutions had weathered the storms of life; their cold, hard faceswere worn like coins that have been withdrawn from circulation, butthere were greedy teeth behind the withered lips. Dramas brought to aclose or still in progress are foreshadowed by the sight of such actorsas these, not the dramas that are played before the footlights andagainst a background of painted canvas, but dumb dramas of life,frost-bound dramas that sere hearts like fire, dramas that do not endwith the actors' lives.Mlle. Michonneau, that elderly young lady, screened her weak eyes fromthe daylight by a soiled green silk shade with a rim of brass, an objectfit to scare away the Angel of Pity himself. Her shawl, with its scanty,draggled fringe, might have covered a skeleton, so meagre and angularwas the form beneath it. Yet she must have been pretty and shapely once.What corrosive had destroyed the feminine outlines? Was it trouble,or vice, or greed? Had she loved too well? Had she been a second-handclothes dealer, a frequenter of the backstairs of great houses, or hadshe been merely a courtesan? Was she expiating the flaunting triumphsof a youth overcrowded with pleasures by an old age in which she wasshunned by every passer-by? Her vacant gaze sent a chill through you;her shriveled face seemed like a menace. Her voice was like the shrill,thin note of the grasshopper sounding from the thicket when winter is athand. She said that she had nursed an old gentleman, ill of catarrh ofthe bladder, and left to die by his children, who thought that he hadnothing left. His bequest to her, a life annuity of a thousand francs,was periodically disputed by his heirs, who mingled slander with theirpersecutions. In spite of the ravages of conflicting passions, her faceretained some traces of its former fairness and fineness of tissue, somevestiges of the physical charms of her youth still survived.M. Poiret was a sort of automaton. He might be seen any day sailing likea gray shadow along the walks of the Jardin des Plantes, on his head ashabby cap, a cane with an old yellow ivory handle in the tips of histhin fingers; the outspread skirts of his threadbare overcoat failedto conceal his meagre figure; his breeches hung loosely on his shrunkenlimbs; the thin, blue-stockinged legs trembled like those of a drunkenman; there was a notable breach of continuity between the dingy whitewaistcoat and crumpled shirt frills and the cravat twisted about athroat like a turkey gobbler's; altogether, his appearance set peoplewondering whether this outlandish ghost belonged to the audacious raceof the sons of Japhet who flutter about on the Boulevard Italien. Whatdevouring kind of toil could have so shriveled him? What devouringpassions had darkened that bulbous countenance, which would have seemedoutrageous as a caricature? What had he been? Well, perhaps he had beenpart of the machinery of justice, a clerk in the office to which theexecutioner sends in his accounts,--so much for providing black veilsfor parricides, so much for sawdust, so much for pulleys and cord forthe knife. Or he might have been a receiver at the door of a publicslaughter-house, or a sub-inspector of nuisances. Indeed, the manappeared to have been one of the beasts of burden in our great socialmill; one of those Parisian Ratons whom their Bertrands do not even knowby sight; a pivot in the obscure machinery that disposes of misery andthings unclean; one of those men, in short, at sight of whom we areprompted to remark that, "After all, we cannot do without them."Stately Paris ignores the existence of these faces bleached by moral orphysical suffering; but, then, Paris is in truth an ocean that no linecan plumb. You may survey its surface and describe it; but no matter hownumerous and painstaking the toilers in this sea, there will always belonely and unexplored regions in its depths, caverns unknown, flowersand pearls and monsters of the deep overlooked or forgotten by thedivers of literature. The Maison Vauquer is one of these curiousmonstrosities.Two, however, of Mme. Vauquer's boarders formed a striking contrast tothe rest. There was a sickly pallor, such as is often seen in anaemicgirls, in Mlle. Victorine Taillefer's face; and her unvarying expressionof sadness, like her embarrassed manner and pinched look, was inkeeping with the general wretchedness of the establishment in the RueNueve-Saint-Genevieve, which forms a background to this picture; but herface was young, there was youthfulness in her voice and elasticityin her movements. This young misfortune was not unlike a shrub, newlyplanted in an uncongenial soil, where its leaves have already begunto wither. The outlines of her figure, revealed by her dress of thesimplest and cheapest materials, were also youthful. There was the samekind of charm about her too slender form, her faintly colored face andlight-brown hair, that modern poets find in mediaeval statuettes; and asweet expression, a look of Christian resignation in the dark gray eyes.She was pretty by force of contrast; if she had been happy, she wouldhave been charming. Happiness is the poetry of woman, as the toiletteis her tinsel. If the delightful excitement of a ball had made the paleface glow with color; if the delights of a luxurious life had broughtthe color to the wan cheeks that were slightly hollowed already; if lovehad put light into the sad eyes, then Victorine might have ranked amongthe fairest; but she lacked the two things which create woman a secondtime--pretty dresses and love-letters.A book might have been made of her story. Her father was persuaded thathe had sufficient reason for declining to acknowledge her, and allowedher a bare six hundred francs a year; he had further taken measuresto disinherit his daughter, and had converted all his real estate intopersonalty, that he might leave it undivided to his son. Victorine'smother had died broken-hearted in Mme. Couture's house; and thelatter, who was a near relation, had taken charge of the little orphan.Unluckily, the widow of the commissary-general to the armies of theRepublic had nothing in the world but her jointure and her widow'spension, and some day she might be obliged to leave the helpless,inexperienced girl to the mercy of the world. The good soul, therefore,took Victorine to mass every Sunday, and to confession once a fortnight,thinking that, in any case, she would bring up her ward to be devout.She was right; religion offered a solution of the problem of theyoung girl's future. The poor child loved the father who refused toacknowledge her. Once every year she tried to see him to deliver hermother's message of forgiveness, but every year hitherto she had knockedat that door in vain; her father was inexorable. Her brother, her onlymeans of communication, had not come to see her for four years, and hadsent her no assistance; yet she prayed to God to unseal her father'seyes and to soften her brother's heart, and no accusations mingled withher prayers. Mme. Couture and Mme. Vauquer exhausted the vocabularyof abuse, and failed to find words that did justice to the banker'siniquitous conduct; but while they heaped execrations on themillionaire, Victorine's words were as gentle as the moan of the woundeddove, and affection found expression even in the cry drawn from her bypain.Eugene de Rastignac was a thoroughly southern type; he had a faircomplexion, blue eyes, black hair. In his figure, manner, and his wholebearing it was easy to see that he had either come of a noble family,or that, from his earliest childhood, he had been gently bred. If hewas careful of his wardrobe, only taking last year's clothes intodaily wear, still upon occasion he could issue forth as a young man offashion. Ordinarily he wore a shabby coat and waistcoat, the limp blackcravat, untidily knotted, that students affect, trousers that matchedthe rest of his costume, and boots that had been resoled.Vautrin (the man of forty with the dyed whiskers) marked a transitionstage between these two young people and the others. He was the kind ofman that calls forth the remark: "He looks a jovial sort!" He hadbroad shoulders, a well-developed chest, muscular arms, and strongsquare-fisted hands; the joints of his fingers were covered with tuftsof fiery red hair. His face was furrowed by premature wrinkles; therewas a certain hardness about it in spite of his bland and insinuatingmanner. His bass voice was by no means unpleasant, and was in keepingwith his boisterous laughter. He was always obliging, always in goodspirits; if anything went wrong with one of the locks, he would soonunscrew it, take it to pieces, file it, oil and clean and set it inorder, and put it back in its place again; "I am an old hand at it,"he used to say. Not only so, he knew all about ships, the sea, France,foreign countries, men, business, law, great houses and prisons,--therewas nothing that he did not know. If any one complained rather more thanusual, he would offer his services at once. He had several times lentmoney to Mme. Vauquer, or to the boarders; but, somehow, those whom heobliged felt that they would sooner face death than fail to repay him; acertain resolute look, sometimes seen on his face, inspired fear of him,for all his appearance of easy good-nature. In the way he spat there wasan imperturbable coolness which seemed to indicate that this was aman who would not stick at a crime to extricate himself from a falseposition. His eyes, like those of a pitiless judge, seemed to go tothe very bottom of all questions, to read all natures, all feelings andthoughts. His habit of life was very regular; he usually went out afterbreakfast, returning in time for dinner, and disappeared for the restof the evening, letting himself in about midnight with a latch key, aprivilege that Mme. Vauquer accorded to no other boarder. But then hewas on very good terms with the widow; he used to call her "mamma," andput his arm round her waist, a piece of flattery perhaps not appreciatedto the full! The worthy woman might imagine this to be an easy feat;but, as a matter of fact, no arm but Vautrin's was long enough toencircle her.It was a characteristic trait of his generously to pay fifteen francs amonth for the cup of coffee with a dash of brandy in it, which he tookafter dinner. Less superficial observers than young men engulfed by thewhirlpool of Parisian life, or old men, who took no interest in anythingthat did not directly concern them, would not have stopped short at thevaguely unsatisfactory impression that Vautrin made upon them. He knewor guessed the concerns of every one about him; but none of them hadbeen able to penetrate his thoughts, or to discover his occupation. Hehad deliberately made his apparent good-nature, his unfailing readinessto oblige, and his high spirits into a barrier between himself and therest of them, but not seldom he gave glimpses of appalling depthsof character. He seemed to delight in scourging the upper classes ofsociety with the lash of his tongue, to take pleasure in convicting itof inconsistency, in mocking at law and order with some grim jest worthyof Juvenal, as if some grudge against the social system rankled in him,as if there were some mystery carefully hidden away in his life.Mlle. Taillefer felt attracted, perhaps unconsciously, by the strengthof the one man, and the good looks of the other; her stolen glances andsecret thoughts were divided between them; but neither of them seemedto take any notice of her, although some day a chance might alter herposition, and she would be a wealthy heiress. For that matter, there wasnot a soul in the house who took any trouble to investigate the variouschronicles of misfortunes, real or imaginary, related by the rest. Eachone regarded the others with indifference, tempered by suspicion; it wasa natural result of their relative positions. Practical assistance notone could give, this they all knew, and they had long since exhaustedtheir stock of condolence over previous discussions of their grievances.They were in something the same position as an elderly couple who havenothing left to say to each other. The routine of existence kept them incontact, but they were parts of a mechanism which wanted oil. There wasnot one of them but would have passed a blind man begging in the street,not one that felt moved to pity by a tale of misfortune, not one whodid not see in death the solution of the all-absorbing problem of miserywhich left them cold to the most terrible anguish in others.The happiest of these hapless beings was certainly Mme. Vauquer, whoreigned supreme over this hospital supported by voluntary contributions.For her, the little garden, which silence, and cold, and rain, anddrought combined to make as dreary as an Asian steppe, was a pleasantshaded nook; the gaunt yellow house, the musty odors of a back shop hadcharms for her, and for her alone. Those cells belonged to her. She fedthose convicts condemned to penal servitude for life, and her authoritywas recognized among them. Where else in Paris would they have foundwholesome food in sufficient quantity at the prices she charged them,and rooms which they were at liberty to make, if not exactly elegant orcomfortable, at any rate clean and healthy? If she had committed someflagrant act of injustice, the victim would have borne it in silence.Such a gathering contained, as might have been expected, the elementsout of which a complete society might be constructed. And, as in aschool, as in the world itself, there was among the eighteen men andwomen who met round the dinner table a poor creature, despised byall the others, condemned to be the butt of all their jokes. At thebeginning of Eugene de Rastignac's second twelvemonth, this figuresuddenly started out into bold relief against the background of humanforms and faces among which the law student was yet to live foranother two years to come. This laughing-stock was the retiredvermicelli-merchant, Father Goriot, upon whose face a painter, like thehistorian, would have concentrated all the light in his picture.How had it come about that the boarders regarded him with ahalf-malignant contempt? Why did they subject the oldest among theirnumber to a kind of persecution, in which there was mingled some pity,but no respect for his misfortunes? Had he brought it on himself by someeccentricity or absurdity, which is less easily forgiven or forgottenthan more serious defects? The question strikes at the root of many asocial injustice. Perhaps it is only human nature to inflict sufferingon anything that will endure suffering, whether by reason of its genuinehumility, or indifference, or sheer helplessness. Do we not, one andall, like to feel our strength even at the expense of some one or ofsomething? The poorest sample of humanity, the street arab, will pullthe bell handle at every street door in bitter weather, and scramble upto write his name on the unsullied marble of a monument.In the year 1813, at the age of sixty-nine or thereabouts, "FatherGoriot" had sold his business and retired--to Mme. Vauquer's boardinghouse. When he first came there he had taken the rooms now occupied byMme. Couture; he had paid twelve hundred francs a year like a man towhom five louis more or less was a mere trifle. For him Mme. Vauquer hadmade various improvements in the three rooms destined for his use, inconsideration of a certain sum paid in advance, so it was said, for themiserable furniture, that is to say, for some yellow cotton curtains, afew chairs of stained wood covered with Utrecht velvet, several wretchedcolored prints in frames, and wall papers that a little suburban tavernwould have disdained. Possibly it was the careless generosity with whichFather Goriot allowed himself to be overreached at this period of hislife (they called him Monsieur Goriot very respectfully then) that gaveMme. Vauquer the meanest opinion of his business abilities; she lookedon him as an imbecile where money was concerned.Goriot had brought with him a considerable wardrobe, the gorgeousoutfit of a retired tradesman who denies himself nothing. Mme. Vauquer'sastonished eyes beheld no less than eighteen cambric-fronted shirts, thesplendor of their fineness being enhanced by a pair of pins each bearinga large diamond, and connected by a short chain, an ornament whichadorned the vermicelli-maker's shirt front. He usually wore a coat ofcorn-flower blue; his rotund and portly person was still further setoff by a clean white waistcoat, and a gold chain and seals which dangledover that broad expanse. When his hostess accused him of being "a bitof a beau," he smiled with the vanity of a citizen whose foible isgratified. His cupboards (ormoires, as he called them in the populardialect) were filled with a quantity of plate that he brought with him.The widow's eyes gleamed as she obligingly helped him to unpack thesoup ladles, table-spoons, forks, cruet-stands, tureens, dishes,and breakfast services--all of silver, which were duly arranged uponshelves, besides a few more or less handsome pieces of plate, allweighing no inconsiderable number of ounces; he could not bring himselfto part with these gifts that reminded him of past domestic festivals."This was my wife's present to me on the first anniversary of ourwedding day," he said to Mme. Vauquer, as he put away a little silverposset dish, with two turtle-doves billing on the cover. "Poor dear! shespent on it all the money she had saved before we were married. Doyou know, I would sooner scratch the earth with my nails for a living,madame, than part with that. But I shall be able to take my coffee outof it every morning for the rest of my days, thank the Lord! I am not tobe pitied. There's not much fear of my starving for some time to come."Finally, Mme. Vauquer's magpie's eye had discovered and read certainentries in the list of shareholders in the funds, and, after a roughcalculation, was disposed to credit Goriot (worthy man) with somethinglike ten thousand francs a year. From that day forward Mme. Vauquer(nee de Conflans), who, as a matter of fact, had seen forty-eightsummers, though she would only own to thirty-nine of them--Mme. Vauquerhad her own ideas. Though Goriot's eyes seemed to have shrunk in theirsockets, though they were weak and watery, owing to some glandularaffection which compelled him to wipe them continually, she consideredhim to be a very gentlemanly and pleasant-looking man. Moreover, thewidow saw favorable indications of character in the well-developedcalves of his legs and in his square-shaped nose, indications stillfurther borne out by the worthy man's full-moon countenance and lookof stupid good-nature. This, in all probability, was a strongly-buildanimal, whose brains mostly consisted in a capacity for affection. Hishair, worn in ailes de pigeon, and duly powdered every morning by thebarber from the Ecole Polytechnique, described five points on his lowforehead, and made an elegant setting to his face. Though his mannerswere somewhat boorish, he was always as neat as a new pin and he tookhis snuff in a lordly way, like a man who knows that his snuff-box isalways likely to be filled with maccaboy, so that when Mme. Vauquer laydown to rest on the day of M. Goriot's installation, her heart, like alarded partridge, sweltered before the fire of a burning desire to shakeoff the shroud of Vauquer and rise again as Goriot. She would marryagain, sell her boarding-house, give her hand to this fine flower ofcitizenship, become a lady of consequence in the quarter, and ask forsubscriptions for charitable purposes; she would make little Sundayexcursions to Choisy, Soissy, Gentilly; she would have a box at thetheatre when she liked, instead of waiting for the author's tickets thatone of her boarders sometimes gave her, in July; the whole Eldorado ofa little Parisian household rose up before Mme. Vauquer in herdreams. Nobody knew that she herself possessed forty thousand francs,accumulated sou by sou, that was her secret; surely as far as moneywas concerned she was a very tolerable match. "And in other respects,I am quite his equal," she said to herself, turning as if to assureherself of the charms of a form that the portly Sylvie found moulded indown feathers every morning.For three months from that day Mme. Veuve Vauquer availed herself ofthe services of M. Goriot's coiffeur, and went to some expense over hertoilette, expense justifiable on the ground that she owed it to herselfand her establishment to pay some attention to appearances when suchhighly-respectable persons honored her house with their presence. Sheexpended no small amount of ingenuity in a sort of weeding process ofher lodgers, announcing her intention of receiving henceforward none butpeople who were in every way select. If a stranger presented himself,she let him know that M. Goriot, one of the best known and mosthighly-respected merchants in Paris, had singled out her boarding-housefor a residence. She drew up a prospectus headed MAISON VAUQUER, inwhich it was asserted that hers was "one of the oldest and most highlyrecommended boarding-houses in the Latin Quarter." "From the windowsof the house," thus ran the prospectus, "there is a charming view ofthe Vallee des Gobelins (so there is--from the third floor), and abeautiful garden, extending down to an avenue of lindens at thefurther end." Mention was made of the bracing air of the place and itsquiet situation.It was this prospectus that attracted Mme. la Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil,a widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlement of herhusband's affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to heras the wife of a general who had died "on the field of battle." On thisMme. Vauquer saw to her table, lighted a fire daily in the sitting-roomfor nearly six months, and kept the promise of her prospectus, evengoing to some expense to do so. And the Countess, on her side, addressedMme. Vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, theBaronne de Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte dePicquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais,where the terms were higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both theseladies, moreover, would be very well to do when the people at theWar Office had come to an end of their formalities. "But Governmentdepartments are always so dilatory," the lady added.After dinner the two widows went together up to Mme. Vauquer's room, andhad a snug little chat over some cordial and various delicacies reservedfor the mistress of the house. Mme. Vauquer's ideas as to Goriot werecordially approved by Mme. de l'Ambermesnil; it was a capital notion,which for that matter she had guessed from the very first; in heropinion the vermicelli maker was an excellent man."Ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved man of his age, as sound as myeyesight--a man who might make a woman happy!" said the widow.The good-natured Countess turned to the subject of Mme. Vauquer's dress,which was not in harmony with her projects. "You must put yourself on awar footing," said she.After much serious consideration the two widows went shoppingtogether--they purchased a hat adorned with ostrich feathers and a capat the Palais Royal, and the Countess took her friend to the Magasin dela Petite Jeannette, where they chose a dress and a scarf. Thus equippedfor the campaign, the widow looked exactly like the prize animal hungout for a sign above an a la mode beef shop; but she herself was so muchpleased with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance,that she felt that she lay under some obligation to the Countess; and,though by no means open-handed, she begged that lady to accept a hatthat cost twenty francs. The fact was that she needed the Countess'services on the delicate mission of sounding Goriot; the countess mustsing her praises in his ears. Mme. de l'Ambermesnil lent herself verygood-naturedly to this manoeuvre, began her operations, and succeeded inobtaining a private interview; but the overtures that she made, with aview to securing him for herself, were received with embarrassment, notto say a repulse. She left him, revolted by his coarseness."My angel," said she to her dear friend, "you will make nothing of thatman yonder. He is absurdly suspicious, and he is a mean curmudgeon, anidiot, a fool; you would never be happy with him."After what had passed between M. Goriot and Mme. de l'Ambermesnil, theCountess would no longer live under the same roof. She left the nextday, forgot to pay for six months' board, and left behind her wardrobe,cast-off clothing to the value of five francs. Eagerly and persistentlyas Mme. Vauquer sought her quondam lodger, the Comtesse de l'Ambermesnilwas never heard of again in Paris. The widow often talked of thisdeplorable business, and regretted her own too confiding disposition. Asa matter of fact, she was as suspicious as a cat; but she was like manyother people, who cannot trust their own kin and put themselves at themercy of the next chance comer--an odd but common phenomenon, whosecauses may readily be traced to the depths of the human heart.Perhaps there are people who know that they have nothing more to lookfor from those with whom they live; they have shown the emptiness oftheir hearts to their housemates, and in their secret selves they areconscious that they are severely judged, and that they deserve tobe judged severely; but still they feel an unconquerable craving forpraises that they do not hear, or they are consumed by a desire toappear to possess, in the eyes of a new audience, the qualities whichthey have not, hoping to win the admiration or affection of strangers atthe risk of forfeiting it again some day. Or, once more, there are othermercenary natures who never do a kindness to a friend or a relationsimply because these have a claim upon them, while a service done to astranger brings its reward to self-love. Such natures feel but littleaffection for those who are nearest to them; they keep their kindnessfor remoter circles of acquaintance, and show most to those who dwell onits utmost limits. Mme. Vauquer belonged to both these essentially mean,false, and execrable classes."If I had been there at the time," Vautrin would say at the end of thestory, "I would have shown her up, and that misfortune would not havebefallen you. I know that kind of phiz!"Like all narrow natures, Mme. Vauquer was wont to confine her attentionto events, and did not go very deeply into the causes that brought themabout; she likewise preferred to throw the blame of her own mistakes onother people, so she chose to consider that the honest vermicelli makerwas responsible for her misfortune. It had opened her eyes, so she said,with regard to him. As soon as she saw that her blandishments were invain, and that her outlay on her toilette was money thrown away, she wasnot slow to discover the reason of his indifference. It became plainto her at once that there was some other attraction, to use her ownexpression. In short, it was evident that the hope she had so fondlycherished was a baseless delusion, and that she would "never makeanything out of that man yonder," in the Countess' forcible phrase.The Countess seemed to have been a judge of character. Mme. Vauquer'saversion was naturally more energetic than her friendship, for herhatred was not in proportion to her love, but to her disappointedexpectations. The human heart may find here and there a resting-placeshort of the highest height of affection, but we seldom stop in thesteep, downward slope of hatred. Still, M. Goriot was a lodger, andthe widow's wounded self-love could not vent itself in an explosion ofwrath; like a monk harassed by the prior of his convent, she was forcedto stifle her sighs of disappointment, and to gulp down her craving forrevenge. Little minds find gratification for their feelings, benevolentor otherwise, by a constant exercise of petty ingenuity. The widowemployed her woman's malice to devise a system of covert persecution.She began by a course of retrenchment--various luxuries which had foundtheir way to the table appeared there no more."No more gherkins, no more anchovies; they have made a fool of me!" shesaid to Sylvie one morning, and they returned to the old bill of fare.The thrifty frugality necessary to those who mean to make their way inthe world had become an inveterate habit of life with M. Goriot. Soup,boiled beef, and a dish of vegetables had been, and always would be, thedinner he liked best, so Mme. Vauquer found it very difficult to annoya boarder whose tastes were so simple. He was proof against her malice,and in desperation she spoke to him and of him slightingly before theother lodgers, who began to amuse themselves at his expense, and sogratified her desire for revenge.Towards the end of the first year the widow's suspicions had reachedsuch a pitch that she began to wonder how it was that a retired merchantwith a secure income of seven or eight thousand livres, the owner ofsuch magnificent plate and jewelry handsome enough for a kept mistress,should be living in her house. Why should he devote so small aproportion of his money to his expenses? Until the first year was nearlyat an end, Goriot had dined out once or twice every week, but theseoccasions came less frequently, and at last he was scarcely absent fromthe dinner-table twice a month. It was hardly expected that Mme. Vauquershould regard the increased regularity of her boarder's habits withcomplacency, when those little excursions of his had been so much to herinterest. She attributed the change not so much to a gradual diminutionof fortune as to a spiteful wish to annoy his hostess. It is one of themost detestable habits of a Liliputian mind to credit other people withits own malignant pettiness.Unluckily, towards the end of the second year, M. Goriot's conduct gavesome color to the idle talk about him. He asked Mme. Vauquer to give hima room on the second floor, and to make a corresponding reduction inher charges. Apparently, such strict economy was called for, that he didwithout a fire all through the winter. Mme. Vauquer asked to be paid inadvance, an arrangement to which M. Goriot consented, and thenceforwardshe spoke of him as "Father Goriot."What had brought about this decline and fall? Conjecture was keen, butinvestigation was difficult. Father Goriot was not communicative; inthe sham countess' phrase he was "a curmudgeon." Empty-headed people whobabble about their own affairs because they have nothing else to occupythem, naturally conclude that if people say nothing of their doings itis because their doings will not bear being talked about; so the highlyrespectable merchant became a scoundrel, and the late beau was an oldrogue. Opinion fluctuated. Sometimes, according to Vautrin, who cameabout this time to live in the Maison Vauquer, Father Goriot was a manwho went on 'Change and dabbled (to use the sufficiently expressivelanguage of the Stock Exchange) in stocks and shares after he had ruinedhimself by heavy speculation. Sometimes it was held that he was one ofthose petty gamblers who nightly play for small stakes until they win afew francs. A theory that he was a detective in the employ of the HomeOffice found favor at one time, but Vautrin urged that "Goriot was notsharp enough for one of that sort." There were yet other solutions;Father Goriot was a skinflint, a shark of a money-lender, a manwho lived by selling lottery tickets. He was by turns all the mostmysterious brood of vice and shame and misery; yet, however vile hislife might be, the feeling of repulsion which he aroused in others wasnot so strong that he must be banished from their society--he paidhis way. Besides, Goriot had his uses, every one vented his spleen orsharpened his wit on him; he was pelted with jokes and belabored withhard words. The general consensus of opinion was in favor of a theorywhich seemed the most likely; this was Mme. Vauquer's view. Accordingto her, the man so well preserved at his time of life, as sound as hereyesight, with whom a woman might be very happy, was a libertine who hadstrange tastes. These are the facts upon which Mme. Vauquer's slanderswere based.Early one morning, some few months after the departure of the unluckyCountess 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 anda young woman's light footstep on the stair; some one was going toGoriot'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 toopretty to be honest, "dressed like a goddess," and not a speck of mudon 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. Vauquerand the cook, listening, overheard several words affectionately spokenduring the visit, which lasted for some time. When M. Goriot wentdownstairs with the lady, the stout Sylvie forthwith took her basketand followed the lover-like couple, under pretext of going to do hermarketing."M. Goriot must be awfully rich, all the same, madame," she reportedon her return, "to keep her in such style. Just imagine it! There was asplendid carriage waiting at the corner of the Place de l'Estrapade, andshe got into it."While they were at dinner that evening, Mme. Vauquer went to the windowand 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," shesaid, alluding to his visitor. "Peste! you have good taste; she wasvery pretty.""That was my daughter," he said, with a kind of pride in his voice, andthe rest chose to consider this as the fatuity of an old man who wishesto save appearances.A month after this visit M. Goriot received another. The same daughterwho had come to see him that morning came again after dinner, this timein evening dress. The boarders, in deep discussion in the dining-room,caught a glimpse of a lovely, fair-haired woman, slender, graceful, andmuch too distinguished-looking to be a daughter of Father Goriot's."Two of them!" cried the portly Sylvie, who did not recognize the ladyof the first visit.A few days later, and another young lady--a tall, well-moulded brunette,with dark hair and bright eyes--came to ask for M. Goriot."Three of them!" said Sylvie.Then the second daughter, who had first come in the morning to see herfather, came shortly afterwards in the evening. She wore a ball dress,and came in a carriage."Four of them!" commented Mme. Vauquer and her plump handmaid. Sylviesaw not a trace of resemblance between this great lady and the girl inher simple morning dress who had entered her kitchen on the occasion ofher first visit.At that time Goriot was paying twelve hundred francs a year to hislandlady, and Mme. Vauquer saw nothing out of the common in the factthat a rich man had four or five mistresses; nay, she thought it veryknowing of him to pass them off as his daughters. She was not at allinclined to draw a hard-and-fast line, or to take umbrage at his sendingfor them to the Maison Vauquer; yet, inasmuch as these visits explainedher boarder's indifference to her, she went so far (at the end of thesecond year) as to speak of him as an "ugly old wretch." When at lengthher boarder declined to nine hundred francs a year, she asked him veryinsolently what he took her house to be, after meeting one of theseladies on the stairs. Father Goriot answered that the lady was hiseldest daughter."So you have two or three dozen daughters, have you?" said Mme. Vauquersharply."I have only two," her boarder answered meekly, like a ruined man who isbroken in to all the cruel usage of misfortune.
Towards the end of the third year Father Goriot reduced his expensesstill further; he went up to the third story, and now paid forty-fivefrancs a month. He did without snuff, told his hairdresser that he nolonger required his services, and gave up wearing powder. When Goriotappeared for the first time in this condition, an exclamation ofastonishment broke from his hostess at the color of his hair--a dingyolive gray. He had grown sadder day by day under the influence of somehidden trouble; among all the faces round the table, his was themost woe-begone. There was no longer any doubt. Goriot was an elderlylibertine, whose eyes had only been preserved by the skill of thephysician from the malign influence of the remedies necessitated by thestate of his health. The disgusting color of his hair was a result ofhis excesses and of the drugs which he had taken that he might continuehis career. The poor old man's mental and physical condition affordedsome grounds for the absurd rubbish talked about him. When his outfitwas worn out, he replaced the fine linen by calico at fourteen sousthe ell. His diamonds, his gold snuff-box, watch-chain and trinkets,disappeared one by one. He had left off wearing the corn-flower bluecoat, and was sumptuously arrayed, summer as well as winter, in a coarsechestnut-brown coat, a plush waistcoat, and doeskin breeches. He grewthinner and thinner; his legs were shrunken, his cheeks, once so puffedout by contented bourgeois prosperity, were covered with wrinkles, andthe outlines of the jawbones were distinctly visible; there were deepfurrows in his forehead. In the fourth year of his residence in the RueNeuve-Sainte-Genevieve he was no longer like his former self. The halevermicelli manufacturer, sixty-two years of age, who had looked scarceforty, the stout, comfortable, prosperous tradesman, with an almostbucolic air, and such a brisk demeanor that it did you good to look athim; the man with something boyish in his smile, had suddenly sunk intohis dotage, and had become a feeble, vacillating septuagenarian.The keen, bright blue eyes had grown dull, and faded to a steel-graycolor; the red inflamed rims looked as though they had shed tears ofblood. He excited feelings of repulsion in some, and of pity in others.The young medical students who came to the house noticed the droopingof his lower lip and the conformation of the facial angle; and, afterteasing him for some time to no purpose, they declared that cretinismwas setting in.One evening after dinner Mme. Vauquer said half banteringly to him, "Sothose daughters of yours don't come to see you any more, eh?" meaning toimply her doubts as to his paternity; but Father Goriot shrank as if hishostess had touched him with a sword-point."They come sometimes," he said in a tremulous voice."Aha! you still see them sometimes?" cried the students. "Bravo, FatherGoriot!"The old man scarcely seemed to hear the witticisms at his expense thatfollowed on the words; he had relapsed into the dreamy state of mindthat these superficial observers took for senile torpor, due to his lackof intelligence. If they had only known, they might have been deeplyinterested by the problem of his condition; but few problems were moreobscure. It was easy, of course, to find out whether Goriot had reallybeen a vermicelli manufacturer; the amount of his fortune was readilydiscoverable; but the old people, who were most inquisitive as to hisconcerns, never went beyond the limits of the Quarter, and lived inthe lodging-house much as oysters cling to a rock. As for the rest, thecurrent of life in Paris daily awaited them, and swept them away withit; so soon as they left the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, they forgot theexistence of the old man, their butt at dinner. For those narrow souls,or for careless youth, the misery in Father Goriot's withered faceand its dull apathy were quite incompatible with wealth or any sort ofintelligence. As for the creatures whom he called his daughters, allMme. Vauquer's boarders were of her opinion. With the faculty for severelogic sedulously cultivated by elderly women during long evenings ofgossip till they can always find an hypothesis to fit all circumstances,she was wont to reason thus:"If Father Goriot had daughters of his own as rich as those ladies whocame here seemed to be, he would not be lodging in my house, on thethird floor, at forty-five francs a month; and he would not go aboutdressed like a poor man."No objection could be raised to these inferences. So by the end ofthe month of November 1819, at the time when the curtain rises on thisdrama, every one in the house had come to have a very decided opinion asto the poor old man. He had never had either wife or daughter; excesseshad reduced him to this sluggish condition; he was a sort of humanmollusk who should be classed among the capulidoe, so one of the dinnercontingent, an employe at the Museum, who had a pretty wit of his own.Poiret was an eagle, a gentleman, compared with Goriot. Poiret wouldjoin the talk, argue, answer when he was spoken to; as a matter offact, his talk, arguments, and responses contributed nothing to theconversation, for Poiret had a habit of repeating what the others saidin different words; still, he did join in the talk; he was alive, andseemed capable of feeling; while Father Goriot (to quote the Museumofficial again) was invariably at zero degrees--Reaumur.Eugene de Rastignac had just returned to Paris in a state of mind notunknown to young men who are conscious of unusual powers, and to thosewhose faculties are so stimulated by a difficult position, that for thetime being they rise above the ordinary level.Rastignac's first year of study for the preliminary examinations in lawhad left him free to see the sights of Paris and to enjoy some of itsamusements. A student has not much time on his hands if he sets himselfto learn the repertory of every theatre, and to study the ins and outsof the labyrinth of Paris. To know its customs; to learn the language,and become familiar with the amusements of the capital, he must exploreits recesses, good and bad, follow the studies that please him best, andform some idea of the treasures contained in galleries and museums.At this stage of his career a student grows eager and excited about allsorts of follies that seem to him to be of immense importance. He hashis hero, his great man, a professor at the College de France, paidto talk down to the level of his audience. He adjusts his cravat, andstrikes various attitudes for the benefit of the women in the firstgalleries at the Opera-Comique. As he passes through all thesesuccessive initiations, and breaks out of his sheath, the horizons oflife widen around him, and at length he grasps the plan of society withthe different human strata of which it is composed.If he begins by admiring the procession of carriages on sunny afternoonsin the Champs-Elysees, he soon reaches the further stage of envyingtheir owners. Unconsciously, Eugene had served his apprenticeship beforehe went back to Angouleme for the long vacation after taking his degreesas bachelor of arts and bachelor of law. The illusions of childhood hadvanished, so also had the ideas he brought with him from the provinces;he had returned thither with an intelligence developed, with loftierambitions, and saw things as they were at home in the old manor house.His father and mother, his two brothers and two sisters, with an agedaunt, whose whole fortune consisted in annuities, lived on the littleestate of Rastignac. The whole property brought in about three thousandfrancs; and though the amount varied with the season (as must alwaysbe the case in a vine-growing district), they were obliged to spare anunvarying twelve hundred francs out of their income for him. He sawhow constantly the poverty, which they had generously hidden from him,weighed upon them; he could not help comparing the sisters, who hadseemed so beautiful to his boyish eyes, with women in Paris, who hadrealized the beauty of his dreams. The uncertain future of the wholefamily depended upon him. It did not escape his eyes that not a crumbwas wasted in the house, nor that the wine they drank was made from thesecond pressing; a multitude of small things, which it is useless tospeak of in detail here, made him burn to distinguish himself, and hisambition to succeed increased tenfold.He meant, like all great souls, that his success should be owingentirely to his merits; but his was pre-eminently a southerntemperament, the execution of his plans was sure to be marred by thevertigo that seizes on youth when youth sees itself alone in a wide sea,uncertain how to spend its energies, whither to steer its course, howto adapt its sails to the winds. At first he determined to fling himselfheart and soul into his work, but he was diverted from this purpose bythe need of society and connections; then he saw how great an influencewomen exert in social life, and suddenly made up his mind to go outinto this world to seek a protectress there. Surely a clever andhigh-spirited young man, whose wit and courage were set off to advantageby a graceful figure and the vigorous kind of beauty that readilystrikes a woman's imagination, need not despair of finding aprotectress. These ideas occurred to him in his country walks with hissisters, whom he had once joined so gaily. The girls thought him verymuch changed.His aunt, Mme. de Marcillac, had been presented at court, and had movedamong the brightest heights of that lofty region. Suddenly the youngman's ambition discerned in those recollections of hers, which had beenlike nursery fairy tales to her nephews and nieces, the elements ofa social success at least as important as the success which he hadachieved at the Ecole de Droit. He began to ask his aunt about thoserelations; some of the old ties might still hold good. After muchshaking of the branches of the family tree, the old lady came to theconclusion that of all persons who could be useful to her nephew amongthe selfish genus of rich relations, the Vicomtesse de Beauseant wasthe least likely to refuse. To this lady, therefore, she wrote in theold-fashioned style, recommending Eugene to her; pointing out toher nephew that if he succeeded in pleasing Mme. de Beauseant, theVicomtesse would introduce him to other relations. A few days after hisreturn to Paris, therefore, Rastignac sent his aunt's letter to Mme.de Beauseant. The Vicomtesse replied by an invitation to a ball forthe following evening. This was the position of affairs at the MaisonVauquer at the end of November 1819.A few days later, after Mme. de Beauseant's ball, Eugene came in at twoo'clock in the morning. The persevering student meant to make up for thelost time by working until daylight. It was the first time that he hadattempted to spend the night in this way in that silent quarter. Thespell of a factitious energy was upon him; he had beheld the pomp andsplendor of the world. He had not dined at the Maison Vauquer; theboarders probably would think that he would walk home at daybreak fromthe dance, as he had done sometimes on former occasions, after a fete atthe Prado, or a ball at the Odeon, splashing his silk stockings thereby,and ruining his pumps.It so happened that Christophe took a look into the street beforedrawing the bolts of the door; and Rastignac, coming in at thatmoment, could go up to his room without making any noise, followed byChristophe, who made a great deal. Eugene exchanged his dress suit for ashabby overcoat and slippers, kindled a fire with some blocks of patentfuel, and prepared for his night's work in such a sort that the faintsounds he made were drowned by Christophe's heavy tramp on the stairs.Eugene sat absorbed in thought for a few moments before plunging intohis law books. He had just become aware of the fact that the Vicomtessede Beauseant was one of the queens of fashion, that her house wasthought to be the pleasantest in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. And notonly so, she was, by right of her fortune, and the name she bore, one ofthe most conspicuous figures in that aristocratic world. Thanks to theaunt, thanks to Mme. de Marcillac's letter of introduction, the poorstudent had been kindly received in that house before he knew the extentof the favor thus shown to him. It was almost like a patent of nobilityto be admitted to those gilded salons; he had appeared in the mostexclusive circle in Paris, and now all doors were open for him. Eugenehad been dazzled at first by the brilliant assembly, and had scarcelyexchanged a few words with the Vicomtesse; he had been content to singleout a goddess among this throng of Parisian divinities, one of thosewomen who are sure to attract a young man's fancy.The Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud was tall and gracefully made; shehad one of the prettiest figures in Paris. Imagine a pair of great darkeyes, a magnificently moulded hand, a shapely foot. There was a fieryenergy in her movements; the Marquis de Ronquerolles had called her "athoroughbred," "a pure pedigree," these figures of speech have replacedthe "heavenly angel" and Ossianic nomenclature; the old mythology oflove is extinct, doomed to perish by modern dandyism. But for Rastignac,Mme. Anastasie de Restaud was the woman for whom he had sighed. He hadcontrived to write his name twice upon the list of partners upon herfan, and had snatched a few words with her during the first quadrille."Where shall I meet you again, Madame?" he asked abruptly, and the tonesof his voice were full of the vehement energy that women like so well."Oh, everywhere!" said she, "in the Bois, at the Bouffons, in my ownhouse."With the impetuosity of his adventurous southern temper, he did all hecould to cultivate an acquaintance with this lovely countess, making thebest of his opportunities in the quadrille and during a waltz that shegave him. When he told her that he was a cousin of Mme. de Beauseant's,the Countess, whom he took for a great lady, asked him to call at herhouse, and after her parting smile, Rastignac felt convinced that hemust make this visit. He was so lucky as to light upon some one who didnot laugh at his ignorance, a fatal defect among the gilded and insolentyouth of that period; the coterie of Maulincourts, Maximes de Trailles,de Marsays, Ronquerolles, Ajuda-Pintos, and Vandenesses who shone therein all the glory of coxcombry among the best-dressed women of fashionin Paris--Lady Brandon, the Duchesse de Langeais, the Comtesse deKergarouet, Mme. de Serizy, the Duchesse de Carigliano, the ComtesseFerraud, Mme. de Lanty, the Marquise d'Aiglemont, Mme. Firmiani,the Marquise de Listomere and the Marquise d'Espard, the Duchesse deMaufrigneuse and the Grandlieus. Luckily, therefore, for him, the novicehappened upon the Marquis de Montriveau, the lover of the Duchesse deLangeais, a general as simple as a child; from him Rastignac learnedthat the Comtesse lived in the Rue du Helder.Ah, what it is to be young, eager to see the world, greedily on thewatch for any chance that brings you nearer the woman of your dreams,and behold two houses open their doors to you! To set foot in theVicomtesse de Beauseant's house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; to fallon your knees before a Comtesse de Restaud in the Chaussee d'Antin;to look at one glance across a vista of Paris drawing-rooms, consciousthat, possessing sufficient good looks, you may hope to find aid andprotection there in a feminine heart! To feel ambitious enough to spurnthe tight-rope on which you must walk with the steady head of an acrobatfor whom a fall is impossible, and to find in a charming woman the bestof all balancing poles.He sat there with his thoughts for a while, Law on the one hand, andPoverty on the other, beholding a radiant vision of a woman rise abovethe dull, smouldering fire. Who would not have paused and questionedthe future as Eugene was doing? who would not have pictured it full ofsuccess? His wondering thoughts took wings; he was transported outof the present into that blissful future; he was sitting by Mme. deRestaud's side, when a sort of sigh, like the grunt of an overburdenedSt. Joseph, broke the silence of the night. It vibrated through thestudent, who took the sound for a death groan. He opened his doornoiselessly, went out upon the landing, and saw a thin streak of lightunder Father Goriot's door. Eugene feared that his neighbor had beentaken ill; he went over and looked through the keyhole; the old manwas busily engaged in an occupation so singular and so suspicious thatRastignac thought he was only doing a piece of necessary serviceto society to watch the self-styled vermicelli maker's nocturnalindustries.The table was upturned, and Goriot had doubtless in some way secured asilver plate and cup to the bar before knotting a thick rope round them;he was pulling at this rope with such enormous force that they werebeing crushed and twisted out of shape; to all appearance he meant toconvert the richly wrought metal into ingots."Peste! what a man!" said Rastignac, as he watched Goriot's musculararms; there was not a sound in the room while the old man, with the aidof the rope, was kneading the silver like dough. "Was he then, indeed,a thief, or a receiver of stolen goods, who affected imbecility anddecrepitude, and lived like a beggar that he might carry on his pursuitsthe more securely?" Eugene stood for a moment revolving these questions,then he looked again through the keyhole.Father Goriot had unwound his coil of rope; he had covered the tablewith a blanket, and was now employed in rolling the flattened massof silver into a bar, an operation which he performed with marvelousdexterity."Why, he must be as strong as Augustus, King of Poland!" said Eugene tohimself when the bar was nearly finished.Father Goriot looked sadly at his handiwork, tears fell from hiseyes, he blew out the dip which had served him for a light while hemanipulated the silver, and Eugene heard him sigh as he lay down again."He is mad," thought the student."Poor child!" Father Goriot said aloud. Rastignac, hearing thosewords, concluded to keep silence; he would not hastily condemn hisneighbor. He was just in the doorway of his room when a strange soundfrom the staircase below reached his ears; it might have been madeby two men coming up in list slippers. Eugene listened; two men therecertainly were, he could hear their breathing. Yet there had been nosound of opening the street door, no footsteps in the passage. Suddenly,too, he saw a faint gleam of light on the second story; it came from M.Vautrin's room."There are a good many mysteries here for a lodging-house!" he said tohimself.He went part of the way downstairs and listened again. The rattle ofgold reached his ears. In another moment the light was put out, andagain he distinctly heard the breathing of two men, but no sound of adoor being opened or shut. The two men went downstairs, the faint soundsgrowing fainter as they went."Who is there?" cried Mme. Vauquer out of her bedroom window."I, Mme. Vauquer," answered Vautrin's deep bass voice. "I am coming in.""That is odd! Christophe drew the bolts," said Eugene, going back to hisroom. "You have to sit up at night, it seems, if you really mean to knowall that is going on about you in Paris."These incidents turned his thought from his ambitious dreams; he betookhimself to his work, but his thought wandered back to Father Goriot'ssuspicious occupation; Mme. de Restaud's face swam again and againbefore his eyes like a vision of a brilliant future; and at last he laydown and slept with clenched fists. When a young man makes up his mindthat he will work all night, the chances are that seven times out often he will sleep till morning. Such vigils do not begin before we areturned twenty.The next morning Paris was wrapped in one of the dense fogs that throwthe most punctual people out in their calculations as to the time; eventhe most business-like folk fail to keep their appointments in suchweather, and ordinary mortals wake up at noon and fancy it is eighto'clock. On this morning it was half-past nine, and Mme. Vauquerstill lay abed. Christophe was late, Sylvie was late, but the two satcomfortably taking their coffee as usual. It was Sylvie's custom to takethe cream off the milk destined for the boarders' breakfast for herown, and to boil the remainder for some time, so that madame should notdiscover this illegal exaction."Sylvie," said Christophe, as he dipped a piece of toast into thecoffee, "M. Vautrin, who is not such a bad sort, all the same, had twopeople come to see him again last night. If madame says anything, mindyou say nothing about it.""Has he given you something?""He gave me a five-franc piece this month, which is as good as saying,'Hold your tongue.'""Except him and Mme. Couture, who doesn't look twice at every penny,there's no one in the house that doesn't try to get back with the lefthand all that they give with the right at New Year," said Sylvie."And, after all," said Christophe, "what do they give you? A miserablefive-franc piece. There is Father Goriot, who has cleaned his shoeshimself these two years past. There is that old beggar Poiret, who goeswithout blacking altogether; he would sooner drink it than put it on hisboots. Then there is that whipper-snapper of a student, who gives me acouple of francs. Two francs will not pay for my brushes, and he sellshis old clothes, and gets more for them than they are worth. Oh! they'rea shabby lot!""Pooh!" said Sylvie, sipping her coffee, "our places are the best in theQuarter, that I know. But about that great big chap Vautrin, Christophe;has any one told you anything about him?""Yes. I met a gentleman in the street a few days ago; he said to me,'There's a gentleman in your place, isn't there? a tall man that dyeshis whiskers?' I told him, 'No, sir; they aren't dyed. A gay fellowlike him hasn't the time to do it.' And when I told M. Vautrin aboutit afterwards, he said, 'Quite right, my boy. That is the way toanswer them. There is nothing more unpleasant than to have your littleweaknesses known; it might spoil many a match.'""Well, and for my part," said Sylvie, "a man tried to humbug me at themarket wanting to know if I had seen him put on his shirt. Such bosh!There," she cried, interrupting herself, "that's a quarter to tenstriking at the Val-de-Grace, and not a soul stirring!""Pooh! they are all gone out. Mme. Couture and the girl went out ateight o'clock to take the wafer at Saint-Etienne. Father Goriot startedoff somewhere with a parcel, and the student won't be back from hislecture till ten o'clock. I saw them go while I was sweeping the stairs;Father Goriot knocked up against me, and his parcel was as hard as iron.What is the old fellow up to, I wonder? He is as good as a plaything forthe rest of them; they can never let him alone; but he is a good man,all the same, and worth more than all of them put together. He doesn'tgive you much himself, but he sometimes sends you with a message toladies who fork out famous tips; they are dressed grandly, too.""His daughters, as he calls them, eh? There are a dozen of them.""I have never been to more than two--the two who came here.""There is madame moving overhead; I shall have to go, or she will raisea fine racket. Just keep an eye on the milk, Christophe; don't let thecat get at it."Sylvie went up to her mistress' room."Sylvie! How is this? It's nearly ten o'clock, and you let me sleep likea dormouse! Such a thing has never happened before.""It's the fog; it is that thick, you could cut it with a knife.""But how about breakfast?""Bah! the boarders are possessed, I'm sure. They all cleared out beforethere was a wink of daylight.""Do speak properly, Sylvie," Mme. Vauquer retorted; "say a blink ofdaylight.""Ah, well, madame, whichever you please. Anyhow, you can have breakfastat ten o'clock. La Michonnette and Poiret have neither of them stirred.There are only those two upstairs, and they are sleeping like the logsthey are.""But, Sylvie, you put their names together as if----""As if what?" said Sylvie, bursting into a guffaw. "The two of them makea pair.""It is a strange thing, isn't it, Sylvie, how M. Vautrin got in lastnight after Christophe had bolted the door?""Not at all, madame. Christophe heard M. Vautrin, and went down andundid the door. And here are you imagining that----?""Give me my bodice, and be quick and get breakfast ready. Dish up therest of the mutton with the potatoes, and you can put the stewed pearson the table, those at five a penny."A few moments later Mme. Vauquer came down, just in time to see the catknock down a plate that covered a bowl of milk, and begin to lap in allhaste."Mistigris!" she cried.The cat fled, but promptly returned to rub against her ankles."Oh! yes, you can wheedle, you old hypocrite!" she said. "Sylvie!Sylvie!""Yes, madame; what is it?""Just see what the cat has done!""It is all that stupid Christophe's fault. I told him to stop and laythe table. What has become of him? Don't you worry, madame; FatherGoriot shall have it. I will fill it up with water, and he won't knowthe difference; he never notices anything, not even what he eats.""I wonder where the old heathen can have gone?" said Mme. Vauquer,setting the plates round the table."Who knows? He is up to all sorts of tricks.""I have overslept myself," said Mme. Vauquer."But madame looks as fresh as a rose, all the same."The door bell rang at that moment, and Vautrin came through thesitting-room, singing loudly:"'Tis the same old story everywhere,A roving heart and a roving glance.."Oh! Mamma Vauquer! good-morning!" he cried at the sight of his hostess,and he put his arm gaily round her waist."There! have done----""'Impertinence!' Say it!" he answered. "Come, say it! Now, isn't thatwhat you really mean? Stop a bit, I will help you to set the table. Ah!I am a nice man, am I not?"For the locks of brown and the golden hairA sighing lover..."Oh! I have just seen something so funny----.... led by chance.""What?" asked the widow."Father Goriot in the goldsmith's shop in the Rue Dauphine at half-pasteight this morning. They buy old spoons and forks and gold lace there,and Goriot sold a piece of silver plate for a good round sum. It hadbeen twisted out of shape very neatly for a man that's not used to thetrade.""Really? You don't say so?""Yes. One of my friends is expatriating himself; I had been to see himoff on board the Royal Mail steamer, and was coming back here. I waitedafter that to see what Father Goriot would do; it is a comical affair.He came back to this quarter of the world, to the Rue des Gres, and wentinto a money-lender's house; everybody knows him, Gobseck, a stuck-uprascal, that would make dominoes out of his father's bones, a Turk,a heathen, an old Jew, a Greek; it would be a difficult matter to robhim, for he puts all his coin into the Bank.""Then what was Father Goriot doing there?""Doing?" said Vautrin. "Nothing; he was bent on his own undoing. He is asimpleton, stupid enough to ruin himself by running after----""There he is!" cried Sylvie."Christophe," cried Father Goriot's voice, "come upstairs with me."Christophe went up, and shortly afterwards came down again."Where are you going?" Mme. Vauquer asked of her servant."Out on an errand for M. Goriot.""What may that be?" said Vautrin, pouncing on a letter in Christophe'shand. "Mme. la Comtesse Anastasie de Restaud," he read. "Where are yougoing with it?" he added, as he gave the letter back to Christophe."To the Rue du Helder. I have orders to give this into her handsmyself.""What is there inside it?" said Vautrin, holding the letter up to thelight. "A banknote? No." He peered into the envelope. "A receiptedaccount!" he cried. "My word! 'tis a gallant old dotard. Off with you,old chap," he said, bringing down a hand on Christophe's head, andspinning the man round like a thimble; "you will have a famous tip."By this time the table was set. Sylvie was boiling the milk, Mme.Vauquer was lighting a fire in the stove with some assistance fromVautrin, who kept humming to himself:"The same old story everywhere,A roving heart and a roving glance."When everything was ready, Mme. Couture and Mlle. Taillefer came in."Where have you been this morning, fair lady?" said Mme. Vauquer,turning to Mme. Couture."We have just been to say our prayers at Saint-Etienne du Mont. To-dayis the day when we must go to see M. Taillefer. Poor little thing! Sheis trembling like a leaf," Mme. Couture went on, as she seated herselfbefore the fire and held the steaming soles of her boots to the blaze."Warm yourself, Victorine," said Mme. Vauquer."It is quite right and proper, mademoiselle, to pray to Heaven to softenyour father's heart," said Vautrin, as he drew a chair nearer to theorphan girl; "but that is not enough. What you want is a friend whowill give the monster a piece of his mind; a barbarian that has threemillions (so they say), and will not give you a dowry; and a pretty girlneeds a dowry nowadays.""Poor child!" said Mme. Vauquer. "Never mind, my pet, your wretch of afather is going just the way to bring trouble upon himself."Victorine's eyes filled with tears at the words, and the widow checkedherself at a sign from Mme. Couture."If we could only see him!" said the Commissary-General's widow; "if Icould speak to him myself and give him his wife's last letter! Ihave never dared to run the risk of sending it by post; he knew myhandwriting----""'Oh woman, persecuted and injured innocent!'" exclaimed Vautrin,breaking in upon her. "So that is how you are, is it? In a few days'time I will look into your affairs, and it will be all right, you shallsee.""Oh! sir," said Victorine, with a tearful but eager glance at Vautrin,who showed no sign of being touched by it, "if you know of any wayof communicating with my father, please be sure and tell him that hisaffection and my mother's honor are more to me than all the money in theworld. If you can induce him to relent a little towards me, I will prayto God for you. You may be sure of my gratitude----""The same old story everywhere," sang Vautrin, with a satiricalintonation. At this juncture, Goriot, Mlle. Michonneau, and Poiret camedownstairs together; possibly the scent of the gravy which Sylvie wasmaking to serve with the mutton had announced breakfast. The sevenpeople thus assembled bade each other good-morning, and took theirplaces at the table; the clock struck ten, and the student's footstepwas heard outside."Ah! here you are, M. Eugene," said Sylvie; "every one is breakfastingat home to-day."The student exchanged greetings with the lodgers, and sat down besideGoriot."I have just met with a queer adventure," he said, as he helped himselfabundantly to the mutton, and cut a slice of bread, which Mme. Vauquer'seyes gauged as usual."An adventure?" queried Poiret."Well, and what is there to astonish you in that, old boy?" Vautrinasked of Poiret. "M. Eugene is cut out for that kind of thing."Mlle. Taillefer stole a timid glance at the young student."Tell us about your adventure!" demanded M. Vautrin."Yesterday evening I went to a ball given by a cousin of mine, theVicomtesse de Beauseant. She has a magnificent house; the rooms are hungwith silk--in short, it was a splendid affair, and I was as happy as aking---""Fisher," put in Vautrin, interrupting."What do you mean, sir?" said Eugene sharply."I said 'fisher,' because kingfishers see a good deal more fun thankings.""Quite true; I would much rather be the little careless bird than aking," said Poiret the ditto-ist, "because----""In fact"--the law-student cut him short--"I danced with one of thehandsomest women in the room, a charming countess, the most exquisitecreature I have ever seen. There was peach blossom in her hair, and shehad the loveliest bouquet of flowers--real flowers, that scented theair----but there! it is no use trying to describe a woman glowing withthe dance. You ought to have seen her! Well, and this morning I met thisdivine countess about nine o'clock, on foot in the Rue de Gres. Oh! howmy heart beat! I began to think----""That she was coming here," said Vautrin, with a keen look at thestudent. "I expect that she was going to call on old Gobseck, amoney-lender. If ever you explore a Parisian woman's heart, you willfind the money-lender first, and the lover afterwards. Your countess iscalled Anastasie de Restaud, and she lives in the Rue du Helder."The student stared hard at Vautrin. Father Goriot raised his head at thewords, and gave the two speakers a glance so full of intelligence anduneasiness that the lodgers beheld him with astonishment."Then Christophe was too late, and she must have gone to him!" criedGoriot, with anguish in his voice."It is just as I guessed," said Vautrin, leaning over to whisper in Mme.Vauquer's ear.Goriot went on with his breakfast, but seemed unconscious of what he wasdoing. He had never looked more stupid nor more taken up with his ownthoughts than he did at that moment."Who the devil could have told you her name, M. Vautrin?" asked Eugene."Aha! there you are!" answered Vautrin. "Old Father Goriot there knew itquite well! and why should I not know it too?""M. Goriot?" the student cried."What is it?" asked the old man. "So she was very beautiful, was she,yesterday night?""Who?""Mme. de Restaud.""Look at the old wretch," said Mme. Vauquer, speaking to Vautrin; "howhis eyes light up!""Then does he really keep her?" said Mlle. Michonneau, in a whisper tothe student."Oh! yes, she was tremendously pretty," Eugene answered. Father Goriotwatched him with eager eyes. "If Mme. de Beauseant had not been there,my divine countess would have been the queen of the ball; none of theyounger men had eyes for any one else. I was the twelfth on her list,and she danced every quadrille. The other women were furious. She musthave enjoyed herself, if ever creature did! It is a true sayingthat there is no more beautiful sight than a frigate in full sail, agalloping horse, or a woman dancing.""So the wheel turns," said Vautrin; "yesterday night at a duchess'ball, this morning in a money-lender's office, on the lowest rung of theladder--just like a Parisienne! If their husbands cannot afford to payfor their frantic extravagance, they will sell themselves. Or ifthey cannot do that, they will tear out their mothers' hearts to findsomething to pay for their splendor. They will turn the world upsidedown. Just a Parisienne through and through!"Father Goriot's face, which had shone at the student's words like thesun on a bright day, clouded over all at once at this cruel speech ofVautrin's."Well," said Mme. Vauquer, "but where is your adventure? Did you speakto her? Did you ask her if she wanted to study law?""She did not see me," said Eugene. "But only think of meeting one of theprettiest women in Paris in the Rue des Gres at nine o'clock! She couldnot have reached home after the ball till two o'clock this morning.Wasn't it queer? There is no place like Paris for this sort ofadventures.""Pshaw! much funnier things than that happen here!" exclaimed Vautrin.Mlle. Taillefer had scarcely heeded the talk, she was so absorbed by thethought of the new attempt that she was about to make. Mme. Couture madea sign that it was time to go upstairs and dress; the two ladies wentout, and Father Goriot followed their example."Well, did you see?" said Mme. Vauquer, addressing Vautrin and the restof the circle. "He is ruining himself for those women, that is plain.""Nothing will ever make me believe that that beautiful Comtesse deRestaud is anything to Father Goriot," cried the student."Well, and if you don't," broke in Vautrin, "we are not set onconvincing you. You are too young to know Paris thoroughly yet; later onyou will find out that there are what we call men with a passion----"Mlle. Michonneau gave Vautrin a quick glance at these words. They seemedto be like the sound of a trumpet to a trooper's horse. "Aha!" saidVautrin, stopping in his speech to give her a searching glance, "so wehave had our little experiences, have we?"The old maid lowered her eyes like a nun who sees a statue."Well," he went on, "when folk of that kind get a notion into theirheads, they cannot drop it. They must drink the water from someparticular spring--it is stagnant as often as not; but they will selltheir wives and families, they will sell their own souls to the devil toget it. For some this spring is play, or the stock-exchange, or music,or a collection of pictures or insects; for others it is some woman whocan give them the dainties they like. You might offer these last all thewomen on earth--they would turn up their noses; they will have the onlyone who can gratify their passion. It often happens that the womandoes not care for them at all, and treats them cruelly; they buy theirmorsels of satisfaction very dear; but no matter, the fools are nevertired of it; they will take their last blanket to the pawnbroker's togive their last five-franc piece to her. Father Goriot here is one ofthat sort. He is discreet, so the Countess exploits him--just the way ofthe gay world. The poor old fellow thinks of her and of nothing else.In all other respects you see he is a stupid animal; but get him onthat subject, and his eyes sparkle like diamonds. That secret is notdifficult to guess. He took some plate himself this morning to themelting-pot, and I saw him at Daddy Gobseck's in the Rue des Gres. Andnow, mark what follows--he came back here, and gave a letter for theComtesse de Restaud to that noodle of a Christophe, who showed us theaddress; there was a receipted bill inside it. It is clear that it wasan urgent matter if the Countess also went herself to the old moneylender. Father Goriot has financed her handsomely. There is no need totack a tale together; the thing is self-evident. So that shows you, sirstudent, that all the time your Countess was smiling, dancing, flirting,swaying her peach-flower crowned head, with her gown gathered into herhand, her slippers were pinching her, as they say; she was thinking ofher protested bills, or her lover's protested bills.""You have made me wild to know the truth," cried Eugene; "I will go tocall on Mme. de Restaud to-morrow.""Yes," echoed Poiret; "you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud.""And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take paymentfor the assistance he politely rendered."Eugene looked disgusted. "Why, then, this Paris of yours is a slough.""And an uncommonly queer slough, too," replied Vautrin. "The mudsplashes you as you drive through it in your carriage--you are arespectable person; you go afoot and are splashed--you are a scoundrel.You are so unlucky as to walk off with something or other belongingto somebody else, and they exhibit you as a curiosity in the Place duPalais-de-Justice; you steal a million, and you are pointed out in everysalon as a model of virtue. And you pay thirty millions for the policeand the courts of justice, for the maintenance of law and order! Apretty slate of things it is!""What," cried Mme. Vauquer, "has Father Goriot really melted down hissilver posset-dish?""There were two turtle-doves on the lid, were there not?" asked Eugene."Yes, that there were.""Then, was he fond of it?" said Eugene. "He cried while he was breakingup the cup and plate. I happened to see him by accident.""It was dear to him as his own life," answered the widow."There! you see how infatuated the old fellow is!" cried Vautrin. "Thewoman yonder can coax the soul out of him."The student went up to his room. Vautrin went out, and a few momentslater Mme. Couture and Victorine drove away in a cab which Sylvie hadcalled for them. Poiret gave his arm to Mlle. Michonneau, and they wenttogether to spend the two sunniest hours of the day in the Jardin desPlantes."Well, those two are as good as married," was the portly Sylvie'scomment. "They are going out together to-day for the first time. Theyare such a couple of dry sticks that if they happen to strike againsteach other they will draw sparks like flint and steel.""Keep clear of Mlle. Michonneau's shawl, then," said Mme. Vauquer,laughing; "it would flare up like tinder."At four o'clock that evening, when Goriot came in, he saw, by the lightof two smoky lamps, that Victorine's eyes were red. Mme. Vauquer waslistening to the history of the visit made that morning to M. Taillefer;it had been made in vain. Taillefer was tired of the annual applicationmade by his daughter and her elderly friend; he gave them a personalinterview in order to arrive at an understanding with them."My dear lady," said Mme. Couture, addressing Mme. Vauquer, "justimagine it; he did not even ask Victorine to sit down, she was standingthe whole time. He said to me quite coolly, without putting himself in apassion, that we might spare ourselves the trouble of going there; thatthe young lady (he would not call her his daughter) was injuring hercause by importuning him (importuning! once a year, the wretch!); thatas Victorine's mother had nothing when he married her, Victorine oughtnot to expect anything from him; in fact, he said the most cruel things,that made the poor child burst out crying. The little thing threwherself at her father's feet and spoke up bravely; she said that sheonly persevered in her visits for her mother's sake; that she wouldobey him without a murmur, but that she begged him to read her poor deadmother's farewell letter. She took it up and gave it to him, saying themost beautiful things in the world, most beautifully expressed; I do notknow where she learned them; God must have put them into her head, forthe poor child was inspired to speak so nicely that it made me cry likea fool to hear her talk. And what do you think the monster was doing allthe time? Cutting his nails! He took the letter that poor Mme. Tailleferhad soaked with tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece. 'That isall right,' he said. He held out his hands to raise his daughter, butshe covered them with kisses, and he drew them away again. Scandalous,isn't it? And his great booby of a son came in and took no notice of hissister.""What inhuman wretches they must be!" said Father Goriot."And then they both went out of the room," Mme. Couture went on, withoutheeding the worthy vermicelli maker's exclamation; "father and son bowedto me, and asked me to excuse them on account of urgent business! Thatis the history of our call. Well, he has seen his daughter at any rate.How he can refuse to acknowledge her I cannot think, for they are asalike as two peas."The boarders dropped in one after another, interchanging greetings andempty jokes that certain classes of Parisians regard as humorous andwitty. Dulness is their prevailing ingredient, and the whole pointconsists in mispronouncing a word or a gesture. This kind of argot isalways changing. The essence of the jest consists in some catchwordsuggested by a political event, an incident in the police courts, astreet song, or a bit of burlesque at some theatre, and forgotten in amonth. Anything and everything serves to keep up a game of battledoreand shuttlecock with words and ideas. The diorama, a recent invention,which carried an optical illusion a degree further than panoramas, hadgiven rise to a mania among art students for ending every word withrama. The Maison Vauquer had caught the infection from a young artistamong the boarders."Well, Monsieur-r-r Poiret," said the employe from the Museum, "howis your health-orama?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned toMme. Couture and Victorine with a "Ladies, you seem melancholy.""Is dinner ready?" cried Horace Bianchon, a medical student, and afriend of Rastignac's; "my stomach is sinking usque ad talones.""There is an uncommon frozerama outside," said Vautrin. "Make roomthere, Father Goriot! Confound it, your foot covers the whole front ofthe stove.""Illustrious M. Vautrin," put in Bianchon, "why do you say frozerama?It is incorrect; it should be frozenrama.""No, it shouldn't," said the official from the Museum; "frozerama isright by the same rule that you say 'My feet are froze.'""Ah! ah!""Here is his Excellency the Marquis de Rastignac, Doctor of the Law ofContraries," cried Bianchon, seizing Eugene by the throat, and almostthrottling him."Hallo there! hallo!"Mlle. Michonneau came noiselessly in, bowed to the rest of the party,and took her place beside the three women without saying a word."That old bat always makes me shudder," said Bianchon in a low voice,indicating Mlle. Michonneau to Vautrin. "I have studied Gall's system,and I am sure she has the bump of Judas.""Then you have seen a case before?" said Vautrin."Who has not?" answered Bianchon. "Upon my word, that ghastly old maidlooks just like one of the long worms that will gnaw a beam through,give them time enough.""That is the way, young man," returned he of the forty years and thedyed whiskers:"The rose has lived the life of a rose--A morning's space.""Aha! here is a magnificent soupe-au-rama," cried Poiret as Christophecame in bearing the soup with cautious heed."I beg your pardon, sir," said Mme. Vauquer; "it is soupe aux choux."All the young men roared with laughter."Had you there, Poiret!""Poir-r-r-rette! she had you there!""Score two points to Mamma Vauquer," said Vautrin."Did any of you notice the fog this morning?" asked the official."It was a frantic fog," said Bianchon, "a fog unparalleled, doleful,melancholy, sea-green, asthmatical--a Goriot of a fog!""A Goriorama," said the art student, "because you couldn't see a thingin it.""Hey! Milord Gaoriotte, they air talking about yoo-o-ou!"Father Goriot, seated at the lower end of the table, close to the doorthrough which the servant entered, raised his face; he had smelt at ascrap of bread that lay under his table napkin, an old trick acquired inhis commercial capacity, that still showed itself at times."Well," Madame Vauquer cried in sharp tones, that rang above the rattleof spoons and plates and the sound of other voices, "and is thereanything the matter with the bread?""Nothing whatever, madame," he answered; "on the contrary, it is made ofthe best quality of corn; flour from Etampes.""How could you tell?" asked Eugene."By the color, by the flavor.""You knew the flavor by the smell, I suppose," said Mme. Vauquer. "Youhave grown so economical, you will find out how to live on the smell ofcooking at last.""Take out a patent for it, then," cried the Museum official; "you wouldmake a handsome fortune.""Never mind him," said the artist; "he does that sort of thing to deludeus into thinking that he was a vermicelli maker.""Your nose is a corn-sampler, it appears?" inquired the official."Corn what?" asked Bianchon."Corn-el.""Corn-et.""Corn-elian.""Corn-ice.""Corn-ucopia.""Corn-crake.""Corn-cockle.""Corn-orama."The eight responses came like a rolling fire from every part of theroom, and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious becausepoor Father Goriot stared at the others with a puzzled look, like aforeigner trying to catch the meaning of words in a language which hedoes not understand."Corn?..." he said, turning to Vautrin, his next neighbor."Corn on your foot, old man!" said Vautrin, and he drove Father Goriot'scap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown.The poor old man thus suddenly attacked was for a moment too bewilderedto do anything. Christophe carried off his plate, thinking that he hadfinished his soup, so that when Goriot had pushed back his cap from hiseyes his spoon encountered the table. Every one burst out laughing. "Youare a disagreeable joker, sir," said the old man, "and if you take anyfurther liberties with me----""Well, what then, old boy?" Vautrin interrupted."Well, then, you shall pay dearly for it some day----""Down below, eh?" said the artist, "in the little dark corner where theyput naughty boys.""Well, mademoiselle," Vautrin said, turning to Victorine, "you areeating nothing. So papa was refractory, was he?""A monster!" said Mme. Couture."Mademoiselle might make application for aliment pending her suit; sheis not eating anything. Eh! eh! just see how Father Goriot is staring atMlle. Victorine."The old man had forgotten his dinner, he was so absorbed in gazing atthe poor girl; the sorrow in her face was unmistakable,--the slightedlove of a child whose father would not recognize her."We are mistaken about Father Goriot, my dear boy," said Eugene in a lowvoice. "He is not an idiot, nor wanting in energy. Try your Gall systemon him, and let me know what you think. I saw him crush a silver dishlast night as if it had been made of wax; there seems to be somethingextraordinary going on in his mind just now, to judge by his face. Hislife is so mysterious that it must be worth studying. Oh! you may laugh,Bianchon; I am not joking.""The man is a subject, is he?" said Bianchon; "all right! I will dissecthim, if he will give me the chance.""No; feel his bumps.""Hm!--his stupidity might perhaps be contagious."
The next day Rastignac dressed himself very elegantly, and about threeo'clock in the afternoon went to call on Mme. de Restaud. On the waythither he indulged in the wild intoxicating dreams which fill a younghead so full of delicious excitement. Young men at his age takeno account of obstacles nor of dangers; they see success in everydirection; imagination has free play, and turns their lives into aromance; they are saddened or discouraged by the collapse of one of thevisionary schemes that have no existence save in their heated fancy. Ifyouth were not ignorant and timid, civilization would be impossible.Eugene took unheard-of pains to keep himself in a spotless condition,but on his way through the streets he began to think about Mme. deRestaud and what he should say to her. He equipped himself with wit,rehearsed repartees in the course of an imaginary conversation, andprepared certain neat speeches a la Talleyrand, conjuring up a series ofsmall events which should prepare the way for the declaration on whichhe had based his future; and during these musings the law student wasbespattered with mud, and by the time he reached the Palais Royal he wasobliged to have his boots blacked and his trousers brushed."If I were rich," he said, as he changed the five-franc piece he hadbrought with him in case anything might happen, "I would take a cab,then I could think at my ease."At last he reached the Rue du Helder, and asked for the Comtesse deRestaud. He bore the contemptuous glances of the servants, who had seenhim cross the court on foot, with the cold fury of a man who knows thathe will succeed some day. He understood the meaning of their glances atonce, for he had felt his inferiority as soon as he entered the court,where a smart cab was waiting. All the delights of life in Parisseemed to be implied by this visible and manifest sign of luxury andextravagance. A fine horse, in magnificent harness, was pawing theground, and all at once the law student felt out of humor with himself.Every compartment in his brain which he had thought to find so full ofwit was bolted fast; he grew positively stupid. He sent up his nameto the Countess, and waited in the ante-chamber, standing on one footbefore a window that looked out upon the court; mechanically he leanedhis elbow against the sash, and stared before him. The time seemed long;he would have left the house but for the southern tenacity of purposewhich works miracles when it is single-minded."Madame is in her boudoir, and cannot see any one at present, sir,"said the servant. "She gave me no answer; but if you will go into thedining-room, there is some one already there."Rastignac was impressed with a sense of the formidable power of thelackey who can accuse or condemn his masters by a word; he coolly openedthe door by which the man had just entered the ante-chamber, meaning,no doubt, to show these insolent flunkeys that he was familiar with thehouse; but he found that he had thoughtlessly precipitated himself intoa small room full of dressers, where lamps were standing, and hot-waterpipes, on which towels were being dried; a dark passage and a backstaircase lay beyond it. Stifled laughter from the ante-chamber added tohis confusion."This way to the drawing-room, sir," said the servant, with theexaggerated respect which seemed to be one more jest at his expense.Eugene turned so quickly that he stumbled against a bath. By good luck,he managed to keep his hat on his head, and saved it from immersion inthe water; but just as he turned, a door opened at the further end ofthe dark passage, dimly lighted by a small lamp. Rastignac heard voicesand the sound of a kiss; one of the speakers was Mme. de Restaud,the other was Father Goriot. Eugene followed the servant through thedining-room into the drawing-room; he went to a window that lookedout into the courtyard, and stood there for a while. He meant to knowwhether this Goriot was really the Goriot that he knew. His heartbeat unwontedly fast; he remembered Vautrin's hideous insinuations. Awell-dressed young man suddenly emerged from the room almost as Eugeneentered it, saying impatiently to the servant who stood at the door: "Iam going, Maurice. Tell Madame la Comtesse that I waited more than halfan hour for her."Whereupon this insolent being, who, doubtless, had a right to beinsolent, sang an Italian trill, and went towards the window whereEugene was standing, moved thereto quite as much by a desire to see thestudent's face as by a wish to look out into the courtyard."But M. le Comte had better wait a moment longer; madame is disengaged,"said Maurice, as he returned to the ante-chamber.Just at that moment Father Goriot appeared close to the gate; he hademerged from a door at the foot of the back staircase. The worthy soulwas preparing to open his umbrella regardless of the fact that the greatgate had opened to admit a tilbury, in which a young man with a ribbonat his button-hole was seated. Father Goriot had scarcely time to startback and save himself. The horse took fright at the umbrella, swerved,and dashed forward towards the flight of steps. The young man lookedround in annoyance, saw Father Goriot, and greeted him as he went outwith constrained courtesy, such as people usually show to a money-lenderso long as they require his services, or the sort of respect they feelit necessary to show for some one whose reputation has been blown upon,so that they blush to acknowledge his acquaintance. Father Goriot gavehim a little friendly nod and a good-natured smile. All this happenedwith lightning speed. Eugene was so deeply interested that he forgotthat he was not alone till he suddenly heard the Countess' voice."Oh! Maxime, were you going away?" she said reproachfully, with a shadeof pique in her manner. The Countess had not seen the incident nor theentrance of the tilbury. Rastignac turned abruptly and saw her standingbefore him, coquettishly dressed in a loose white cashmere gown withknots of rose-colored ribbon here and there; her hair was carelesslycoiled about her head, as is the wont of Parisian women in the morning;there was a soft fragrance about her--doubtless she was fresh froma bath;--her graceful form seemed more flexible, her beauty moreluxuriant. Her eyes glistened. A young man can see everything at aglance; he feels the radiant influence of woman as a plant discerns andabsorbs its nutriment from the air; he did not need to touch her handsto feel their cool freshness. He saw faint rose tints through thecashmere of the dressing gown; it had fallen slightly open, givingglimpses of a bare throat, on which the student's eyes rested. TheCountess had no need of the adventitious aid of corsets; her girdledefined the outlines of her slender waist; her throat was a challengeto love; her feet, thrust into slippers, were daintily small. As Maximetook her hand and kissed it, Eugene became aware of Maxime's existence,and the Countess saw Eugene."Oh! is that you M. de Rastignac? I am very glad to see you," she said,but there was something in her manner that a shrewd observer would havetaken as a hint to depart.Maxime, as the Countess Anastasie had called the young man with thehaughty insolence of bearing, looked from Eugene to the lady, and fromthe lady to Eugene; it was sufficiently evident that he wished to be ridof the latter. An exact and faithful rendering of the glance might begiven in the words: "Look here, my dear; I hope you intend to send thislittle whipper-snapper about his business."The Countess consulted the young man's face with an intentsubmissiveness that betrays all the secrets of a woman's heart, andRastignac all at once began to hate him violently. To begin with, thesight of the fair carefully arranged curls on the other's comelyhead had convinced him that his own crop was hideous; Maxime's boots,moreover, were elegant and spotless, while his own, in spite of allhis care, bore some traces of his recent walk; and, finally, Maxime'sovercoat fitted the outline of his figure gracefully, he looked like apretty woman, while Eugene was wearing a black coat at half-past two.The quick-witted child of the Charente felt the disadvantage at which hewas placed beside this tall, slender dandy, with the clear gaze andthe pale face, one of those men who would ruin orphan children withoutscruple. Mme. de Restaud fled into the next room without waiting forEugene to speak; shaking out the skirts of her dressing-gown in herflight, so that she looked like a white butterfly, and Maxime hurriedafter her. Eugene, in a fury, followed Maxime and the Countess, andthe three stood once more face to face by the hearth in the largedrawing-room. The law student felt quite sure that the odious Maximefound him in the way, and even at the risk of displeasing Mme. deRestaud, he meant to annoy the dandy. It had struck him all at once thathe had seen the young man before at Mme. de Beauseant's ball; he guessedthe relation between Maxime and Mme. de Restaud; and with the youthfulaudacity that commits prodigious blunders or achieves signal success, hesaid to himself, "This is my rival; I mean to cut him out."Rash resolve! He did not know that M. le Comte Maxime de Trailles wouldwait till he was insulted, so as to fire first and kill his man. Eugenewas a sportsman and a good shot, but he had not yet hit the bulls's eyetwenty times out of twenty-two. The young Count dropped into a low chairby the hearth, took up the tongs, and made up the fire so violently andso sulkily, that Anastasie's fair face suddenly clouded over. She turnedto Eugene, with a cool, questioning glance that asked plainly, "Why doyou not go?" a glance which well-bred people regard as a cue to maketheir exit.Eugene assumed an amiable expression."Madame," he began, "I hastened to call upon you----"He stopped short. The door opened, and the owner of the tilbury suddenlyappeared. He had left his hat outside, and did not greet the Countess;he looked meditatively at Rastignac, and held out his hand to Maximewith a cordial "Good morning," that astonished Eugene not a little. Theyoung provincial did not understand the amenities of a triple alliance."M. de Restaud," said the Countess, introducing her husband to the lawstudent.Eugene bowed profoundly."This gentleman," she continued, presenting Eugene to her husband,"is M. de Rastignac; he is related to Mme. la Vicomtesse de Beauseantthrough the Marcillacs; I had the pleasure of meeting him at her lastball."Related to Mme. la Vicomtesse de Beauseant through the Marcillacs!These words, on which the countess threw ever so slight an emphasis, byreason of the pride that the mistress of a house takes in showingthat she only receives people of distinction as visitors in her house,produced a magical effect. The Count's stiff manner relaxed at once ashe returned the student's bow."Delighted to have an opportunity of making your acquaintance," he said.Maxime de Trailles himself gave Eugene an uneasy glance, and suddenlydropped his insolent manner. The mighty name had all the power of afairy's wand; those closed compartments in the southern brain flew openagain; Rastignac's carefully drilled faculties returned. It was as if asudden light had pierced the obscurity of this upper world of Paris, andhe began to see, though everything was indistinct as yet. Mme. Vauquer'slodging-house and Father Goriot were very far remote from his thoughts."I thought that the Marcillacs were extinct," the Comte de Restaud said,addressing Eugene."Yes, they are extinct," answered the law student. "My great-uncle, theChevalier de Rastignac, married the heiress of the Marcillac family.They had only one daughter, who married the Marechal de Clarimbault,Mme. de Beauseant's grandfather on the mother's side. We are the youngerbranch of the family, and the younger branch is all the poorer becausemy great-uncle, the Vice-Admiral, lost all that he had in the King'sservice. The Government during the Revolution refused to admit ourclaims when the Compagnie des Indes was liquidated.""Was not your great-uncle in command of the Vengeur before 1789?""Yes.""Then he would be acquainted with my grandfather, who commanded theWarwick."Maxime looked at Mme. de Restaud and shrugged his shoulders, as whoshould say, "If he is going to discuss nautical matters with thatfellow, it is all over with us." Anastasie understood the glance that M.de Trailles gave her. With a woman's admirable tact, she began to smileand said:"Come with me, Maxime; I have something to say to you. We will leaveyou two gentlemen to sail in company on board the Warwick and theVengeur."She rose to her feet and signed to Maxime to follow her, mirth andmischief in her whole attitude, and the two went in the direction of theboudoir. The morganatic couple (to use a convenient German expressionwhich has no exact equivalent) had reached the door, when the Countinterrupted himself in his talk with Eugene."Anastasie!" he cried pettishly, "just stay a moment, dear; you knowvery well that----""I am coming back in a minute," she interrupted; "I have a commissionfor Maxime to execute, and I want to tell him about it."She came back almost immediately. She had noticed the inflection in herhusband's voice, and knew that it would not be safe to retire to theboudoir; like all women who are compelled to study their husbands'characters in order to have their own way, and whose business it isto know exactly how far they can go without endangering a goodunderstanding, she was very careful to avoid petty collisions indomestic life. It was Eugene who had brought about this untowardincident; so the Countess looked at Maxime and indicated the law studentwith an air of exasperation. M. de Trailles addressed the Count, theCountess, and Eugene with the pointed remark, "You are busy, I do notwant to interrupt you; good-day," and he went."Just wait a moment, Maxime!" the Count called after him."Come and dine with us," said the Countess, leaving Eugene and herhusband together once more. She followed Maxime into the littledrawing-room, where they sat together sufficiently long to feel surethat Rastignac had taken his leave.The law student heard their laughter, and their voices, and the pausesin their talk; he grew malicious, exerted his conversational powers forM. de Restaud, flattered him, and drew him into discussions, to theend that he might see the Countess again and discover the nature of herrelations with Father Goriot. This Countess with a husband and a lover,for Maxime clearly was her lover, was a mystery. What was the secret tiethat bound her to the old tradesman? This mystery he meant to penetrate,hoping by its means to gain a sovereign ascendency over this fairtypical Parisian."Anastasie!" the Count called again to his wife."Poor Maxime!" she said, addressing the young man. "Come, we must resignourselves. This evening----""I hope, Nasie," he said in her ear, "that you will give orders not toadmit that youngster, whose eyes light up like live coals when he looksat you. He will make you a declaration, and compromise you, and then youwill compel me to kill him.""Are you mad, Maxime?" she said. "A young lad of a student is, on thecontrary, a capital lightning-conductor; is not that so? Of course, Imean to make Restaud furiously jealous of him."Maxime burst out laughing, and went out, followed by the Countess, whostood at the window to watch him into his carriage; he shook his whip,and made his horse prance. She only returned when the great gate hadbeen closed after him."What do you think, dear?" cried the Count, her husband, "thisgentleman's family estate is not far from Verteuil, on the Charente; hisgreat-uncle and my grandfather were acquainted.""Delighted to find that we have acquaintances in common," said theCountess, with a preoccupied manner."More than you think," said Eugene, in a low voice."What do you mean?" she asked quickly."Why, only just now," said the student, "I saw a gentleman go out atthe gate, Father Goriot, my next door neighbor in the house where I amlodging."At the sound of this name, and the prefix that embellished it, theCount, who was stirring the fire, let the tongs fall as though they hadburned his fingers, and rose to his feet."Sir," he cried, "you might have called him 'Monsieur Goriot'!"The Countess turned pale at first at the sight of her husband'svexation, then she reddened; clearly she was embarrassed, her answerwas made in a tone that she tried to make natural, and with an air ofassumed carelessness:"You could not know any one who is dearer to us both..."She broke off, glanced at the piano as if some fancy had crossed hermind, and asked, "Are you fond of music, M. de Rastignac?""Exceedingly," answered Eugene, flushing, and disconcerted by a dimsuspicion that he had somehow been guilty of a clumsy piece of folly."Do you sing?" she cried, going to the piano, and, sitting down beforeit, she swept her fingers over the keyboard from end to end. R-r-r-rah!"No, madame."The Comte de Restaud walked to and fro."That is a pity; you are without one great means of success.--Ca-ro,ca-a-ro, ca-a-a-ro, non du-bi-ta-re," sang the Countess.Eugene had a second time waved a magic wand when he uttered Goriot'sname, but the effect seemed to be entirely opposite to that produced bythe formula "related to Mme. de Beauseant." His position was notunlike that of some visitor permitted as a favor to inspect a privatecollection of curiosities, when by inadvertence he comes into collisionwith a glass case full of sculptured figures, and three or four heads,imperfectly secured, fall at the shock. He wished the earth would openand swallow him. Mme. de Restaud's expression was reserved and chilly,her eyes had grown indifferent, and sedulously avoided meeting those ofthe unlucky student of law."Madame," he said, "you wish to talk with M. de Restaud; permit me towish you good-day----"The Countess interrupted him by a gesture, saying hastily, "Whenever youcome to see us, both M. de Restaud and I shall be delighted to see you."Eugene made a profound bow and took his leave, followed by M. deRestaud, who insisted, in spite of his remonstrances, on accompanyinghim into the hall."Neither your mistress nor I are at home to that gentleman when hecalls," the Count said to Maurice.As Eugene set foot on the steps, he saw that it was raining."Come," said he to himself, "somehow I have just made a mess of it, Ido not know how. And now I am going to spoil my hat and coat into thebargain. I ought to stop in my corner, grind away at law, and neverlook to be anything but a boorish country magistrate. How can I gointo society, when to manage properly you want a lot of cabs, varnishedboots, gold watch chains, and all sorts of things; you have to wearwhite doeskin gloves that cost six francs in the morning, and primrosekid gloves every evening? A fig for that old humbug of a Goriot!"When he reached the street door, the driver of a hackney coach, who hadprobably just deposited a wedding party at their door, and asked nothingbetter than a chance of making a little money for himself without hisemployer's knowledge, saw that Eugene had no umbrella, remarked hisblack coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, and varnished boots, andstopped and looked at him inquiringly. Eugene, in the blind desperationthat drives a young man to plunge deeper and deeper into an abyss, as ifhe might hope to find a fortunate issue in its lowest depths, noddedin reply to the driver's signal, and stepped into the cab; a few straypetals of orange blossom and scraps of wire bore witness to its recentoccupation by a wedding party."Where am I to drive, sir?" demanded the man, who, by this time, hadtaken off his white gloves."Confound it!" Eugene said to himself, "I am in for it now, and at leastI will not spend cab-hire for nothing!--Drive to the Hotel Beauseant,"he said aloud."Which?" asked the man, a portentous word that reduced Eugene toconfusion. This young man of fashion, species incerta, did not know thatthere were two Hotels Beauseant; he was not aware how rich he was inrelations who did not care about him."The Vicomte de Beauseant, Rue----""De Grenelle," interrupted the driver, with a jerk of his head. "Yousee, there are the hotels of the Marquis and Comte de Beauseant in theRue Saint-Dominique," he added, drawing up the step."I know all about that," said Eugene, severely.--"Everybody is laughingat me to-day, it seems!" he said to himself, as he deposited his hat onthe opposite seat. "This escapade will cost me a king's ransom, but,at any rate, I shall call on my so-called cousin in a thoroughlyaristocratic fashion. Goriot has cost me ten francs already, the oldscoundrel. My word! I will tell Mme. de Beauseant about my adventure;perhaps it may amuse her. Doubtless she will know the secret of thecriminal relation between that handsome woman and the old rat without atail. It would be better to find favor in my cousin's eyes than tocome in contact with that shameless woman, who seems to me to have veryexpensive tastes. Surely the beautiful Vicomtesse's personal interestwould turn the scale for me, when the mere mention of her name producessuch an effect. Let us look higher. If you set yourself to carry theheights of heaven, you must face God."The innumerable thoughts that surged through his brain might be summedup in these phrases. He grew calmer, and recovered something of hisassurance as he watched the falling rain. He told himself that thoughhe was about to squander two of the precious five-franc pieces thatremained to him, the money was well laid out in preserving his coat,boots, and hat; and his cabman's cry of "Gate, if you please," almostput him in spirits. A Swiss, in scarlet and gold, appeared, the greatdoor groaned on its hinges, and Rastignac, with sweet satisfaction,beheld his equipage pass under the archway and stop before the flightof steps beneath the awning. The driver, in a blue-and-red greatcoat,dismounted and let down the step. As Eugene stepped out of the cab, heheard smothered laughter from the peristyle. Three or four lackeyswere making merry over the festal appearance of the vehicle. Inanother moment the law student was enlightened as to the cause of theirhilarity; he felt the full force of the contrast between his equipageand one of the smartest broughams in Paris; a coachman, with powderedhair, seemed to find it difficult to hold a pair of spirited horses, whostood chafing the bit. In Mme. de Restaud's courtyard, in the Chausseed'Antin, he had seen the neat turnout of a young man of six-and-twenty;in the Faubourg Saint-Germain he found the luxurious equipage of a manof rank; thirty thousand francs would not have purchased it."Who can be here?" said Eugene to himself. He began to understand,though somewhat tardily, that he must not expect to find many women inParis who were not already appropriated, and that the capture of oneof these queens would be likely to cost something more than bloodshed."Confound it all! I expect my cousin also has her Maxime."He went up the steps, feeling that he was a blighted being. The glassdoor was opened for him; the servants were as solemn as jackasses underthe curry comb. So far, Eugene had only been in the ballroom on theground floor of the Hotel Beauseant; the fete had followed so closely onthe invitation, that he had not had time to call on his cousin, and hadtherefore never seen Mme. de Beauseant's apartments; he was about tobehold for the first time a great lady among the wonderful and elegantsurroundings that reveal her character and reflect her daily life.He was the more curious, because Mme. de Restaud's drawing-room hadprovided him with a standard of comparison.At half-past four the Vicomtesse de Beauseant was visible. Five minutesearlier she would not have received her cousin, but Eugene knew nothingof the recognized routine of various houses in Paris. He was conductedup the wide, white-painted, crimson-carpeted staircase, between thegilded balusters and masses of flowering plants, to Mme. de Beauseant'sapartments. He did not know the rumor current about Mme. de Beauseant,one of the biographies told, with variations, in whispers, every eveningin the salons of Paris.For three years past her name had been spoken of in connection withthat of one of the most wealthy and distinguished Portuguese nobles,the Marquis d'Ajuda-Pinto. It was one of those innocent liaisons whichpossess so much charm for the two thus attached to each other thatthey find the presence of a third person intolerable. The Vicomte deBeauseant, therefore, had himself set an example to the rest of theworld by respecting, with as good a grace as might be, this morganaticunion. Any one who came to call on the Vicomtesse in the early days ofthis friendship was sure to find the Marquis d'Ajuda-Pinto there. As,under the circumstances, Mme. de Beauseant could not very well shut herdoor against these visitors, she gave them such a cold reception, andshowed so much interest in the study of the ceiling, that no one couldfail to understand how much he bored her; and when it became known inParis that Mme. de Beauseant was bored by callers between two and fouro'clock, she was left in perfect solitude during that interval. Shewent to the Bouffons or to the Opera with M. de Beauseant and M.d'Ajuda-Pinto; and M. de Beauseant, like a well-bred man of the world,always left his wife and the Portuguese as soon as he had installedthem. But M. d'Ajuda-Pinto must marry, and a Mlle. de Rochefide was theyoung lady. In the whole fashionable world there was but one person whoas yet knew nothing of the arrangement, and that was Mme. de Beauseant.Some of her friends had hinted at the possibility, and she had laughedat them, believing that envy had prompted those ladies to try to makemischief. And now, though the bans were about to be published, andalthough the handsome Portuguese had come that day to break the news tothe Vicomtesse, he had not found courage as yet to say one word abouthis treachery. How was it? Nothing is doubtless more difficult than thenotification of an ultimatum of this kind. There are men who feel moreat their ease when they stand up before another man who threatens theirlives with sword or pistol than in the presence of a woman who, aftertwo hours of lamentations and reproaches, falls into a dead swoon andrequires salts. At this moment, therefore, M. d'Ajuda-Pinto was onthorns, and anxious to take his leave. He told himself that in someway or other the news would reach Mme. de Beauseant; he would write, itwould be much better to do it by letter, and not to utter the words thatshould stab her to the heart.So when the servant announced M. Eugene de Rastignac, the Marquisd'Ajuda-Pinto trembled with joy. To be sure, a loving woman shows evenmore ingenuity in inventing doubts of her lover than in varying themonotony of his happiness; and when she is about to be forsaken, sheinstinctively interprets every gesture as rapidly as Virgil's courserdetected the presence of his companion by snuffing the breeze. It wasimpossible, therefore, that Mme. de Beauseant should not detect thatinvoluntary thrill of satisfaction; slight though it was, it wasappalling in its artlessness.Eugene had yet to learn that no one in Paris should present himself inany house without first making himself acquainted with the whole historyof its owner, and of its owner's wife and family, so that he may avoidmaking any of the terrible blunders which in Poland draw forth thepicturesque exclamation, "Harness five bullocks to your cart!" probablybecause you will need them all to pull you out of the quagmire intowhich a false step has plunged you. If, down to the present day, ourlanguage has no name for these conversational disasters, it is probablybecause they are believed to be impossible, the publicity given in Paristo every scandal is so prodigious. After the awkward incident at Mme. deRestaud's, no one but Eugene could have reappeared in his characterof bullock-driver in Mme. de Beauseant's drawing-room. But if Mme. deRestaud and M. de Trailles had found him horribly in the way, M. d'Ajudahailed his coming with relief."Good-bye," said the Portuguese, hurrying to the door, as Eugene madehis entrance into a dainty little pink-and-gray drawing-room, whereluxury seemed nothing more than good taste."Until this evening," said Mme. de Beauseant, turning her head to givethe Marquis a glance. "We are going to the Bouffons, are we not?""I cannot go," he said, with his fingers on the door handle.Mme. de Beauseant rose and beckoned to him to return. She did notpay the slightest attention to Eugene, who stood there dazzled by thesparkling marvels around him; he began to think that this was some storyout of the Arabian Nights made real, and did not know where to hidehimself, when the woman before him seemed to be unconscious of hisexistence. The Vicomtesse had raised the forefinger of her right hand,and gracefully signed to the Marquis to seat himself beside her. TheMarquis felt the imperious sway of passion in her gesture; he came backtowards her. Eugene watched him, not without a feeling of envy."That is the owner of the brougham!" he said to himself. "But is itnecessary to have a pair of spirited horses, servants in livery, andtorrents of gold to draw a glance from a woman here in Paris?"The demon of luxury gnawed at his heart, greed burned in his veins, histhroat was parched with the thirst of gold.He had a hundred and thirty francs every quarter. His father, mother,brothers, sisters, and aunt did not spend two hundred francs a monthamong them. This swift comparison between his present condition and theaims he had in view helped to benumb his faculties."Why not?" the Vicomtesse was saying, as she smiled at the Portuguese."Why cannot you come to the Italiens?""Affairs! I am to dine with the English Ambassador.""Throw him over."When a man once enters on a course of deception, he is compelled toadd lie to lie. M. d'Ajuda therefore said, smiling, "Do you lay yourcommands on me?""Yes, certainly.""That was what I wanted to have you say to me," he answered, dissemblinghis feelings in a glance which would have reassured any other woman.He took the Vicomtesse's hand, kissed it, and went.Eugene ran his fingers through his hair, and constrained himself to bow.He thought that now Mme. de Beauseant would give him her attention;but suddenly she sprang forward, rushed to a window in the gallery, andwatched M. d'Ajuda step into his carriage; she listened to the orderthat he gave, and heard the Swiss repeat it to the coachman:"To M. de Rochefide's house."Those words, and the way in which M. d'Ajuda flung himself back in thecarriage, were like a lightning flash and a thunderbolt for her; shewalked back again with a deadly fear gnawing at her heart. The mostterrible catastrophes only happen among the heights. The Vicomtessewent to her own room, sat down at a table, and took up a sheet of daintynotepaper."When, instead of dining with the English Ambassador,"she wrote, "you go to the Rochefides, you owe me anexplanation, which I am waiting to hear."She retraced several of the letters, for her hand was trembling so thatthey were indistinct; then she signed the note with an initial C for"Claire de Bourgogne," and rang the bell."Jacques," she said to the servant, who appeared immediately, "takethis note to M. de Rochefide's house at half-past seven and ask for theMarquis d'Ajuda. If M. d'Ajuda is there, leave the note without waitingfor an answer; if he is not there, bring the note back to me.""Madame la Vicomtess, there is a visitor in the drawing-room.""Ah! yes, of course," she said, opening the door.Eugene was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, but at last theVicomtesse appeared; she spoke to him, and the tremulous tones of hervoice vibrated through his heart."Pardon me, monsieur," she said; "I had a letter to write. Now I amquite at liberty."She scarcely knew what she was saying, for even as she spoke shethought, "Ah! he means to marry Mlle. de Rochefide? But is he stillfree? This evening the marriage shall be broken off, or else... Butbefore to-morrow I shall know.""Cousin..." the student replied."Eh?" said the Countess, with an insolent glance that sent a coldshudder through Eugene; he understood what that "Eh?" meant; he hadlearned a great deal in three hours, and his wits were on the alert. Hereddened:"Madame..." he began; he hesitated a moment, and then went on."Pardon me; I am in such need of protection that the nearest scrap ofrelationship could do me no harm."Mme. de Beauseant smiled but there was sadness in her smile; even nowshe felt forebodings of the coming pain, the air she breathed was heavywith the storm that was about to burst."If you knew how my family are situated," he went on, "you would love toplay the part of a beneficent fairy godmother who graciously clears theobstacles from the path of her protege.""Well, cousin," she said, laughing, "and how can I be of service toyou?""But do I know even that? I am distantly related to you, and thisobscure and remote relationship is even now a perfect godsend to me. Youhave confused my ideas; I cannot remember the things that I meant to sayto you. I know no one else here in Paris.... Ah! if I could only ask youto counsel me, ask you to look upon me as a poor child who would faincling to the hem of your dress, who would lay down his life for you.""Would you kill a man for me?""Two," said Eugene."You, child. Yes, you are a child," she said, keeping back the tearsthat came to her eyes; "you would love sincerely.""Oh!" he cried, flinging up his head.The audacity of the student's answer interested the Vicomtesse in him.The southern brain was beginning to scheme for the first time. BetweenMme. de Restaud's blue boudoir and Mme. de Beauseant's rose-coloreddrawing-room he had made a three years' advance in a kind of law whichis not a recognized study in Paris, although it is a sort of higherjurisprudence, and, when well understood, is a highroad to success ofevery kind."Ah! that is what I meant to say!" said Eugene. "I met Mme. de Restaudat your ball, and this morning I went to see her."You must have been very much in the way," said Mme. de Beauseant,smiling as she spoke."Yes, indeed. I am a novice, and my blunders will set every one againstme, if you do not give me your counsel. I believe that in Paris it isvery difficult to meet with a young, beautiful, and wealthy woman offashion who would be willing to teach me, what you women can explain sowell--life. I shall find a M. de Trailles everywhere. So I have come toyou to ask you to give me a key to a puzzle, to entreat you to tell mewhat sort of blunder I made this morning. I mentioned an old man----""Madame la Duchess de Langeais," Jacques cut the student short; Eugenegave expression to his intense annoyance by a gesture."If you mean to succeed," said the Vicomtesse in a low voice, "in thefirst place you must not be so demonstrative.""Ah! good morning, dear," she continued, and rising and crossing theroom, she grasped the Duchess' hands as affectionately as if they hadbeen sisters; the Duchess responded in the prettiest and most graciousway."Two intimate friends!" said Rastignac to himself. "Henceforward I shallhave two protectresses; those two women are great friends, no doubt, andthis newcomer will doubtless interest herself in her friend's cousin.""To what happy inspiration do I owe this piece of good fortune, dearAntoinette?" asked Mme. de Beauseant."Well, I saw M. d'Ajuda-Pinto at M. de Rochefide's door, so I thoughtthat if I came I should find you alone."Mme. de Beauseant's mouth did not tighten, her color did not rise, herexpression did not alter, or rather, her brow seemed to clear as theDuchess uttered those deadly words."If I had known that you were engaged----" the speaker added, glancingat Eugene."This gentleman is M. Eugene de Rastignac, one of my cousins," said theVicomtesse. "Have you any news of General de Montriveau?" she continued."Serizy told me yesterday that he never goes anywhere now; has he beento see you to-day?"It was believed that the Duchess was desperately in love with M. deMontriveau, and that he was a faithless lover; she felt the question inher very heart, and her face flushed as she answered:"He was at the Elysee yesterday.""In attendance?""Claire," returned the Duchess, and hatred overflowed in the glances shethrew at Mme. de Beauseant; "of course you know that M. d'Ajuda-Pintois going to marry Mlle. de Rochefide; the bans will be publishedto-morrow."This thrust was too cruel; the Vicomtesse's face grew white, but sheanswered, laughing, "One of those rumors that fools amuse themselveswith. What should induce M. d'Ajuda to take one of the noblest namesin Portugal to the Rochefides? The Rochefides were only ennobledyesterday.""But Bertha will have two hundred thousand livres a year, they say.""M. d'Ajuda is too wealthy to marry for money.""But, my dear, Mlle. de Rochefide is a charming girl.""Indeed?""And, as a matter of fact, he is dining with them to-day; the thingis settled. It is very surprising to me that you should know so littleabout it."Mme. de Beauseant turned to Rastignac. "What was the blunder that youmade, monsieur?" she asked. "The poor boy is only just launched into theworld, Antoinette, so that he understands nothing of all this thatwe are speaking of. Be merciful to him, and let us finish our talkto-morrow. Everything will be announced to-morrow, you know, andyour kind informal communication can be accompanied by officialconfirmation."The Duchess gave Eugene one of those insolent glances that measure a manfrom head to foot, and leave him crushed and annihilated."Madame, I have unwittingly plunged a dagger into Mme. de Restaud'sheart; unwittingly--therein lies my offence," said the student of law,whose keen brain had served him sufficiently well, for he had detectedthe biting epigrams that lurked beneath this friendly talk. "Youcontinue to receive, possibly you fear, those who know the amount ofpain that they deliberately inflict; but a clumsy blunderer who has noidea how deeply he wounds is looked upon as a fool who does not know howto make use of his opportunities, and every one despises him."Mme. de Beauseant gave the student a glance, one of those glances inwhich a great soul can mingle dignity and gratitude. It was like balmto the law student, who was still smarting under the Duchess' insolentscrutiny; she had looked at him as an auctioneer might look at somearticle to appraise its value."Imagine, too, that I had just made some progress with the Comte deRestaud; for I should tell you, madame," he went on, turning to theDuchess with a mixture of humility and malice in his manner, "that asyet I am only a poor devil of a student, very much alone in the world,and very poor----""You should not tell us that, M. de Rastignac. We women never care aboutanything that no one else will take.""Bah!" said Eugene. "I am only two-and-twenty, and I must make up mymind to the drawbacks of my time of life. Besides, I am confessingmy sins, and it would be impossible to kneel in a more charmingconfessional; you commit your sins in one drawing-room, and receiveabsolution for them in another."The Duchess' expression grew colder, she did not like the flippant toneof these remarks, and showed that she considered them to be in badtaste by turning to the Vicomtesse with--"This gentleman has only justcome----"Mme. de Beauseant began to laugh outright at her cousin and at theDuchess both."He has only just come to Paris, dear, and is in search of some one whowill give him lessons in good taste.""Mme. la Duchesse," said Eugene, "is it not natural to wish to beinitiated into the mysteries which charm us?" ("Come, now," he said tohimself, "my language is superfinely elegant, I'm sure.")"But Mme. de Restaud is herself, I believe, M. de Trailles' pupil," saidthe Duchess."Of that I had no idea, madame," answered the law student, "so I rashlycame between them. In fact, I got on very well with the lady's husband,and his wife tolerated me for a time until I took it into my head totell them that I knew some one of whom I had just caught a glimpse as hewent out by a back staircase, a man who had given the Countess a kiss atthe end of a passage.""Who was it?" both women asked together."An old man who lives at the rate of two louis a month in the FaubourgSaint-Marceau, where I, a poor student, lodge likewise. He is a trulyunfortunate creature, everybody laughs at him--we all call him 'FatherGoriot.'""Why, child that you are," cried the Vicomtesse, "Mme. de Restaud was aMlle. Goriot!""The daughter of a vermicelli manufacturer," the Duchess added; "andwhen the little creature went to Court, the daughter of a pastry-cookwas presented on the same day. Do you remember, Claire? The King beganto laugh, and made some joke in Latin about flour. People--what wasit?--people----""Ejusdem farinoe," said Eugene."Yes, that was it," said the Duchess."Oh! is that her father?" the law student continued, aghast."Yes, certainly; the old man had two daughters; he dotes on them, so tospeak, though they will scarcely acknowledge him.""Didn't the second daughter marry a banker with a German name?" theVicomtesse asked, turning to Mme. de Langeais, "a Baron de Nucingen? Andher name is Delphine, is it not? Isn't she a fair-haired woman who hasa side-box at the Opera? She comes sometimes to the Bouffons, and laughsloudly to attract attention."The Duchess smiled and said:"I wonder at you, dear. Why do you take so much interest in people ofthat kind? One must have been as madly in love as Restaud was, to beinfatuated with Mlle. Anastasie and her flour sacks. Oh! he will notfind her a good bargain! She is in M. de Trailles' hands, and he willruin her.""And they do not acknowledge their father!" Eugene repeated."Oh! well, yes, their father, the father, a father," replied theVicomtesse, "a kind father who gave them each five or six hundredthousand francs, it is said, to secure their happiness by marryingthem well; while he only kept eight or ten thousand livres a year forhimself, thinking that his daughters would always be his daughters,thinking that in them he would live his life twice over again, thatin their houses he should find two homes, where he would be lovedand looked up to, and made much of. And in two years' time both hissons-in-law had turned him out of their houses as if he were one of thelowest outcasts."Tears came into Eugene's eyes. He was still under the spell of youthfulbeliefs, he had just left home, pure and sacred feelings had beenstirred within him, and this was his first day on the battlefield ofcivilization in Paris. Genuine feeling is so infectious that for amoment the three looked at each other in silence."Eh, mon Dieu!" said Mme. de Langeais; "yes, it seems very horrible,and yet we see such things every day. Is there not a reason for it?Tell me, dear, have you ever really thought what a son-in-law is? Ason-in-law is the man for whom we bring up, you and I, a dear littleone, bound to us very closely in innumerable ways; for seventeen yearsshe will be the joy of her family, its 'white soul,' as Lamartine says,and suddenly she will become its scourge. When HE comes and takes herfrom us, his love from the very beginning is like an axe laid to theroot of all the old affection in our darling's heart, and all the tiesthat bound her to her family are severed. But yesterday our littledaughter thought of no one but her mother and father, as we had nothought that was not for her; by to-morrow she will have become ahostile stranger. The tragedy is always going on under our eyes. On theone hand you see a father who has sacrificed himself to his son, andhis daughter-in-law shows him the last degree of insolence. On the otherhand, it is the son-in-law who turns his wife's mother out of the house.I sometimes hear it said that there is nothing dramatic about society inthese days; but the Drama of the Son-in-law is appalling, to say nothingof our marriages, which have come to be very poor farces. I can explainhow it all came about in the old vermicelli maker's case. I think Irecollect that Foriot----""Goriot, madame.""Yes, that Moriot was once President of his Section during theRevolution. He was in the secret of the famous scarcity of grain, andlaid the foundation of his fortune in those days by selling flour forten times its cost. He had as much flour as he wanted. My grandmother'ssteward sold him immense quantities. No doubt Noriot shared the plunderwith the Committee of Public Salvation, as that sort of person alwaysdid. I recollect the steward telling my grandmother that she might liveat Grandvilliers in complete security, because her corn was as good asa certificate of civism. Well, then, this Loriot, who sold corn tothose butchers, has never had but one passion, they say--he idolizes hisdaughters. He settled one of them under Restaud's roof, and grafted theother into the Nucingen family tree, the Baron de Nucingen being a richbanker who had turned Royalist. You can quite understand that so long asBonaparte was Emperor, the two sons-in-law could manage to put up withthe old Ninety-three; but after the restoration of the Bourbons, M. deRestaud felt bored by the old man's society, and the banker was stillmore tired of it. His daughters were still fond of him; they wanted'to keep the goat and the cabbage,' so they used to see Joriot wheneverthere was no one there, under pretence of affection. 'Come to-day, papa,we shall have you all to ourselves, and that will be much nicer!'and all that sort of thing. As for me, dear, I believe that love hassecond-sight: poor Ninety-three; his heart must have bled. He saw thathis daughters were ashamed of him, that if they loved their husbandshis visits must make mischief. So he immolated himself. He made thesacrifice because he was a father; he went into voluntary exile. Hisdaughters were satisfied, so he thought that he had done the best thinghe could; but it was a family crime, and father and daughters wereaccomplices. You see this sort of thing everywhere. What could this oldDoriot have been but a splash of mud in his daughters' drawing-rooms? Hewould only have been in the way, and bored other people, besides beingbored himself. And this that happened between father and daughters mayhappen to the prettiest woman in Paris and the man she loves the best;if her love grows tiresome, he will go; he will descend to the basesttrickery to leave her. It is the same with all love and friendship. Ourheart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealth at once, you arebankrupt. We show no more mercy to the affection that reveals its utmostextent than we do to another kind of prodigal who has not a penny left.Their father had given them all he had. For twenty years he had givenhis whole heart to them; then, one day, he gave them all his fortunetoo. The lemon was squeezed; the girls left the rest in the gutter.""The world is very base," said the Vicomtesse, plucking at the threadsof her shawl. She did not raise her head as she spoke; the words thatMme. de Langeais had meant for her in the course of her story had cuther to the quick."Base? Oh, no," answered the Duchess; "the world goes its own way, thatis all. If I speak in this way, it is only to show that I am not dupedby it. I think as you do," she said, pressing the Vicomtesse's hand."The world is a slough; let us try to live on the heights above it."She rose to her feet and kissed Mme. de Beauseant on the forehead asshe said: "You look very charming to-day, dear. I have never seen such alovely color in your cheeks before."Then she went out with a slight inclination of the head to the cousin."Father Goriot is sublime!" said Eugene to himself, as he remembered howhe had watched his neighbor work the silver vessel into a shapeless massthat night.Mme. de Beauseant did not hear him; she was absorbed in her ownthoughts. For several minutes the silence remained unbroken till thelaw student became almost paralyzed with embarrassment, and was equallyafraid to go or stay or speak a word."The world is basely ungrateful and ill-natured," said the Vicomtesseat last. "No sooner does a trouble befall you than a friend is readyto bring the tidings and to probe your heart with the point of adagger while calling on you to admire the handle. Epigrams and sarcasmsalready! Ah! I will defend myself!"She raised her head like the great lady that she was, and lightningsflashed from her proud eyes."Ah!" she said, as she saw Eugene, "are you there?""Still," he said piteously."Well, then, M. de Rastignac, deal with the world as it deserves. Youare determined to succeed? I will help you. You shall sound the depthsof corruption in woman; you shall measure the extent of man's pitifulvanity. Deeply as I am versed in such learning, there were pages in thebook of life that I had not read. Now I know all. The more cold-bloodedyour calculations, the further you will go. Strike ruthlessly; you willbe feared. Men and women for you must be nothing more than post-horses;take a fresh relay, and leave the last to drop by the roadside; in thisway you will reach the goal of your ambition. You will be nothing here,you see, unless a woman interests herself in you; and she must be youngand wealthy, and a woman of the world. Yet, if you have a heart, lockit carefully away like a treasure; do not let any one suspect it, or youwill be lost; you would cease to be the executioner, you would takethe victim's place. And if ever you should love, never let your secretescape you! Trust no one until you are very sure of the heart to whichyou open your heart. Learn to mistrust every one; take every precautionfor the sake of the love which does not exist as yet. Listen,Miguel"--the name slipped from her so naturally that she did notnotice her mistake--"there is something still more appalling than theingratitude of daughters who have cast off their old father and wishthat he were dead, and that is a rivalry between two sisters. Restaudcomes of a good family, his wife has been received into their circle;she has been presented at court; and her sister, her wealthy sister,Mme. Delphine de Nucingen, the wife of a great capitalist, is consumedwith envy, and ready to die of spleen. There is gulf set between thesisters--indeed, they are sisters no longer--the two women who refuseto acknowledge their father do not acknowledge each other. So Mme. deNucingen would lap up all the mud that lies between the Rue Saint-Lazareand the Rue de Grenelle to gain admittance to my salon. She fanciedthat she should gain her end through de Marsay; she has made herselfde Marsay's slave, and she bores him. De Marsay cares very little abouther. If you will introduce her to me, you will be her darling, herBenjamin; she will idolize you. If, after that, you can love her, do so;if not, make her useful. I will ask her to come once or twice to one ofmy great crushes, but I will never receive her here in the morning. Iwill bow to her when I see her, and that will be quite sufficient.You have shut the Comtesse de Restaud's door against you by mentioningFather Goriot's name. Yes, my good friend, you may call at her housetwenty times, and every time out of the twenty you will find that sheis not at home. The servants have their orders, and will not admit you.Very well, then, now let Father Goriot gain the right of entry into hersister's house for you. The beautiful Mme. de Nucingen will give thesignal for a battle. As soon as she singles you out, other women willbegin to lose their heads about you, and her enemies and rivals andintimate friends will all try to take you from her. There are women whowill fall in love with a man because another woman has chosen him; likethe city madams, poor things, who copy our millinery, and hope therebyto acquire our manners. You will have a success, and in Paris success iseverything; it is the key of power. If the women credit you with wit andtalent, the men will follow suit so long as you do not undeceive themyourself. There will be nothing you may not aspire to; you will goeverywhere, and you will find out what the world is--an assemblage offools and knaves. But you must be neither the one nor the other. I amgiving you my name like Ariadne's clue of thread to take with you intothe labyrinth; make no unworthy use of it," she said, with a queenlyglance and curve of her throat; "give it back to me unsullied. And now,go; leave me. We women also have our battles to fight.""And if you should ever need some one who would gladly set a match to atrain for you----""Well?" she asked.He tapped his heart, smiled in answer to his cousin's smile, and went.It was five o'clock, and Eugene was hungry; he was afraid lest he shouldnot be in time for dinner, a misgiving which made him feel that it waspleasant to be borne so quickly across Paris. This sensation of physicalcomfort left his mind free to grapple with the thoughts that assailedhim. A mortification usually sends a young man of his age into a furiousrage; he shakes his fist at society, and vows vengeance when his beliefin himself is shaken. Just then Rastignac was overwhelmed by the words,"You have shut the Countess' door against you.""I shall call!" he said to himself, "and if Mme. de Beauseant is right,if I never find her at home--I... well, Mme. de Restaud shall meet mein every salon in Paris. I will learn to fence and have some pistolpractice, and kill that Maxime of hers!""And money?" cried an inward monitor. "How about money, where is thatto come from?" And all at once the wealth displayed in the Countess deRestaud's drawing-room rose before his eyes. That was the luxury whichGoriot's daughter had loved too well, the gilding, the ostentatioussplendor, the unintelligent luxury of the parvenu, the riotousextravagance of a courtesan. Then the attractive vision suddenly wentunder an eclipse as he remembered the stately grandeur of the Hotel deBeauseant. As his fancy wandered among these lofty regions in the greatworld of Paris, innumerable dark thoughts gathered in his heart; hisideas widened, and his conscience grew more elastic. He saw the world asit is; saw how the rich lived beyond the jurisdiction of law and publicopinion, and found in success the ultima ratio mundi."Vautrin is right, success is virtue!" he said to himself.
Arrived in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, he rushed up to his room forten francs wherewith to satisfy the demands of the cabman, and wentin to dinner. He glanced round the squalid room, saw the eighteenpoverty-stricken creatures about to feed like cattle in their stalls,and the sight filled him with loathing. The transition was too sudden,and the contrast was so violent that it could not but act as a powerfulstimulant; his ambition developed and grew beyond all social bounds. Onthe one hand, he beheld a vision of social life in its most charmingand refined forms, of quick-pulsed youth, of fair, impassioned facesinvested with all the charm of poetry, framed in a marvelous setting ofluxury or art; and, on the other hand, he saw a sombre picture, the miryverge beyond these faces, in which passion was extinct and nothing wasleft of the drama but the cords and pulleys and bare mechanism. Mme. deBeauseant's counsels, the words uttered in anger by the forsaken lady,her petulant offer, came to his mind, and poverty was a ready expositor.Rastignac determined to open two parallel trenches so as to insuresuccess; he would be a learned doctor of law and a man of fashion.Clearly he was still a child! Those two lines are asymptotes, and willnever meet."You are very dull, my lord Marquis," said Vautrin, with one of theshrewd glances that seem to read the innermost secrets of another mind."I am not in the humor to stand jokes from people who call me 'my lordMarquis,'" answered Eugene. "A marquis here in Paris, if he is not theveriest sham, ought to have a hundred thousand livres a year at least;and a lodger in the Maison Vauquer is not exactly Fortune's favorite."Vautrin's glance at Rastignac was half-paternal, half-contemptuous."Puppy!" it seemed to say; "I should make one mouthful of him!" Then heanswered:"You are in a bad humor; perhaps your visit to the beautiful Comtesse deRestaud was not a success.""She has shut her door against me because I told her that her fatherdined at our table," cried Rastignac.Glances were exchanged all round the room; Father Goriot looked down."You have sent some snuff into my eye," he said to his neighbor, turninga little aside to rub his hand over his face."Any one who molests Father Goriot will have henceforward to reckon withme," said Eugene, looking at the old man's neighbor; "he is worth allthe rest of us put together.--I am not speaking of the ladies," headded, turning in the direction of Mlle. Taillefer.Eugene's remarks produced a sensation, and his tone silenced thedinner-table. Vautrin alone spoke. "If you are going to champion FatherGoriot, and set up for his responsible editor into the bargain, youhad need be a crack shot and know how to handle the foils," he said,banteringly."So I intend," said Eugene."Then you are taking the field to-day?""Perhaps," Rastignac answered. "But I owe no account of myself to anyone, especially as I do not try to find out what other people do of anight."Vautrin looked askance at Rastignac."If you do not mean to be deceived by the puppets, my boy, you mustgo behind and see the whole show, and not peep through holes in thecurtain. That is enough," he added, seeing that Eugene was about to flyinto a passion. "We can have a little talk whenever you like."There was a general feeling of gloom and constraint. Father Goriot wasso deeply dejected by the student's remark that he did not notice thechange in the disposition of his fellow-lodgers, nor know that he hadmet with a champion capable of putting an end to the persecution."Then, M. Goriot sitting there is the father of a countess," said Mme.Vauquer in a low voice."And of a baroness," answered Rastignac."That is about all he is capable of," said Bianchon to Rastignac; "Ihave taken a look at his head; there is only one bump--the bump ofPaternity; he must be an eternal father."Eugene was too intent on his thoughts to laugh at Bianchon's joke. Hedetermined to profit by Mme. de Beauseant's counsels, and was askinghimself how he could obtain the necessary money. He grew grave. The widesavannas of the world stretched before his eyes; all things lay beforehim, nothing was his. Dinner came to an end, the others went, and he wasleft in the dining-room."So you have seen my daughter?" Goriot spoke tremulously, and the soundof his voice broke in upon Eugene's dreams. The young man took theelder's hand, and looked at him with something like kindness in hiseyes."You are a good and noble man," he said. "We will have some talk aboutyour daughters by and by."He rose without waiting for Goriot's answer, and went to his room. Therehe wrote the following letter to his mother:--"My Dear Mother,--Can you nourish your child from your breastagain? I am in a position to make a rapid fortune, but I wanttwelve hundred francs--I must have them at all costs. Say nothingabout this to my father; perhaps he might make objections, andunless I have the money, I may be led to put an end to myself, andso escape the clutches of despair. I will tell you everything whenI see you. I will not begin to try to describe my presentsituation; it would take volumes to put the whole story clearlyand fully. I have not been gambling, my kind mother, I owe no onea penny; but if you would preserve the life that you gave me, youmust send me the sum I mention. As a matter of fact, I go to seethe Vicomtesse de Beauseant; she is using her influence for me; Iam obliged to go into society, and I have not a penny to lay outon clean gloves. I can manage to exist on bread and water, or gowithout food, if need be, but I cannot do without the tools withwhich they cultivate the vineyards in this country. I mustresolutely make up my mind at once to make my way, or stick in themire for the rest of my days. I know that all your hopes are seton me, and I want to realize them quickly. Sell some of your oldjewelry, my kind mother; I will give you other jewels very soon. Iknow enough of our affairs at home to know all that such asacrifice means, and you must not think that I would lightly askyou to make it; I should be a monster if I could. You must thinkof my entreaty as a cry forced from me by imperative necessity.Our whole future lies in the subsidy with which I must begin myfirst campaign, for life in Paris is one continual battle. If youcannot otherwise procure the whole of the money, and are forced tosell our aunt's lace, tell her that I will send her some stillhandsomer," and so forth.He wrote to ask each of his sisters for their savings--would theydespoil themselves for him, and keep the sacrifice a secret from thefamily? To his request he knew that they would not fail to respondgladly, and he added to it an appeal to their delicacy by touching thechord of honor that vibrates so loudly in young and high-strung natures.Yet when he had written the letters, he could not help feelingmisgivings in spite of his youthful ambition; his heart beat fast, andhe trembled. He knew the spotless nobleness of the lives buried away inthe lonely manor house; he knew what trouble and what joy his requestwould cause his sisters, and how happy they would be as they talkedat the bottom of the orchard of that dear brother of theirs in Paris.Visions rose before his eyes; a sudden strong light revealed hissisters secretly counting over their little store, devising some girlishstratagem by which the money could be sent to him incognito, essaying,for the first time in their lives, a piece of deceit that reached thesublime in its unselfishness."A sister's heart is a diamond for purity, a deep sea of tenderness!" hesaid to himself. He felt ashamed of those letters.What power there must be in the petitions put up by such hearts;how pure the fervor that bears their souls to Heaven in prayer! Whatexquisite joy they would find in self-sacrifice! What a pang for hismother's heart if she could not send him all that he asked for! And thisnoble affection, these sacrifices made at such terrible cost, were toserve as the ladder by which he meant to climb to Delphine de Nucingen.A few tears, like the last grains of incense flung upon the sacredalter fire of the hearth, fell from his eyes. He walked up and down,and despair mingled with his emotion. Father Goriot saw him through thehalf-open door."What is the matter, sir?" he asked from the threshold."Ah! my good neighbor, I am as much a son and brother as you are afather. You do well to fear for the Comtesse Anastasie; there is one M.Maxime de Trailles, who will be her ruin."Father Goriot withdrew, stammering some words, but Eugene failed tocatch their meaning.The next morning Rastignac went out to post his letters. Up to the lastmoment he wavered and doubted, but he ended by flinging them into thebox. "I shall succeed!" he said to himself. So says the gambler; so saysthe great captain; but the three words that have been the salvation ofsome few, have been the ruin of many more.A few days after this Eugene called at Mme. de Restaud's house; she wasnot at home. Three times he tried the experiment, and three times hefound her doors closed against him, though he was careful to choose anhour when M. de Trailles was not there. The Vicomtesse was right.The student studied no longer. He put in an appearance at lecturessimply to answer to his name, and after thus attesting his presence,departed forthwith. He had been through a reasoning process familiar tomost students. He had seen the advisability of deferring his studiesto the last moment before going up for his examinations; he made up hismind to cram his second and third years' work into the third year, whenhe meant to begin to work in earnest, and to complete his studies in lawwith one great effort. In the meantime he had fifteen months in which tonavigate the ocean of Paris, to spread the nets and set the lines thatwould bring him a protectress and a fortune. Twice during that week hesaw Mme. de Beauseant; he did not go to her house until he had seen theMarquis d'Ajuda drive away.Victory for yet a few more days was with the great lady, the most poeticfigure in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; and the marriage of the Marquisd'Ajuda-Pinto with Mlle. de Rochefide was postponed. The dread of losingher happiness filled those days with a fever of joy unknown before,but the end was only so much the nearer. The Marquis d'Ajuda and theRochefides agreed that this quarrel and reconciliation was a veryfortunate thing; Mme. de Beauseant (so they hoped) would graduallybecome reconciled to the idea of the marriage, and in the end would bebrought to sacrifice d'Ajuda's morning visits to the exigencies of aman's career, exigencies which she must have foreseen. In spite of themost solemn promises, daily renewed, M. d'Ajuda was playing a part,and the Vicomtesse was eager to be deceived. "Instead of taking a leapheroically from the window, she is falling headlong down the staircase,"said her most intimate friend, the Duchesse de Langeais. Yet thisafter-glow of happiness lasted long enough for the Vicomtesse to be ofservice to her young cousin. She had a half-superstitious affection forhim. Eugene had shown her sympathy and devotion at a crisis when a womansees no pity, no real comfort in any eyes; when if a man is ready withsoothing flatteries, it is because he has an interested motive.Rastignac made up his mind that he must learn the whole of Goriot'sprevious history; he would come to his bearings before attempting toboard the Maison de Nucingen. The results of his inquiries may be givenbriefly as follows:--In the days before the Revolution, Jean-Joachim Goriot was simply aworkman in the employ of a vermicelli maker. He was a skilful, thriftyworkman, sufficiently enterprising to buy his master's business whenthe latter fell a chance victim to the disturbances of 1789. Goriotestablished himself in the Rue de la Jussienne, close to the CornExchange. His plain good sense led him to accept the position ofPresident of the Section, so as to secure for his business theprotection of those in power at that dangerous epoch. This prudent stephad led to success; the foundations of his fortune were laid in the timeof the Scarcity (real or artificial), when the price of grain of allkinds rose enormously in Paris. People used to fight for bread at thebakers' doors; while other persons went to the grocers' shops and boughtItalian paste foods without brawling over it. It was during this yearthat Goriot made the money, which, at a later time, was to give himall the advantage of the great capitalist over the small buyer; he had,moreover, the usual luck of average ability; his mediocrity was thesalvation of him. He excited no one's envy, it was not even suspectedthat he was rich till the peril of being rich was over, and all hisintelligence was concentrated, not on political, but on commercialspeculations. Goriot was an authority second to none on all questionsrelating to corn, flour, and "middlings"; and the production, storage,and quality of grain. He could estimate the yield of the harvest, andforesee market prices; he bought his cereals in Sicily, and importedRussian wheat. Any one who had heard him hold forth on the regulationsthat control the importation and exportation of grain, who had seen hisgrasp of the subject, his clear insight into the principles involved,his appreciation of weak points in the way that the system worked,would have thought that here was the stuff of which a minister is made.Patient, active, and persevering, energetic and prompt in action, hesurveyed his business horizon with an eagle eye. Nothing there took himby surprise; he foresaw all things, knew all that was happening, andkept his own counsel; he was a diplomatist in his quick comprehensionof a situation; and in the routine of business he was as patient andplodding as a soldier on the march. But beyond this business horizon hecould not see. He used to spend his hours of leisure on the threshold ofhis shop, leaning against the framework of the door. Take him fromhis dark little counting-house, and he became once more the rough,slow-witted workman, a man who cannot understand a piece of reasoning,who is indifferent to all intellectual pleasures, and falls asleep atthe play, a Parisian Dolibom in short, against whose stupidity otherminds are powerless.Natures of this kind are nearly all alike; in almost all of them youwill find some hidden depth of sublime affection. Two all-absorbingaffections filled the vermicelli maker's heart to the exclusion of everyother feeling; into them he seemed to put all the forces of his nature,as he put the whole power of his brain into the corn trade. He hadregarded his wife, the only daughter of a rich farmer of La Brie, with adevout admiration; his love for her had been boundless. Goriot hadfelt the charm of a lovely and sensitive nature, which, in its delicatestrength, was the very opposite of his own. Is there any instinct moredeeply implanted in the heart of man than the pride of protection, aprotection which is constantly exerted for a fragile and defencelesscreature? Join love thereto, the warmth of gratitude that all generoussouls feel for the source of their pleasures, and you have theexplanation of many strange incongruities in human nature.After seven years of unclouded happiness, Goriot lost his wife. It wasvery unfortunate for him. She was beginning to gain an ascendency overhim in other ways; possibly she might have brought that barren soilunder cultivation, she might have widened his ideas and given otherdirections to his thoughts. But when she was dead, the instinct offatherhood developed in him till it almost became a mania. All theaffection balked by death seemed to turn to his daughters, and he foundfull satisfaction for his heart in loving them. More or less brilliantproposals were made to him from time to time; wealthy merchants orfarmers with daughters vied with each other in offering inducementsto him to marry again; but he determined to remain a widower. Hisfather-in-law, the only man for whom he felt a decided friendship, gaveout that Goriot had made a vow to be faithful to his wife's memory. Thefrequenters of the Corn Exchange, who could not comprehend this sublimepiece of folly, joked about it among themselves, and found a ridiculousnickname for him. One of them ventured (after a glass over a bargain)to call him by it, and a blow from the vermicelli maker's fist sent himheadlong into a gutter in the Rue Oblin. He could think of nothing elsewhen his children were concerned; his love for them made him fidgetyand anxious; and this was so well known, that one day a competitor, whowished to get rid of him to secure the field to himself, told Goriotthat Delphine had just been knocked down by a cab. The vermicelli makerturned ghastly pale, left the Exchange at once, and did not return forseveral days afterwards; he was ill in consequence of the shock and thesubsequent relief on discovering that it was a false alarm. This time,however, the offender did not escape with a bruised shoulder; at acritical moment in the man's affairs, Goriot drove him into bankruptcy,and forced him to disappear from the Corn Exchange.As might have been expected, the two girls were spoiled. With an incomeof sixty thousand francs, Goriot scarcely spent twelve hundred onhimself, and found all his happiness in satisfying the whims of the twogirls. The best masters were engaged, that Anastasie and Delphinemight be endowed with all the accomplishments which distinguish a goodeducation. They had a chaperon--luckily for them, she was a womanwho had good sense and good taste;--they learned to ride; they had acarriage for their use; they lived as the mistress of a rich old lordmight live; they had only to express a wish, their father would hastento give them their most extravagant desires, and asked nothing of themin return but a kiss. Goriot had raised the two girls to the level ofthe angels; and, quite naturally, he himself was left beneath them. Poorman! he loved them even for the pain that they gave him.When the girls were old enough to be married, they were left free tochoose for themselves. Each had half her father's fortune as her dowry;and when the Comte de Restaud came to woo Anastasie for her beauty,her social aspirations led her to leave her father's house for a moreexalted sphere. Delphine wished for money; she married Nucingen, abanker of German extraction, who became a Baron of the Holy RomanEmpire. Goriot remained a vermicelli maker as before. His daughtersand his sons-in-law began to demur; they did not like to see him stillengaged in trade, though his whole life was bound up with his business.For five years he stood out against their entreaties, then he yielded,and consented to retire on the amount realized by the sale of hisbusiness and the savings of the last few years. It was this capitalthat Mme. Vauquer, in the early days of his residence with her, hadcalculated would bring in eight or ten thousand livres in a year. He hadtaken refuge in her lodging-house, driven there by despair when he knewthat his daughters were compelled by their husbands not only to refuseto receive him as an inmate in their houses, but even to see him no moreexcept in private.This was all the information which Rastignac gained from a M. Muretwho had purchased Goriot's business, information which confirmedthe Duchesse de Langeais' suppositions, and herewith the preliminaryexplanation of this obscure but terrible Parisian tragedy comes to anend.Towards the end of the first week in December Rastignac received twoletters--one from his mother, and one from his eldest sister. His heartbeat fast, half with happiness, half with fear, at the sight of thefamiliar handwriting. Those two little scraps of paper contained lifeor death for his hopes. But while he felt a shiver of dread as heremembered their dire poverty at home, he knew their love for him sowell that he could not help fearing that he was draining their verylife-blood. His mother's letter ran as follows:--"MY DEAR CHILD,--I am sending you the money that you asked for.Make a good use of it. Even to save your life I could not raise solarge a sum a second time without your father's knowledge, andthere would be trouble about it. We should be obliged to mortgagethe land. It is impossible to judge of the merits of schemes ofwhich I am ignorant; but what sort of schemes can they be, thatyou should fear to tell me about them? Volumes of explanationwould not have been needed; we mothers can understand at a word,and that word would have spared me the anguish of uncertainty. Ido not know how to hide the painful impression that your letterhas made upon me, my dear son. What can you have felt when youwere moved to send this chill of dread through my heart? It musthave been very painful to you to write the letter that gave me somuch pain as I read it. To what courses are you committed? You aregoing to appear to be something that you are not, and your wholelife and success depends upon this? You are about to see a societyinto which you cannot enter without rushing into expense that youcannot afford, without losing precious time that is needed foryour studies. Ah! my dear Eugene, believe your mother, crookedways cannot lead to great ends. Patience and endurance are the twoqualities most needed in your position. I am not scolding you; Ido not want any tinge of bitterness to spoil our offering. I amonly talking like a mother whose trust in you is as great as herforesight for you. You know the steps that you must take, and I,for my part, know the purity of heart, and how good yourintentions are; so I can say to you without a doubt, 'Go forward,beloved!' If I tremble, it is because I am a mother, but myprayers and blessings will be with you at every step. Be verycareful, dear boy. You must have a man's prudence, for it lieswith you to shape the destinies of five others who are dear toyou, and must look to you. Yes, our fortunes depend upon you, andyour success is ours. We all pray to God to be with you in allthat you do. Your aunt Marcillac has been most generous beyondwords in this matter; she saw at once how it was, even down toyour gloves. 'But I have a weakness for the eldest!' she saidgaily. You must love your aunt very much, dear Eugene. I shallwait till you have succeeded before telling you all that she hasdone for you, or her money would burn your fingers. You, who areyoung, do not know what it is to part with something that is apiece of your past! But what would we not sacrifice for yoursakes? Your aunt says that I am to send you a kiss on the foreheadfrom her, and that kiss is to bring you luck again and again, shesays. She would have written you herself, the dear kind-heartedwoman, but she is troubled with the gout in her fingers just now.Your father is very well. The vintage of 1819 has turned outbetter than we expected. Good-bye, dear boy; I will say nothingabout your sisters, because Laure is writing to you, and I mustlet her have the pleasure of giving you all the home news. Heavensend that you may succeed! Oh! yes, dear Eugene, you must succeed.I have come, through you, to a knowledge of a pain so sharp that Ido not think I could endure it a second time. I have come to knowwhat it is to be poor, and to long for money for my children'ssake. There, good-bye! Do not leave us for long without news ofyou; and here, at the last, take a kiss from your mother."By the time Eugene had finished the letter he was in tears. He thoughtof Father Goriot crushing his silver keepsake into a shapeless massbefore he sold it to meet his daughter's bill of exchange."Your mother has broken up her jewels for you," he said to himself;"your aunt shed tears over those relics of hers before she sold themfor your sake. What right have you to heap execrations on Anastasie? Youhave followed her example; you have selfishly sacrificed others to yourown future, and she sacrifices her father to her lover; and of you two,which is the worse?"He was ready to renounce his attempts; he could not bear to takethat money. The fires of remorse burned in his heart, and gave himintolerable pain, the generous secret remorse which men seldom take intoaccount when they sit in judgment upon their fellow-men; but perhapsthe angels in heaven, beholding it, pardon the criminal whom our justicecondemns. Rastignac opened his sister's letter; its simplicity andkindness revived his heart."Your letter came just at the right time, dear brother. Agathe andI had thought of so many different ways of spending our money,that we did not know what to buy with it; and now you have comein, and, like the servant who upset all the watches that belongedto the King of Spain, you have restored harmony; for, really andtruly, we did not know which of all the things we wanted we wantedmost, and we were always quarreling about it, never thinking, dearEugene, of a way of spending our money which would satisfy uscompletely. Agathe jumped for you. Indeed, we have been like twomad things all day, 'to such a prodigious degree' (as aunt wouldsay), that mother said, with her severe expression, 'Whatever canbe the matter with you, mesdemoiselles?' I think if we had beenscolded a little, we should have been still better pleased. Awoman ought to be very glad to suffer for one she loves! I,however, in my inmost soul, was doleful and cross in the midst ofall my joy. I shall make a bad wife, I am afraid, I am too fond ofspending. I had bought two sashes and a nice little stiletto forpiercing eyelet-holes in my stays, trifles that I really did notwant, so that I have less than that slow-coach Agathe, who is soeconomical, and hoards her money like a magpie. She had twohundred francs! And I have only one hundred and fifty! I am nicelypunished; I could throw my sash down the well; it will be painfulto me to wear it now. Poor dear, I have robbed you. And Agathe wasso nice about it. She said, 'Let us send the three hundred andfifty francs in our two names!' But I could not help telling youeverything just as it happened.""Do you know how we managed to keep your commandments? We took ourglittering hoard, we went out for a walk, and when once fairly onthe highway we ran all the way to Ruffec, where we handed over thecoin, without more ado, to M. Grimbert of the Messageries Royales.We came back again like swallows on the wing. 'Don't you thinkthat happiness has made us lighter?' Agathe said. We said allsorts of things, which I shall not tell you, Monsieur le Parisien,because they were all about you. Oh, we love you dearly, dearbrother; it was all summed up in those few words. As for keepingthe secret, little masqueraders like us are capable of anything(according to our aunt), even of holding our tongues. Our motherhas been on a mysterious journey to Angouleme, and the aunt wentwith her, not without solemn councils, from which we were shutout, and M. le Baron likewise. They are silent as to the weightypolitical considerations that prompted their mission, andconjectures are rife in the State of Rastignac. The Infantas areembroidering a muslin robe with open-work sprigs for her Majestythe Queen; the work progresses in the most profound secrecy. Therebe but two more breadths to finish. A decree has gone forth thatno wall shall be built on the side of Verteuil, but that a hedgeshall be planted instead thereof. Our subjects may sustain somedisappointment of fruit and espaliers, but strangers will enjoya fair prospect. Should the heir-presumptive lackpocket-handkerchiefs, be it known unto him that the dowager Ladyof Marcillac, exploring the recesses of her drawers and boxes(known respectively as Pompeii and Herculaneum), having brought tolight a fair piece of cambric whereof she wotted not, the PrincessesAgathe and Laure place at their brother's disposal their thread,their needles, and hands somewhat of the reddest. The two youngPrinces, Don Henri and Don Gabriel, retain their fatal habits ofstuffing themselves with grape-jelly, of teasing their sisters, oftaking their pleasure by going a-bird-nesting, and of cuttingswitches for themselves from the osier-beds, maugre the laws ofthe realm. Moreover, they list not to learn naught, wherefore thePapal Nuncio (called of the commonalty, M. le Cure) threateneththem with excommunication, since that they neglect the sacredcanons of grammatical construction for the construction of othercanon, deadly engines made of the stems of elder.""Farewell, dear brother, never did letter carry so many wishes foryour success, so much love fully satisfied. You will have a greatdeal to tell us when you come home! You will tell me everything,won't you? I am the oldest. From something the aunt let fall, wethink you must have had some success.""Something was said of a lady, but nothing more was said...""Of course not, in our family! Oh, by-the-by, Eugene, would yourather that we made that piece of cambric into shirts for youinstead of pocket-handkerchiefs? If you want some really niceshirts at once, we ought to lose no time in beginning upon them;and if the fashion is different now in Paris, send us one for apattern; we want more particularly to know about the cuffs. Good-bye! Good-bye! Take my kiss on the left side of your forehead, onthe temple that belongs to me, and to no one else in the world. Iam leaving the other side of the sheet for Agathe, who hassolemnly promised not to read a word that I have written; but, allthe same, I mean to sit by her side while she writes, so as to bequite sure that she keeps her word.--Your loving sister,"LAURE DE RASTIGNAC.""Yes!" said Eugene to himself. "Yes! Success at all costs now! Richescould not repay such devotion as this. I wish I could give them everysort of happiness! Fifteen hundred and fifty francs," he went on after apause. "Every shot must go to the mark! Laure is right. Trust a woman!I have only calico shirts. Where some one else's welfare is concerned, ayoung girl becomes as ingenious as a thief. Guileless where she herselfis in question, and full of foresight for me,--she is like a heavenlyangel forgiving the strange incomprehensible sins of earth."The world lay before him. His tailor had been summoned and sounded, andhad finally surrendered. When Rastignac met M. de Trailles, he had seenat once how great a part the tailor plays in a young man's career; atailor is either a deadly enemy or a staunch friend, with an invoicefor a bond of friendship; between these two extremes there is, alack! nomiddle term. In this representative of his craft Eugene discovered a manwho understood that his was a sort of paternal function for young menat their entrance into life, who regarded himself as a stepping-stonebetween a young man's present and future. And Rastignac in gratitudemade the man's fortune by an epigram of a kind in which he excelled at alater period of his life."I have twice known a pair of trousers turned out by him make a match oftwenty thousand livres a year!"Fifteen hundred francs, and as many suits of clothes as he chose toorder! At that moment the poor child of the South felt no more doubts ofany kind. The young man went down to breakfast with the indefinable airwhich the consciousness of the possession of money gives to youth. Nosooner are the coins slipped into a student's pocket than his wealth,in imagination at least, is piled into a fantastic column, which affordshim a moral support. He begins to hold up his head as he walks; he isconscious that he has a means of bringing his powers to bear on a givenpoint; he looks you straight in the face; his gestures are quick anddecided; only yesterday he was diffident and shy, any one might havepushed him aside; to-morrow, he will take the wall of a prime minister.A miracle has been wrought in him. Nothing is beyond the reach ofhis ambition, and his ambition soars at random; he is light-hearted,generous, and enthusiastic; in short, the fledgling bird has discoveredthat he has wings. A poor student snatches at every chance pleasuremuch as a dog runs all sorts of risks to steal a bone, cracking it andsucking the marrow as he flies from pursuit; but a young man who canrattle a few runaway gold coins in his pocket can take his pleasuredeliberately, can taste the whole of the sweets of secure possession; hesoars far above earth; he has forgotten what the word poverty means;all Paris is his. Those are days when the whole world shines radiantwith light, when everything glows and sparkles before the eyes of youth,days that bring joyous energy that is never brought into harness, daysof debts and of painful fears that go hand in hand with every delight.Those who do not know the left bank of the Seine between the RueSaint-Jacques and the Rue des Saints-Peres know nothing of life."Ah! if the women of Paris but knew," said Rastignac, as he devouredMme. Vauquer's stewed pears (at five for a penny), "they would come herein search of a lover."Just then a porter from the Messageries Royales appeared at the door ofthe room; they had previously heard the bell ring as the wicket openedto admit him. The man asked for M. Eugene de Rastignac, holding out twobags for him to take, and a form of receipt for his signature. Vautrin'skeen glance cut Eugene like a lash."Now you will be able to pay for those fencing lessons and go to theshooting gallery," he said."Your ship has come in," said Mme. Vauquer, eyeing the bags.Mlle. Michonneau did not dare to look at the money, for fear her eyesshould betray her cupidity."You have a kind mother," said Mme. Couture."You have a kind mother, sir," echoed Poiret."Yes, mamma has been drained dry," said Vautrin, "and now you can haveyour fling, go into society, and fish for heiresses, and dance withcountesses who have peach blossom in their hair. But take my advice,young man, and don't neglect your pistol practice."Vautrin struck an attitude, as if he were facing an antagonist.Rastignac, meaning to give the porter a tip, felt in his pockets andfound nothing. Vautrin flung down a franc piece on the table."Your credit is good," he remarked, eyeing the student, and Rastignacwas forced to thank him, though, since the sharp encounter of wits atdinner that day, after Eugene came in from calling on Mme. de Beauseant,he had made up his mind that Vautrin was insufferable. For a week, infact, they had both kept silence in each other's presence, and watchedeach other. The student tried in vain to account to himself for thisattitude.An idea, of course, gains in force by the energy with which itis expressed; it strikes where the brain sends it, by a law asmathematically exact as the law that determines the course of a shellfrom a mortar. The amount of impression it makes is not to be determinedso exactly. Sometimes, in an impressible nature, the idea works havoc,but there are, no less, natures so robustly protected, that this sortof projectile falls flat and harmless on skulls of triple brass,as cannon-shot against solid masonry; then there are flaccid andspongy-fibred natures into which ideas from without sink like spentbullets into the earthworks of a redoubt. Rastignac's head was somethingof the powder-magazine order; the least shock sufficed to bring about anexplosion. He was too quick, too young, not to be readily accessibleto ideas; and open to that subtle influence of thought and feeling inothers which causes so many strange phenomena that make an impressionupon us of which we are all unconscious at the time. Nothing escaped hismental vision; he was lynx-eyed; in him the mental powers of perception,which seem like duplicates of the senses, had the mysterious powerof swift projection that astonishes us in intellects of a highorder--slingers who are quick to detect the weak spot in any armor.In the past month Eugene's good qualities and defects had rapidlydeveloped with his character. Intercourse with the world and theendeavor to satisfy his growing desires had brought out his defects.But Rastignac came from the South side of the Loire, and had the goodqualities of his countrymen. He had the impetuous courage of the South,that rushes to the attack of a difficulty, as well as the southernimpatience of delay or suspense. These traits are held to be defects inthe North; they made the fortune of Murat, but they likewise cut shorthis career. The moral would appear to be that when the dash and boldnessof the South side of the Loire meets, in a southern temperament, withthe guile of the North, the character is complete, and such a man willgain (and keep) the crown of Sweden.Rastignac, therefore, could not stand the fire from Vautrin's batteriesfor long without discovering whether this was a friend or a foe. He feltas if this strange being was reading his inmost soul, and dissectinghis feelings, while Vautrin himself was so close and secretive thathe seemed to have something of the profound and unmoved serenity ofa sphinx, seeing and hearing all things and saying nothing. Eugene,conscious of that money in his pocket, grew rebellious."Be so good as to wait a moment," he said to Vautrin, as the latterrose, after slowly emptying his coffee-cup, sip by sip."What for?" inquired the older man, as he put on his large-brimmed hatand took up the sword-cane that he was wont to twirl like a man who willface three or four footpads without flinching."I will repay you in a minute," returned Eugene. He unsealed one of thebags as he spoke, counted out a hundred and forty francs, and pushedthem towards Mme. Vauquer. "Short reckonings make good friends" headded, turning to the widow; "that clears our accounts till the end ofthe year. Can you give me change for a five-franc piece?""Good friends make short reckonings," echoed Poiret, with a glance atVautrin."Here is your franc," said Rastignac, holding out the coin to the sphinxin the black wig."Any one might think that you were afraid to owe me a trifle," exclaimedthis latter, with a searching glance that seemed to read the young man'sinmost thoughts; there was a satirical and cynical smile on Vautrin'sface such as Eugene had seen scores of times already; every time he sawit, it exasperated him almost beyond endurance."Well... so I am," he answered. He held both the bags in his hand, andhad risen to go up to his room.Vautrin made as if he were going out through the sitting-room, and thestudent turned to go through the second door that opened into the squarelobby at the foot of the staircase."Do you know, Monsieur le Marquis de Rastignacorama, that what you weresaying just now was not exactly polite?" Vautrin remarked, as he rattledhis sword-cane across the panels of the sitting-room door, and came upto the student.Rastignac looked coolly at Vautrin, drew him to the foot of thestaircase, and shut the dining-room door. They were standing in thelittle square lobby between the kitchen and the dining-room; the placewas lighted by an iron-barred fanlight above a door that gave accessinto the garden. Sylvie came out of her kitchen, and Eugene chose thatmoment to say:"Monsieur Vautrin, I am not a marquis, and my name is notRastignacorama.""They will fight," said Mlle. Michonneau, in an indifferent tone."Fight!" echoed Poiret."Not they," replied Mme. Vauquer, lovingly fingering her pile of coins."But there they are under the lime-trees," cried Mlle. Victorine, whohad risen so that she might see out into the garden. "Poor young man! hewas in the right, after all.""We must go upstairs, my pet," said Mme. Couture; "it is no business ofours."At the door, however, Mme. Couture and Victorine found their progressbarred by the portly form of Sylvie the cook."What ever can have happened?" she said. "M. Vautrin said to M. Eugene,'Let us have an explanation!' then he took him by the arm, and therethey are, out among the artichokes."Vautrin came in while she was speaking. "Mamma Vauquer," he saidsmiling, "don't frighten yourself at all. I am only going to try mypistols under the lime-trees.""Oh! monsieur," cried Victorine, clasping her hands as she spoke, "whydo you want to kill M. Eugene?"Vautrin stepped back a pace or two, and gazed at Victorine."Oh! this is something fresh!" he exclaimed in a bantering tone, thatbrought the color into the poor girl's face. "That young fellow yonderis very nice, isn't he?" he went on. "You have given me a notion, mypretty child; I will make you both happy."Mme. Couture laid her hand on the arm of her ward, and drew the girlaway, as she said in her ear:"Why, Victorine, I cannot imagine what has come over you this morning.""I don't want any shots fired in my garden," said Mme. Vauquer. "Youwill frighten the neighborhood and bring the police up here all in amoment.""Come, keep cool, Mamma Vauquer," answered Vautrin. "There, there; it'sall right; we will go to the shooting-gallery."He went back to Rastignac, laying his hand familiarly on the young man'sarm."When I have given you ocular demonstration of the fact that I can puta bullet through the ace on a card five times running at thirty-fivepaces," he said, "that won't take away your appetite, I suppose? Youlook to me to be inclined to be a trifle quarrelsome this morning, andas if you would rush on your death like a blockhead.""Do you draw back?" asked Eugene."Don't try to raise my temperature," answered Vautrin, "it is not coldthis morning. Let us go and sit over there," he added, pointing to thegreen-painted garden seats; "no one can overhear us. I want a littletalk with you. You are not a bad sort of youngster, and I have noquarrel with you. I like you, take Trump--(confound it!)--take Vautrin'sword for it. What makes me like you? I will tell you by-and-by.Meantime, I can tell you that I know you as well as if I had made youmyself, as I will prove to you in a minute. Put down your bags," hecontinued, pointing to the round table.Rastignac deposited his money on the table, and sat down. He wasconsumed with curiosity, which the sudden change in the manner of theman before him had excited to the highest pitch. Here was a strangebeing who, a moment ago, had talked of killing him, and now posed as hisprotector."You would like to know who I really am, what I was, and what I do now,"Vautrin went on. "You want to know too much, youngster. Come! come! keepcool! You will hear more astonishing things than that. I have hadmy misfortunes. Just hear me out first, and you shall have your turnafterwards. Here is my past in three words. Who am I? Vautrin. What doI do? Just what I please. Let us change the subject. You want to know mycharacter. I am good-natured to those who do me a good turn, or to thosewhose hearts speak to mine. These last may do anything they like withme; they may bruise my shins, and I shall not tell them to 'mind whatthey are about'; but, nom d'une pipe, the devil himself is not anuglier customer than I can be if people annoy me, or if I don't happento take to them; and you may just as well know at once that I think nomore of killing a man than of that," and he spat before him as he spoke."Only when it is absolutely necessary to do so, I do my best to kill himproperly. I am what you call an artist. I have read Benvenuto Cellini'sMemoirs, such as you see me; and, what is more, in Italian: Afine-spirited fellow he was! From him I learned to follow the exampleset us by Providence, who strikes us down at random, and to admirethe beautiful whenever and wherever it is found. And, setting otherquestions aside, is it not a glorious part to play, when you pityourself against mankind, and the luck is on your side? I have thoughta good deal about the constitution of your present social Dis-order. Aduel is downright childish, my boy! utter nonsense and folly! When oneof two living men must be got out of the way, none but an idiotwould leave chance to decide which it is to be; and in a duel it is atoss-up--heads or tails--and there you are! Now I, for instance, canhit the ace in the middle of a card five times running, send one bulletafter another through the same hole, and at thirty-five paces, moreover!With that little accomplishment you might think yourself certain ofkilling your man, mightn't you. Well, I have fired, at twenty paces, andmissed, and the rogue who had never handled a pistol in his life--lookhere!"--(he unbuttoned his waistcoat and exposed his chest, covered,like a bear's back, with a shaggy fell; the student gave a startledshudder)--"he was a raw lad, but he made his mark on me," theextraordinary man went on, drawing Rastignac's fingers over a deep scaron his breast. "But that happened when I myself was a mere boy; I wasone-and-twenty then (your age), and I had some beliefs left--in awoman's love, and in a pack of rubbish that you will be over head andears in directly. You and I were to have fought just now, weren't we?You might have killed me. Suppose that I were put under the earth, wherewould you be? You would have to clear out of this, go to Switzerland,draw on papa's purse--and he has none too much in it as it is. I mean toopen your eyes to your real position, that is what I am going to do: butI shall do it from the point of view of a man who, after studying theworld very closely, sees that there are but two alternatives--stupidobedience or revolt. I obey nobody; is that clear? Now, do you know howmuch you will want at the pace you are going? A million; and promptly,too, or that little head of ours will be swaying to and fro in thedrag-nets at Saint-Cloud, while we are gone to find out whether or nothere is a Supreme Being. I will put you in the way of that million."He stopped for a moment and looked at Eugene."Aha! you do not look so sourly at papa Vautrin now! At the mention ofthe million you look like a young girl when somebody has said, 'I willcome for you this evening!' and she betakes herself to her toilette as acat licks its whiskers over a saucer of milk. All right. Come, now, letus go into the question, young man; all between ourselves, you know.We have a papa and mamma down yonder, a great-aunt, two sisters (agedeighteen and seventeen), two young brothers (one fifteen, and the otherten), that is about the roll-call of the crew. The aunt brings up thetwo sisters; the cure comes and teaches the boys Latin. Boiled chestnutsare oftener on the table than white bread. Papa makes a suit of clotheslast a long while; if mamma has a different dress winter and summer, itis about as much as she has; the sisters manage as best they can. I knowall about it; I have lived in the south."That is how things are at home. They send you twelve hundred francs ayear, and the whole property only brings in three thousand francs alltold. We have a cook and a manservant; papa is a baron, and we must keepup appearances. Then we have our ambitions; we are connected with theBeauseants, and we go afoot through the streets; we want to be rich,and we have not a penny; we eat Mme. Vauquer's messes, and we like granddinners in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; we sleep on a truckle-bed, anddream of a mansion! I do not blame you for wanting these things. Whatsort of men do the women run after? Men of ambition. Men of ambitionhave stronger frames, their blood is richer in iron, their hearts arewarmer than those of ordinary men. Women feel that when their power isgreatest, they look their best, and that those are their happiest hours;they like power in men, and prefer the strongest even if it is a powerthat may be their own destruction. I am going to make an inventory ofyour desires in order to put the question at issue before you. Here itis:--"We are as hungry as a wolf, and those newly-cut teeth of ours aresharp; what are we to do to keep the pot boiling? In the first place,we have the Code to browse upon; it is not amusing, and we are none thewiser for it, but that cannot be helped. So far so good. We mean to makean advocate of ourselves with a prospect of one day being made Presidentof a Court of Assize, when we shall send poor devils, our betters, tothe galleys with a T.F.[*] on their shoulders, so that the rich may beconvinced that they can sleep in peace. There is no fun in that; and youare a long while coming to it; for, to begin with, there are two yearsof nauseous drudgery in Paris, we see all the lollipops that we long forout of our reach. It is tiresome to want things and never to have them.If you were a pallid creature of the mollusk order, you would havenothing to fear, but it is different when you have the hot blood ofa lion and are ready to get into a score of scrapes every day of yourlife. This is the ghastliest form of torture known in this inferno ofGod's making, and you will give in to it. Or suppose that you are a goodboy, drink nothing stronger than milk, and bemoan your hard lot; you,with your generous nature, will endure hardships that would drive a dogmad, and make a start, after long waiting, as deputy to some rascalor other in a hole of a place where the Government will fling you athousand francs a year like the scraps that are thrown to the butcher'sdog. Bark at thieves, plead the cause of the rich, send men of heartto the guillotine, that is your work! Many thanks! If you have noinfluence, you may rot in your provincial tribunal. At thirty you willbe a Justice with twelve hundred francs a year (if you have not flungoff the gown for good before then). By the time you are forty you maylook to marry a miller's daughter, an heiress with some six thousandlivres a year. Much obliged! If you have influence, you may possiblybe a Public Prosecutor by the time you are thirty; with a salary ofa thousand crowns, you could look to marry the mayor's daughter. Somepetty piece of political trickery, such as mistaking Villele for Manuelin a bulletin (the names rhyme, and that quiets your conscience), andyou will probably be a Procureur General by the time you are forty, witha chance of becoming a deputy. Please to observe, my dear boy, that ourconscience will have been a little damaged in the process, and that weshall endure twenty years of drudgery and hidden poverty, and thatour sisters are wearing Dian's livery. I have the honor to call yourattention to another fact: to wit, that there are but twenty ProcureursGeneraux at a time in all France, while there are some twenty thousandof you young men who aspire to that elevated position; that there aresome mountebanks among you who would sell their family to screw theirfortunes a peg higher. If this sort of thing sickens you, try anothercourse. The Baron de Rastignac thinks of becoming an advocate, does he?There's a nice prospect for you! Ten years of drudgery straight away.You are obliged to live at the rate of a thousand francs a month; youmust have a library of law books, live in chambers, go into society, godown on your knees to ask a solicitor for briefs, lick the dust offthe floor of the Palais de Justice. If this kind of business led toanything, I should not say no; but just give me the names of fiveadvocates here in Paris who by the time that they are fifty are makingfifty thousand francs a year! Bah! I would sooner turn pirate on thehigh seas than have my soul shrivel up inside me like that. How willyou find the capital? There is but one way, marry a woman who has money.There is no fun in it. Have you a mind to marry? You hang a stone aroundyour neck; for if you marry for money, what becomes of our exaltednotions of honor and so forth? You might as well fly in the face ofsocial conventions at once. Is it nothing to crawl like a serpent beforeyour wife, to lick her mother's feet, to descend to dirty actionsthat would sicken swine--faugh!--never mind if you at least make yourfortune. But you will be as doleful as a dripstone if you marry formoney. It is better to wrestle with men than to wrangle at home withyour wife. You are at the crossway of the roads of life, my boy; chooseyour way.[*] Travaux forces, forced labour."But you have chosen already. You have gone to see your cousin ofBeauseant, and you have had an inkling of luxury; you have been to Mme.de Restaud's house, and in Father Goriot's daughter you have seen aglimpse of the Parisienne for the first time. That day you cameback with a word written on your forehead. I knew it, I could readit--'Success!' Yes, success at any price. 'Bravo,' said I to myself,'here is the sort of fellow for me.' You wanted money. Where was it allto come from? You have drained your sisters' little hoard (all brotherssponge more or less on their sisters). Those fifteen hundred francs ofyours (got together, God knows how! in a country where there are morechestnuts than five-franc pieces) will slip away like soldiers afterpillage. And, then, what will you do? Shall you begin to work? Work, orwhat you understand by work at this moment, means, for a man of Poiret'scalibre, an old age in Mamma Vauquer's lodging-house. There are fiftythousand young men in your position at this moment, all bent as you areon solving one and the same problem--how to acquire a fortune rapidly.You are but a unit in that aggregate. You can guess, therefore, whatefforts you must make, how desperate the struggle is. There are notfifty thousand good positions for you; you must fight and devour oneanother like spiders in a pot. Do you know how a man makes his way here?By brilliant genius or by skilful corruption. You must either cut yourway through these masses of men like a cannon ball, or steal among themlike a plague. Honesty is nothing to the purpose. Men bow before thepower of genius; they hate it, and try to slander it, because geniusdoes not divide the spoil; but if genius persists, they bow before it.To sum it all up in a phrase, if they fail to smother genius in the mud,they fall on their knees and worship it. Corruption is a great powerin the world, and talent is scarce. So corruption is the weapon ofsuperfluous mediocrity; you will be made to feel the point of iteverywhere. You will see women who spend more than ten thousand francsa year on dress, while their husband's salary (his whole income) issix thousand francs. You will see officials buying estates on twelvethousand francs a year. You will see women who sell themselves body andsoul to drive in a carriage belonging to the son of a peer of France,who has a right to drive in the middle rank at Longchamp. You haveseen that poor simpleton of a Goriot obliged to meet a bill with hisdaughter's name at the back of it, though her husband has fifty thousandfrancs a year. I defy you to walk a couple of yards anywhere in Pariswithout stumbling on some infernal complication. I'll bet my head toa head of that salad that you will stir up a hornet's nest by taking afancy to the first young, rich, and pretty woman you meet. They are alldodging the law, all at loggerheads with their husbands. If I were tobegin to tell you all that vanity or necessity (virtue is not oftenmixed up in it, you may be sure), all that vanity and necessity drivethem to do for lovers, finery, housekeeping, or children, I should nevercome to an end. So an honest man is the common enemy."But do you know what an honest man is? Here, in Paris, an honest man isthe man who keeps his own counsel, and will not divide the plunder. I amnot speaking now of those poor bond-slaves who do the work of the worldwithout a reward for their toil--God Almighty's outcasts, I call them.Among them, I grant you, is virtue in all the flower of its stupidity,but poverty is no less their portion. At this moment, I think I see thelong faces those good folk would pull if God played a practical joke onthem and stayed away at the Last Judgment."Well, then, if you mean to make a fortune quickly, you must either berich to begin with, or make people believe that you are rich. It is nouse playing here except for high stakes; once take to low play, it isall up with you. If in the scores of professions that are open to you,there are ten men who rise very rapidly, people are sure to call themthieves. You can draw your own conclusions. Such is life. It is nocleaner than a kitchen; it reeks like a kitchen; and if you mean tocook your dinner, you must expect to soil your hands; the real art isin getting them clean again, and therein lies the whole morality of ourepoch. If I take this tone in speaking of the world to you, I have theright to do so; I know it well. Do you think that I am blaming it? Farfrom it; the world has always been as it is now. Moralists' strictureswill never change it. Mankind are not perfect, but one age is moreor less hypocritical than another, and then simpletons say that itsmorality is high or low. I do not think that the rich are any worse thanthe poor; man is much the same, high or low, or wherever he is. In amillion of these human cattle there may be half a score of bold spiritswho rise above the rest, above the laws; I am one of them. And you, ifyou are cleverer than your fellows, make straight to your end, and holdyour head high. But you must lay your account with envy and slander andmediocrity, and every man's hand will be against you. Napoleon met witha Minister of War, Aubry by name, who all but sent him to the colonies."Feel your pulse. Think whether you can get up morning after morning,strengthened in yesterday's purpose. In that case I will make you anoffer that no one would decline. Listen attentively. You see, I have anidea of my own. My idea is to live a patriarchal life on a vast estate,say a hundred thousand acres, somewhere in the Southern States ofAmerica. I mean to be a planter, to have slaves, to make a few snugmillions by selling my cattle, timber, and tobacco; I want to live anabsolute monarch, and to do just as I please; to lead such a life as noone here in these squalid dens of lath and plaster ever imagines. I am agreat poet; I do not write my poems, I feel them, and act them. At thismoment I have fifty thousand francs, which might possibly buy fortynegroes. I want two hundred thousand francs, because I want to havetwo hundred negroes to carry out my notions of the patriarachal lifeproperly. Negroes, you see, are like a sort of family ready grown, andthere are no inquisitive public prosecutors out there to interfere withyou. That investment in ebony ought to mean three or four million francsin ten years' time. If I am successful, no one will ask me who I am. Ishall be Mr. Four Millions, an American citizen. I shall be fifty yearsold by then, and sound and hearty still; I shall enjoy life after my ownfashion. In two words, if I find you an heiress with a million, will yougive me two hundred thousand francs? Twenty per cent commission, eh? Isthat too much? Your little wife will be very much in love with you. Oncemarried, you will show signs of uneasiness and remorse; for a couple ofweeks you will be depressed. Then, some night after sundry grimacings,comes the confession, between two kisses, 'Two hundred thousand francsof debts, my darling!' This sort of farce is played every day in Paris,and by young men of the highest fashion. When a young wife has given herheart, she will not refuse her purse. Perhaps you are thinking thatyou will lose the money for good? Not you. You will make two hundredthousand francs again by some stroke of business. With your capital andyour brains you should be able to accumulate as large a fortune as youcould wish. Ergo, in six months you will have made your own fortune,and our old friend Vautrin's, and made an amiable woman very happy, tosay nothing of your people at home, who must blow on their fingersto warm them, in the winter, for lack of firewood. You need not besurprised at my proposal, nor at the demand I make. Forty-seven outof every sixty great matches here in Paris are made after just such abargain as this. The Chamber of Notaries compels my gentleman to----""What must I do?" said Rastignac, eagerly interrupting Vautrin's speech."Next to nothing," returned the other, with a slight involuntarymovement, the suppressed exultation of the angler when he feels a biteat the end of his line. "Follow me carefully! The heart of a girl whoselife is wretched and unhappy is a sponge that will thirstily absorblove; a dry sponge that swells at the first drop of sentiment. If youpay court to a young girl whose existence is a compound of loneliness,despair, and poverty, and who has no suspicion that she will come intoa fortune, good Lord! it is quint and quatorze at piquet; it is knowingthe numbers of the lottery before-hand; it is speculating in the fundswhen you have news from a sure source; it is building up a marriage onan indestructible foundation. The girl may come in for millions, and shewill fling them, as if they were so many pebbles, at your feet. 'Takeit, my beloved! Take it, Alfred, Adolphe, Eugene!' or whoever itwas that showed his sense by sacrificing himself for her. And as forsacrificing himself, this is how I understand it. You sell a coat thatis getting shabby, so that you can take her to the Cadran bleu, treather to mushrooms on toast, and then go to the Ambigu-Comique in theevening; you pawn your watch to buy her a shawl. I need not remind youof the fiddle-faddle sentimentality that goes down so well with allwomen; you spill a few drops of water on your stationery, for instance;those are the tears you shed while far away from her. You look to me asif you were perfectly acquainted with the argot of the heart. Paris, yousee, is like a forest in the New World, where you have to deal witha score of varieties of savages--Illinois and Hurons, who live on theproceed of their social hunting. You are a hunter of millions; you setyour snares; you use lures and nets; there are many ways of hunting.Some hunt heiresses, others a legacy; some fish for souls, yet otherssell their clients, bound hand and foot. Every one who comes back fromthe chase with his game-bag well filled meets with a warm welcome ingood society. In justice to this hospitable part of the world, it mustbe said that you have to do with the most easy and good-natured ofgreat cities. If the proud aristocracies of the rest of Europe refuseadmittance among their ranks to a disreputable millionaire, Parisstretches out a hand to him, goes to his banquets, eats his dinners, andhobnobs with his infamy.""But where is such a girl to be found?" asked Eugene."Under your eyes; she is yours already.""Mlle. Victorine?""Precisely.""And what was that you said?""She is in love with you already, your little Baronne de Rastignac!""She has not a penny," Eugene continued, much mystified."Ah! now we are coming to it! Just another word or two, and it will allbe clear enough. Her father, Taillefer, is an old scoundrel; it is saidthat he murdered one of his friends at the time of the Revolution. He isone of your comedians that sets up to have opinions of his own. He is abanker--senior partner in the house of Frederic Taillefer and Company.He has one son, and means to leave all he has to the boy, to theprejudice of Victorine. For my part, I don't like to see injustice ofthis sort. I am like Don Quixote, I have a fancy for defending the weakagainst the strong. If it should please God to take that youth away fromhim, Taillefer would have only his daughter left; he would want to leavehis money to some one or other; an absurd notion, but it is only humannature, and he is not likely to have any more children, as I know.Victorine is gentle and amiable; she will soon twist her father roundher fingers, and set his head spinning like a German top by plying himwith sentiment! She will be too much touched by your devotion toforget you; you will marry her. I mean to play Providence for you,and Providence is to do my will. I have a friend whom I have attachedclosely to myself, a colonel in the Army of the Loire, who has just beentransferred into the garde royale. He has taken my advice and turnedultra-royalist; he is not one of those fools who never change theiropinions. Of all pieces of advice, my cherub, I would give youthis--don't stick to your opinions any more than to your words. If anyone asks you for them, let him have them--at a price. A man who prideshimself on going in a straight line through life is an idiot whobelieves in infallibility. There are no such things as principles; thereare only events, and there are no laws but those of expediency: a man oftalent accepts events and the circumstances in which he finds himself,and turns everything to his own ends. If laws and principles were fixedand invariable, nations would not change them as readily as we changeour shirts. The individual is not obliged to be more particular than thenation. A man whose services to France have been of the very slightestis a fetich looked on with superstitious awe because he has alwaysseen everything in red; but he is good, at the most, to be put into theMuseum of Arts and Crafts, among the automatic machines, and labeled LaFayette; while the prince at whom everybody flings a stone, the man whodespises humanity so much that he spits as many oaths as he is asked forin the face of humanity, saved France from being torn in pieces at theCongress of Vienna; and they who should have given him laurels flingmud at him. Oh! I know something of affairs, I can tell you; I have thesecrets of many men! Enough. When I find three minds in agreement asto the application of a principle, I shall have a fixed and immovableopinion--I shall have to wait a long while first. In the Tribunals youwill not find three judges of the same opinion on a single point of law.To return to the man I was telling you of. He would crucify Jesus Christagain, if I bade him. At a word from his old chum Vautrin he will picka quarrel with a scamp that will not send so much as five francs to hissister, poor girl, and" (here Vautrin rose to his feet and stood like afencing-master about to lunge)--"turn him off into the dark!" he added."How frightful!" said Eugene. "You do not really mean it? M. Vautrin,you are joking!""There! there! Keep cool!" said the other. "Don't behave like a baby.But if you find any amusement in it, be indignant, flare up! Say thatI am a scoundrel, a rascal, a rogue, a bandit; but do not call me ablackleg nor a spy! There, out with it, fire away! I forgive you; it isquite natural at your age. I was like that myself once. Only rememberthis, you will do worse things yourself some day. You will flirt withsome pretty woman and take her money. You have thought of that, ofcourse," said Vautrin, "for how are you to succeed unless love is laidunder contribution? There are no two ways about virtue, my dear student;it either is, or it is not. Talk of doing penance for your sins! It isa nice system of business, when you pay for your crime by an act ofcontrition! You seduce a woman that you may set your foot on such andsuch a rung of the social ladder; you sow dissension among the childrenof a family; you descend, in short, to every base action that can becommitted at home or abroad, to gain your own ends for your own pleasureor your profit; and can you imagine that these are acts of faith, hope,or charity? How is it that a dandy, who in a night has robbed a boy ofhalf his fortune, gets only a couple of months in prison; while a poordevil who steals a banknote for a thousand francs, with aggravatingcircumstances, is condemned to penal servitude? Those are your laws. Nota single provision but lands you in some absurdity. That man with yellowgloves and a golden tongue commits many a murder; he sheds no blood, buthe drains his victim's veins as surely; a desperado forces open a doorwith a crowbar, dark deeds both of them! You yourself will do every oneof those things that I suggest to you to-day, bar the bloodshed. Doyou believe that there is any absolute standard in this world? Despisemankind and find out the meshes that you can slip through in the net ofthe Code. The secret of a great success for which you are at a lossto account is a crime that has never been found out, because it wasproperly executed.""Silence, sir! I will not hear any more; you make me doubt myself. Atthis moment my sentiments are all my science.""Just as you please, my fine fellow; I did think you were soweak-minded," said Vautrin, "I shall say no more about it. One lastword, however," and he looked hard at the student--"you have my secret,"he said."A young man who refuses your offer knows that he must forget it.""Quite right, quite right; I am glad to hear you say so. Somebody elsemight not be so scrupulous, you see. Keep in mind what I want to do foryou. I will give you a fortnight. The offer is still open.""What a head of iron the man has!" said Eugene to himself, as he watchedVautrin walk unconcernedly away with his cane under his arm. "Yet Mme.de Beauseant said as much more gracefully; he has only stated the casein cruder language. He would tear my heart with claws of steel. Whatmade me think of going to Mme. de Nucingen? He guessed my motives beforeI knew them myself. To sum it up, that outlaw has told me more aboutvirtue than all I have learned from men and books. If virtue admits ofno compromises, I have certainly robbed my sisters," he said, throwingdown the bags on the table.He sat down again and fell, unconscious of his surroundings, into deepthought."To be faithful to an ideal of virtue! A heroic martyrdom! Pshaw! everyone believes in virtue, but who is virtuous? Nations have made an idolof Liberty, but what nation on the face of the earth is free? My youthis still like a blue and cloudless sky. If I set myself to obtain wealthor power, does it mean that I must make up my mind to lie, and fawn, andcringe, and swagger, and flatter, and dissemble? To consent to be theservant of others who have likewise fawned, and lied, and flattered?Must I cringe to them before I can hope to be their accomplice? Well,then, I decline. I mean to work nobly and with a single heart. Iwill work day and night; I will owe my fortune to nothing but my ownexertions. It may be the slowest of all roads to success, but I shalllay my head on the pillow at night untroubled by evil thoughts. Is therea greater thing than this--to look back over your life and know thatit is stainless as a lily? I and my life are like a young man and hisbetrothed. Vautrin has put before me all that comes after ten years ofmarriage. The devil! my head is swimming. I do not want to think at all;the heart is a sure guide."Eugene was roused from his musings by the voice of the stout Sylvie,who announced that the tailor had come, and Eugene therefore made hisappearance before the man with the two money bags, and was not illpleased that it should be so. When he had tried on his dress suit, heput on his new morning costume, which completely metamorphosed him."I am quite equal to M. de Trailles," he said to himself. "In short, Ilook like a gentleman.""You asked me, sir, if I knew the houses where Mme. de Nucingen goes,"Father Goriot's voice spoke from the doorway of Eugene's room."Yes.""Very well then, she is going to the Marechale Carigliano's ball onMonday. If you can manage to be there, I shall hear from you whether mytwo girls enjoyed themselves, and how they were dressed, and all aboutit in fact.""How did you find that out, my good Goriot?" said Eugene, putting achair by the fire for his visitor."Her maid told me. I hear all about their doings from Therese andConstance," he added gleefully.The old man looked like a lover who is still young enough to be madehappy by the discovery of some little stratagem which brings himinformation of his lady-love without her knowledge."You will see them both!" he said, giving artless expression to a pangof jealousy."I do not know," answered Eugene. "I will go to Mme. de Beauseant andask her for an introduction to the Marechale."Eugene felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of appearing before theVicomtesse, dressed as henceforward he always meant to be. The "abyssesof the human heart," in the moralists' phrase, are only insidiousthoughts, involuntary promptings of personal interest. The instinct ofenjoyment turns the scale; those rapid changes of purpose which havefurnished the text for so much rhetoric are calculations prompted bythe hope of pleasure. Rastignac beholding himself well dressed andimpeccable as to gloves and boots, forgot his virtuous resolutions.Youth, moreover, when bent upon wrongdoing does not dare to beholdhimself in the mirror of consciousness; mature age has seen itself; andtherein lies the whole difference between these two phases of life.A friendship between Eugene and his neighbor, Father Goriot, hadbeen growing up for several days past. This secret friendship and theantipathy that the student had begun to entertain for Vautrin arosefrom the same psychological causes. The bold philosopher who shallinvestigate the effects of mental action upon the physical worldwill doubtless find more than one proof of the material nature of oursentiments in other animals. What physiognomist is as quick to discerncharacter as a dog is to discover from a stranger's face whether thisis a friend or no? Those by-words--"atoms," "affinities"--are factssurviving in modern languages for the confusion of philosophic wiseacreswho amuse themselves by winnowing the chaff of language to find itsgrammatical roots. We feel that we are loved. Our sentiments makethemselves felt in everything, even at a great distance. A letter isa living soul, and so faithful an echo of the voice that speaks in it,that finer natures look upon a letter as one of love's most precioustreasures. Father Goriot's affection was of the instinctive order, acanine affection raised to a sublime pitch; he had scented compassion inthe air, and the kindly respect and youthful sympathy in the student'sheart. This friendship had, however, scarcely reached the stage at whichconfidences are made. Though Eugene had spoken of his wish to meet Mme.de Nucingen, it was not because he counted on the old man to introducehim to her house, for he hoped that his own audacity might stand him ingood stead. All that Father Goriot had said as yet about his daughtershad referred to the remarks that the student had made so freely inpublic on that day of the two visits."How could you think that Mme. de Restaud bore you a grudge formentioning my name?" he had said on the day following that scene atdinner. "My daughters are very fond of me; I am a happy father; butmy sons-in-law have behaved badly to me, and rather than make troublebetween my darlings and their husbands, I choose to see my daughterssecretly. Fathers who can see their daughters at any time have no ideaof all the pleasure that all this mystery gives me; I cannot always seemine when I wish, do you understand? So when it is fine I walk out inthe Champs-Elysees, after finding out from their waiting-maids whethermy daughters mean to go out. I wait near the entrance; my heart beatsfast when the carriages begin to come; I admire them in their dresses,and as they pass they give me a little smile, and it seems as ifeverything was lighted up for me by a ray of bright sunlight. I wait,for they always go back the same way, and then I see them again; thefresh air has done them good and brought color into their cheeks; allabout me people say, 'What a beautiful woman that is!' and it does myheart good to hear them."Are they not my own flesh and blood? I love the very horses that drawthem; I envy the little lap-dog on their knees. Their happiness is mylife. Every one loves after his own fashion, and mine does no one anyharm; why should people trouble their heads about me? I am happy in myown way. Is there any law against going to see my girls in the eveningwhen they are going out to a ball? And what a disappointment it is whenI get there too late, and am told that 'Madame has gone out!' Once Iwaited till three o'clock in the morning for Nasie; I had not seen herfor two whole days. I was so pleased, that it was almost too much forme! Please do not speak of me unless it is to say how good my daughtersare to me. They are always wanting to heap presents upon me, but I willnot have it. 'Just keep your money,' I tell them. 'What should I dowith it? I want nothing.' And what am I, sir, after all? An old carcase,whose soul is always where my daughters are. When you have seen Mme.de Nucingen, tell me which you like the most," said the old man after amoment's pause, while Eugene put the last touches to his toilette. Thestudent was about to go out to walk in the Garden of the Tuileriesuntil the hour when he could venture to appear in Mme. de Beauseant'sdrawing-room.That walk was a turning-point in Eugene's career. Several women noticedhim; he looked so handsome, so young, and so well dressed. This almostadmiring attention gave a new turn to his thoughts. He forgot hissisters and the aunt who had robbed herself for him; he no longerremembered his own virtuous scruples. He had seen hovering above hishead the fiend so easy to mistake for an angel, the Devil with rainbowwings, who scatters rubies, and aims his golden shafts at palace fronts,who invests women with purple, and thrones with a glory that dazzles theeyes of fools till they forget the simple origins of royal dominion; hehad heard the rustle of that Vanity whose tinsel seems to us to be thesymbol of power. However cynical Vautrin's words had been, they had madean impression on his mind, as the sordid features of the old crone whowhispers, "A lover, and gold in torrents," remain engraven on a younggirl's memory.Eugene lounged about the walks till it was nearly five o'clock, thenhe went to Mme. de Beauseant, and received one of the terrible blowsagainst which young hearts are defenceless. Hitherto the Vicomtesse hadreceived him with the kindly urbanity, the bland grace of manner that isthe result of fine breeding, but is only complete when it comes from theheart.To-day Mme. de Beauseant bowed constrainedly, and spoke curtly:"M. de Rastignac, I cannot possibly see you, at least not at thismoment. I am engaged..."An observer, and Rastignac instantly became an observer, could read thewhole history, the character and customs of caste, in the phrase, in thetones of her voice, in her glance and bearing. He caught a glimpse ofthe iron hand beneath the velvet glove--the personality, the egoismbeneath the manner, the wood beneath the varnish. In short, he heardthat unmistakable I THE KING that issues from the plumed canopy ofthe throne, and finds its last echo under the crest of the simplestgentleman.Eugene had trusted too implicitly to the generosity of a woman; hecould not believe in her haughtiness. Like all the unfortunate, he hadsubscribed, in all good faith, the generous compact which should bindthe benefactor to the recipient, and the first article in that bond,between two large-hearted natures, is a perfect equality. The kindnesswhich knits two souls together is as rare, as divine, and as littleunderstood as the passion of love, for both love and kindness are thelavish generosity of noble natures. Rastignac was set upon going to theDuchesse de Carigliano's ball, so he swallowed down this rebuff."Madame," he faltered out, "I would not have come to trouble you abouta trifling matter; be so kind as to permit me to see you later, I canwait.""Very well, come and dine with me," she said, a little confused bythe harsh way in which she had spoken, for this lady was as genuinelykind-hearted as she was high-born.Eugene was touched by this sudden relenting, but none the less he saidto himself as he went away, "Crawl in the dust, put up with every kindof treatment. What must the rest of the world be like when one of thekindest of women forgets all her promises of befriending me in a moment,and tosses me aside like an old shoe? So it is every one for himself? Itis true that her house is not a shop, and I have put myself in the wrongby needing her help. You should cut your way through the world like acannon ball, as Vautrin said."But the student's bitter thoughts were soon dissipated by the pleasurewhich he promised himself in this dinner with the Vicomtesse. Fateseemed to determine that the smallest accidents in his life shouldcombine to urge him into a career, which the terrible sphinx of theMaison Vauquer had described as a field of battle where you must eitherslay or be slain, and cheat to avoid being cheated. You leave yourconscience and your heart at the barriers, and wear a mask on enteringinto this game of grim earnest, where, as in ancient Sparta, you mustsnatch your prize without being detected if you would deserve the crown.On his return he found the Vicomtesse gracious and kindly, as she hadalways been to him. They went together to the dining-room, where theVicomte was waiting for his wife. In the time of the Restoration theluxury of the table was carried, as is well known, to the highestdegree, and M. de Beauseant, like many jaded men of the world, had fewpleasures left but those of good cheer; in this matter, in fact, he wasa gourmand of the schools of Louis XVIII. and of the Duc d'Escars, andluxury was supplemented by splendor. Eugene, dining for the first timein a house where the traditions of grandeur had descended through manygenerations, had never seen any spectacle like this that now met hiseyes. In the time of the Empire, balls had always ended with a supper,because the officers who took part in them must be fortified forimmediate service, and even in Paris might be called upon to leave theballroom for the battlefield. This arrangement had gone out of fashionunder the Monarchy, and Eugene had so far only been asked to dances.The self-possession which pre-eminently distinguished him in later lifealready stood him in good stead, and he did not betray his amazement.Yet as he saw for the first time the finely wrought silver plate, thecompleteness of every detail, the sumptuous dinner, noiselessly served,it was difficult for such an ardent imagination not to prefer this lifeof studied and refined luxury to the hardships of the life which he hadchosen only that morning.His thoughts went back for a moment to the lodging-house, and with afeeling of profound loathing, he vowed to himself that at New Year hewould go; prompted at least as much by a desire to live among cleanersurroundings as by a wish to shake off Vautrin, whose huge hand heseemed to feel on his shoulder at that moment. When you consider thenumberless forms, clamorous or mute, that corruption takes in Paris,common-sense begins to wonder what mental aberration prompted the Stateto establish great colleges and schools there, and assemble young men inthe capital; how it is that pretty women are respected, or that the goldcoin displayed in the money-changer's wooden saucers does not take toitself wings in the twinkling of an eye; and when you come to thinkfurther, how comparatively few cases of crime there are, and to countup the misdemeanors committed by youth, is there not a certain amount ofrespect due to these patient Tantaluses who wrestle with themselves andnearly always come off victorious? The struggles of the poor studentin Paris, if skilfully drawn, would furnish a most dramatic picture ofmodern civilization.In vain Mme. de Beauseant looked at Eugene as if asking him to speak;the student was tongue-tied in the Vicomte's presence."Are you going to take me to the Italiens this evening?" the Vicomtesseasked her husband."You cannot doubt that I should obey you with pleasure," he answered,and there was a sarcastic tinge in his politeness which Eugene did notdetect, "but I ought to go to meet some one at the Varietes.""His mistress," said she to herself."Then, is not Ajuda coming for you this evening?" inquired the Vicomte."No," she answered, petulantly."Very well, then, if you really must have an arm, take that of M. deRastignac."The Vicomtess turned to Eugene with a smile."That would be a very compromising step for you," she said."'A Frenchman loves danger, because in danger there is glory,' to quoteM. de Chateaubriand," said Rastignac, with a bow.A few moments later he was sitting beside Mme. de Beauseant ina brougham, that whirled them through the streets of Paris to afashionable theatre. It seemed to him that some fairy magic had suddenlytransported him into a box facing the stage. All the lorgnettes of thehouse were pointed at him as he entered, and at the Vicomtesse in hercharming toilette. He went from enchantment to enchantment."You must talk to me, you know," said Mme. de Beauseant. "Ah! look!There is Mme. de Nucingen in the third box from ours. Her sister and M.de Trailles are on the other side."The Vicomtesse glanced as she spoke at the box where Mlle. de Rochefideshould have been; M. d'Ajuda was not there, and Mme. de Beauseant's facelighted up in a marvelous way."She is charming," said Eugene, after looking at Mme. de Nucingen."She has white eyelashes.""Yes, but she has such a pretty slender figure!""Her hands are large.""Such beautiful eyes!""Her face is long.""Yes, but length gives distinction.""It is lucky for her that she has some distinction in her face. Just seehow she fidgets with her opera-glass! The Goriot blood shows itself inevery movement," said the Vicomtesse, much to Eugene's astonishment.Indeed, Mme. de Beauseant seemed to be engaged in making a survey ofthe house, and to be unconscious of Mme. Nucingen's existence; but nomovement made by the latter was lost upon the Vicomtesse. The house wasfull of the loveliest women in Paris, so that Delphine de Nucingen wasnot a little flattered to receive the undivided attention of Mme. deBeauseant's young, handsome, and well-dressed cousin, who seemed to haveno eyes for any one else."If you look at her so persistently, you will make people talk, M. deRastignac. You will never succeed if you fling yourself at any one'shead like that.""My dear cousin," said Eugene, "you have protected me indeed so far,and now if you would complete your work, I only ask of you a favor whichwill cost you but little, and be of very great service to me. I havelost my heart.""Already!""Yes.""And to that woman!""How could I aspire to find any one else to listen to me?" he asked,with a keen glance at his cousin. "Her Grace the Duchesse de Cariglianois a friend of the Duchesse de Berri," he went on, after a pause; "youare sure to see her, will you be so kind as to present me to her, and totake me to her ball on Monday? I shall meet Mme. de Nucingen there, andenter into my first skirmish.""Willingly," she said. "If you have a liking for her already, youraffairs of the heart are like to prosper. That is de Marsay over therein the Princesse Galathionne's box. Mme. de Nucingen is racked withjealousy. There is no better time for approaching a woman, especiallyif she happens to be a banker's wife. All those ladies of theChaussee-d'Antin love revenge.""Then, what would you do yourself in such a case?""I should suffer in silence."At this point the Marquis d'Ajuda appeared in Mme. de Beauseant's box."I have made a muddle of my affairs to come to you," he said, "and I amtelling you about it, so that it may not be a sacrifice."Eugene saw the glow of joy on the Vicomtesse's face, and knew that thiswas love, and learned the difference between love and the affectationsof Parisian coquetry. He admired his cousin, grew mute, and yielded hisplace to M. d'Ajuda with a sigh."How noble, how sublime a woman is when she loves like that!" he said tohimself. "And he could forsake her for a doll! Oh! how could any oneforsake her?"There was a boy's passionate indignation in his heart. He could haveflung himself at Mme. de Beauseant's feet; he longed for the power ofthe devil if he could snatch her away and hide her in his heart, as aneagle snatches up some white yearling from the plains and bears it toits eyrie. It was humiliating to him to think that in all this galleryof fair pictures he had not one picture of his own. "To have a mistressand an almost royal position is a sign of power," he said to himself.And he looked at Mme. de Nucingen as a man measures another who hasinsulted him.The Vicomtesse turned to him, and the expression of her eyes thanked hima thousand times for his discretion. The first act came to an end justthen."Do you know Mme. de Nucingen well enough to present M. de Rastignac toher?" she asked of the Marquis d'Ajuda."She will be delighted," said the Marquis. The handsome Portuguese roseas he spoke and took the student's arm, and in another moment Eugenefound himself in Mme. de Nucingen's box."Madame," said the Marquis, "I have the honor of presenting to you theChevalier Eugene de Rastignac; he is a cousin of Mme. de Beauseant's.You have made so deep an impression upon him, that I thought I wouldfill up the measure of his happiness by bringing him nearer to hisdivinity."Words spoken half jestingly to cover their somewhat disrespectfulimport; but such an implication, if carefully disguised, never givesoffence to a woman. Mme. de Nucingen smiled, and offered Eugene theplace which her husband had just left."I do not venture to suggest that you should stay with me, monsieur,"she said. "Those who are so fortunate as to be in Mme. de Beauseant'scompany do not desire to leave it.""Madame," Eugene said, lowering his voice, "I think that to please mycousin I should remain with you. Before my lord Marquis came we werespeaking of you and of your exceedingly distinguished appearance," headded aloud.M. d'Ajuda turned and left them."Are you really going to stay with me, monsieur?" asked the Baroness."Then we shall make each other's acquaintance. Mme. de Restaud told meabout you, and has made me anxious to meet you.""She must be very insincere, then, for she has shut her door on me.""What?""Madame, I will tell you honestly the reason why; but I must crave yourindulgence before confiding such a secret to you. I am your father'sneighbor; I had no idea that Mme. de Restaud was his daughter. I wasrash enough to mention his name; I meant no harm, but I annoyed yoursister and her husband very much. You cannot think how severely theDuchesse de Langeais and my cousin blamed this apostasy on a daughter'spart, as a piece of bad taste. I told them all about it, and they bothburst out laughing. Then Mme. de Beauseant made some comparison betweenyou and your sister, speaking in high terms of you, and saying how veryfond you were of my neighbor, M. Goriot. And, indeed, how could you helploving him? He adores you so passionately that I am jealous already. Wetalked about you this morning for two hours. So this evening I was quitefull of all that your father had told me, and while I was dining with mycousin I said that you could not be as beautiful as affectionate. Mme.de Beauseant meant to gratify such warm admiration, I think, when shebrought me here, telling me, in her gracious way, that I should seeyou.""Then, even now, I owe you a debt of gratitude, monsieur," said thebanker's wife. "We shall be quite old friends in a little while.""Although a friendship with you could not be like an ordinaryfriendship," said Rastignac; "I should never wish to be your friend."Such stereotyped phrases as these, in the mouths of beginners, possessan unfailing charm for women, and are insipid only when read coldly; fora young man's tone, glance and attitude give a surpassing eloquence tothe banal phrases. Mme. de Nucingen thought that Rastignac was adorable.Then, woman-like, being at a loss how to reply to the student'soutspoken admiration, she answered a previous remark."Yes, it is very wrong of my sister to treat our poor father as shedoes," she said; "he has been a Providence to us. It was not until M. deNucingen positively ordered me only to receive him in the mornings thatI yielded the point. But I have been unhappy about it for a long while;I have shed many tears over it. This violence to my feelings, with myhusband's brutal treatment, have been two causes of my unhappy marriedlife. There is certainly no woman in Paris whose lot seems more enviablethan mine, and yet, in reality, there is not one so much to be pitied.You will think I must be out of my senses to talk to you like this; butyou know my father, and I cannot regard you as a stranger.""You will find no one," said Eugene, "who longs as eagerly as I do to beyours. What do all women seek? Happiness." (He answered his own questionin low, vibrating tones.) "And if happiness for a woman means that sheis to be loved and adored, to have a friend to whom she can pour out herwishes, her fancies, her sorrows and joys; to whom she can lay bareher heart and soul, and all her fair defects and her gracious virtues,without fear of a betrayal; believe me, the devotion and the warmth thatnever fails can only be found in the heart of a young man who, at a baresign from you, would go to his death, who neither knows nor cares toknow anything as yet of the world, because you will be all the world tohim. I myself, you see (you will laugh at my simplicity), have just comefrom a remote country district; I am quite new to this world of Paris; Ihave only known true and loving hearts; and I made up my mind that hereI should find no love. Then I chanced to meet my cousin, and to seemy cousin's heart from very near; I have divined the inexhaustibletreasures of passion, and, like Cherubino, I am the lover of all women,until the day comes when I find the woman to whom I may devote myself.As soon as I saw you, as soon as I came into the theatre this evening, Ifelt myself borne towards you as if by the current of a stream. I had sooften thought of you already, but I had never dreamed that you would beso beautiful! Mme. de Beauseant told me that I must not look so much atyou. She does not know the charm of your red lips, your fair face, norsee how soft your eyes are.... I also am beginning to talk nonsense; butlet me talk."Nothing pleases a woman better than to listen to such whispered words asthese; the most puritanical among them listens even when she ought notto reply to them; and Rastignac, having once begun, continued to pourout his story, dropping his voice, that she might lean and listen; andMme. de Nucingen, smiling, glanced from time to time at de Marsay, whostill sat in the Princesse Galathionne's box.Rastignac did not leave Mme. de Nucingen till her husband came to takeher home."Madame," Eugene said, "I shall have the pleasure of calling upon youbefore the Duchesse de Carigliano's ball.""If Matame infites you to come," said the Baron, a thickset Alsatian,with indications of a sinister cunning in his full-moon countenance,"you are quide sure of being well receifed.""My affairs seem to be in a promising way," said Eugene to himself.--"'Can you love me?' I asked her, and she did not resent it. "The bit is inthe horse's mouth, and I have only to mount and ride;" and with thathe went to pay his respects to Mme. de Beauseant, who was leaving thetheatre on d'Ajuda's arm.The student did not know that the Baroness' thoughts had been wandering;that she was even then expecting a letter from de Marsay, one of thoseletters that bring about a rupture that rends the soul; so, happy in hisdelusion, Eugene went with the Vicomtesse to the peristyle, where peoplewere waiting till their carriages were announced."That cousin of yours is hardly recognizable for the same man," said thePortuguese laughingly to the Vicomtesse, when Eugene had taken leave ofthem. "He will break the bank. He is as supple as an eel; he will go along way, of that I am sure. Who else could have picked out a woman forhim, as you did, just when she needed consolation?""But it is not certain that she does not still love the faithlesslover," said Mme. de Beauseant.The student meanwhile walked back from the Theatre-Italien to the RueNeuve-Sainte-Genevieve, making the most delightful plans as he went. Hehad noticed how closely Mme. de Restaud had scrutinized him when he satbeside Mme. de Nucingen, and inferred that the Countess' doors would notbe closed in the future. Four important houses were now open to him--forhe meant to stand well with the Marechale; he had four supporters in theinmost circle of society in Paris. Even now it was clear to him that,once involved in this intricate social machinery, he must attach himselfto a spoke of the wheel that was to turn and raise his fortunes; hewould not examine himself too curiously as to the methods, but he wascertain of the end, and conscious of the power to gain and keep hishold."If Mme. de Nucingen takes an interest in me, I will teach her how tomanage her husband. That husband of hers is a great speculator; he mightput me in the way of making a fortune by a single stroke."He did not say this bluntly in so many words; as yet, indeed, he wasnot sufficient of a diplomatist to sum up a situation, to see itspossibilities at a glance, and calculate the chances in his favor. Thesewere nothing but hazy ideas that floated over his mental horizon; theywere less cynical than Vautrin's notions; but if they had been tried inthe crucible of conscience, no very pure result would have issued fromthe test. It is by a succession of such like transactions that men sinkat last to the level of the relaxed morality of this epoch, when therehave never been so few of those who square their courses with theirtheories, so few of those noble characters who do not yield totemptation, for whom the slightest deviation from the line of rectitudeis a crime. To these magnificent types of uncompromising Right we owetwo masterpieces--the Alceste of Moliere, and, in our own day, thecharacters of Jeanie Deans and her father in Sir Walter Scott's novel.Perhaps a work which should chronicle the opposite course, which shouldtrace out all the devious courses through which a man of the world, aman of ambitions, drags his conscience, just steering clear of crimethat he may gain his end and yet save appearances, such a chroniclewould be no less edifying and no less dramatic.Rastignac went home. He was fascinated by Mme. de Nucingen; he seemed tosee her before him, slender and graceful as a swallow. He recalled theintoxicating sweetness of her eyes, her fair hair, the delicate silkentissue of the skin, beneath which it almost seemed to him that he couldsee the blood coursing; the tones of her voice still exerted a spellover him; he had forgotten nothing; his walk perhaps heated hisimagination by sending a glow of warmth through his veins. He knockedunceremoniously at Goriot's door."I have seen Mme. Delphine, neighbor," said he."Where?""At the Italiens.""Did she enjoy it?.... Just come inside," and the old man left his bed,unlocked the door, and promptly returned again.It was the first time that Eugene had been in Father Goriot's room, andhe could not control his feeling of amazement at the contrast betweenthe den in which the father lived and the costume of the daughter whomhe had just beheld. The window was curtainless, the walls were damp, inplaces the varnished wall-paper had come away and gave glimpses of thegrimy yellow plaster beneath. The wretched bed on which the old manlay boasted but one thin blanket, and a wadded quilt made out of largepieces of Mme. Vauquer's old dresses. The floor was damp and gritty.Opposite the window stood a chest of drawers made of rosewood, one ofthe old-fashioned kind with a curving front and brass handles, shapedlike rings of twisted vine stems covered with flowers and leaves. On avenerable piece of furniture with a wooden shelf stood a ewer andbasin and shaving apparatus. A pair of shoes stood in one corner; anight-table by the bed had neither a door nor marble slab. There was nota trace of a fire in the empty grate; the square walnut table withthe crossbar against which Father Goriot had crushed and twisted hisposset-dish stood near the hearth. The old man's hat was lying on abroken-down bureau. An armchair stuffed with straw and a couple ofchairs completed the list of ramshackle furniture. From the tester ofthe bed, tied to the ceiling by a piece of rag, hung a strip of somecheap material in large red and black checks. No poor drudge in agarret could be worse lodged than Father Goriot in Mme. Vauquer'slodging-house. The mere sight of the room sent a chill through you anda sense of oppression; it was like the worst cell in a prison. Luckily,Goriot could not see the effect that his surroundings produced on Eugeneas the latter deposited his candle on the night-table. The old manturned round, keeping the bedclothes huddled up to his chin."Well," he said, "and which do you like the best, Mme. de Restaud orMme. de Nucingen?""I like Mme. Delphine the best," said the law student, "because sheloves you the best."At the words so heartily spoken the old man's hand slipped out fromunder the bedclothes and grasped Eugene's."Thank you, thank you," he said, gratefully. "Then what did she sayabout me?"The student repeated the Baroness' remarks with some embellishments ofhis own, the old man listening the while as though he heard a voice fromHeaven."Dear child!" he said. "Yes, yes, she is very fond of me. But you mustnot believe all that she tells you about Anastasie. The two sisters arejealous of each other, you see, another proof of their affection. Mme.de Restaud is very fond of me too. I know she is. A father sees hischildren as God sees all of us; he looks into the very depths of theirhearts; he knows their intentions; and both of them are so loving. Oh!if I only had good sons-in-law, I should be too happy, and I daresay there is no perfect happiness here below. If I might live withthem--simply hear their voices, know that they are there, see them goand come as I used to do at home when they were still with me; why, myheart bounds at the thought.... Were they nicely dressed?""Yes," said Eugene. "But, M. Goriot, how is it that your daughters havesuch fine houses, while you live in such a den as this?""Dear me, why should I want anything better?" he replied, with seemingcarelessness. "I can't quite explain to you how it is; I am not used tostringing words together properly, but it all lies there----" he said,tapping his heart. "My real life is in my two girls, you see; and solong as they are happy, and smartly dressed, and have soft carpets undertheir feet, what does it matter what clothes I wear or where I lie downof a night? I shall never feel cold so long as they are warm; I shallnever feel dull if they are laughing. I have no troubles but theirs.When you, too, are a father, and you hear your children's little voices,you will say to yourself, 'That has all come from me.' You will feelthat those little ones are akin to every drop in your veins, that theyare the very flower of your life (and what else are they?); you willcleave so closely to them that you seem to feel every movement that theymake. Everywhere I hear their voices sounding in my ears. If they aresad, the look in their eyes freezes my blood. Some day you will findout that there is far more happiness in another's happiness than in yourown. It is something that I cannot explain, something within that sendsa glow of warmth all through you. In short, I live my life three timesover. Shall I tell you something funny? Well, then, since I have beena father, I have come to understand God. He is everywhere in the world,because the whole world comes from Him. And it is just the same with mychildren, monsieur. Only, I love my daughters better than God lovesthe world, for the world is not so beautiful as God Himself is, but mychildren are more beautiful than I am. Their lives are so bound up withmine that I felt somehow that you would see them this evening. GreatHeaven! If any man would make my little Delphine as happy as a wife iswhen she is loved, I would black his boots and run on his errands. Thatmiserable M. de Marsay is a cur; I know all about him from her maid. Alonging to wring his neck comes over me now and then. He does not loveher! does not love a pearl of a woman, with a voice like a nightingaleand shaped like a model. Where can her eyes have been when she marriedthat great lump of an Alsatian? They ought both of them to have marriedyoung men, good-looking and good-tempered--but, after all, they hadtheir own way."Father Goriot was sublime. Eugene had never yet seen his face lightup as it did now with the passionate fervor of a father's love. It isworthy of remark that strong feeling has a very subtle and pervasivepower; the roughest nature, in the endeavor to express a deep andsincere affection, communicates to others the influence that has putresonance into the voice, and eloquence into every gesture, wrought achange in the very features of the speaker; for under the inspirationof passion the stupidest human being attains to the highest eloquence ofideas, if not of language, and seems to move in some sphere of light.In the old man's tones and gesture there was something just then of thesame spell that a great actor exerts over his audience. But does not thepoet in us find expression in our affections?"Well," said Eugene, "perhaps you will not be sorry to hear that she ispretty sure to break with de Marsay before long. That sprig of fashionhas left her for the Princesse Galathionne. For my part, I fell in lovewith Mme. Delphine this evening.""Stuff!" said Father Goriot."I did indeed, and she did not regard me with aversion. For a whole hourwe talked of love, and I am to go to call on her on Saturday, the dayafter to-morrow.""Oh! how I should love you, if she should like you. You arekind-hearted; you would never make her miserable. If you were to forsakeher, I would cut your throat at once. A woman does not love twice, yousee! Good heavens! what nonsense I am talking, M. Eugene! It is cold;you ought not to stay here. Mon Dieu! so you have heard her speak?What message did she give you for me?""None at all," said Eugene to himself; aloud he answered, "She told meto tell you that your daughter sends you a good kiss.""Good-night, neighbor! Sleep well, and pleasant dreams to you! I havemine already made for me by that message from her. May God grant youall your desires! You have come in like a good angel on me to-night, andbrought with you the air that my daughter breathes.""Poor old fellow!" said Eugene as he lay down. "It is enough to melt aheart of stone. His daughter no more thought of him than of the GrandTurk."
Ever after this conference Goriot looked upon his neighbor as afriend, a confidant such as he had never hoped to find; and there wasestablished between the two the only relationship that could attach thisold man to another man. The passions never miscalculate. Father Goriotfelt that this friendship brought him closer to his daughter Delphine;he thought that he should find a warmer welcome for himself if theBaroness should care for Eugene. Moreover, he had confided one of histroubles to the younger man. Mme. de Nucingen, for whose happiness heprayed a thousand times daily, had never known the joys of love. Eugenewas certainly (to make use of his own expression) one of the nicestyoung men that he had ever seen, and some prophetic instinct seemed totell him that Eugene was to give her the happiness which had not beenhers. These were the beginnings of a friendship that grew up between theold man and his neighbor; but for this friendship the catastrophe of thedrama must have remained a mystery.The affection with which Father Goriot regarded Eugene, by whom heseated himself at breakfast, the change in Goriot's face, which as arule, looked as expressionless as a plaster cast, and a few words thatpassed between the two, surprised the other lodgers. Vautrin, who sawEugene for the first time since their interview, seemed as if he wouldfain read the student's very soul. During the night Eugene had had sometime in which to scan the vast field which lay before him; and now, ashe remembered yesterday's proposal, the thought of Mlle. Taillefer'sdowry came, of course, to his mind, and he could not help thinkingof Victorine as the most exemplary youth may think of an heiress. Itchanced that their eyes met. The poor girl did not fail to see thatEugene looked very handsome in his new clothes. So much was said inthe glance, thus exchanged, that Eugene could not doubt but that he wasassociated in her mind with the vague hopes that lie dormant in a girl'sheart and gather round the first attractive newcomer. "Eight hundredthousand francs!" a voice cried in his ears, but suddenly he took refugein the memories of yesterday evening, thinking that his extemporizedpassion for Mme. de Nucingen was a talisman that would preserve him fromthis temptation."They gave Rossini's Barber of Seville at the Italiens yesterdayevening," he remarked. "I never heard such delicious music. Goodgracious! how lucky people are to have a box at the Italiens!"Father Goriot drank in every word that Eugene let fall, and watched himas a dog watches his master's slightest movement."You men are like fighting cocks," said Mme. Vauquer; "you do what youlike.""How did you get back?" inquired Vautrin."I walked," answered Eugene."For my own part," remarked the tempter, "I do not care about doingthings by halves. If I want to enjoy myself that way, I should preferto go in my carriage, sit in my own box, and do the thing comfortably.Everything or nothing; that is my motto.""And a good one, too," commented Mme. Vauquer."Perhaps you will see Mme. de Nucingen to-day," said Eugene, addressingGoriot in an undertone. "She will welcome you with open arms, I am sure;she would want to ask you for all sorts of little details about me. Ihave found out that she will do anything in the world to be known by mycousin Mme. de Beauseant; don't forget to tell her that I love her toowell not to think of trying to arrange this."Rastignac went at once to the Ecole de Droit. He had no mind to staya moment longer than was necessary in that odious house. He wasted histime that day; he had fallen a victim to that fever of the brain thataccompanies the too vivid hopes of youth. Vautrin's arguments had sethim meditating on social life, and he was deep in these reflections whenhe happened on his friend Bianchon in the Jardin du Luxembourg."What makes you look so solemn?" said the medical student, putting anarm through Eugene's as they went towards the Palais."I am tormented by temptations.""What kind? There is a cure for temptation.""What?""Yielding to it.""You laugh, but you don't know what it is all about. Have you readRousseau?""Yes.""Do you remember that he asks the reader somewhere what he would do ifhe could make a fortune by killing an old mandarin somewhere in China bymere force of wishing it, and without stirring from Paris?""Yes.""Well, then?""Pshaw! I am at my thirty-third mandarin.""Seriously, though. Look here, suppose you were sure that you could doit, and had only to give a nod. Would you do it?""Is he well stricken in years, this mandarin of yours? Pshaw! after all,young or old, paralytic, or well and sound, my word for it. ... Well,then. Hang it, no!""You are a good fellow, Bianchon. But suppose you loved a woman wellenough to lose your soul in hell for her, and that she wanted money fordresses and a carriage, and all her whims, in fact?""Why, here you are taking away my reason, and want me to reason!""Well, then, Bianchon, I am mad; bring me to my senses. I have twosisters as beautiful and innocent as angels, and I want them to behappy. How am I to find two hundred thousand francs apiece for them inthe next five years? Now and then in life, you see, you must play forheavy stakes, and it is no use wasting your luck on low play.""But you are only stating the problem that lies before every one at theoutset of his life, and you want to cut the Gordian knot with a sword.If that is the way of it, dear boy, you must be an Alexander, or to thehulks you go. For my own part, I am quite contented with the little lotI mean to make for myself somewhere in the country, when I mean to stepinto my father's shoes and plod along. A man's affections are justas fully satisfied by the smallest circle as they can be by a vastcircumference. Napoleon himself could only dine once, and he could nothave more mistresses than a house student at the Capuchins. Happiness,old man, depends on what lies between the sole of your foot and thecrown of your head; and whether it costs a million or a hundred louis,the actual amount of pleasure that you receive rests entirely with you,and is just exactly the same in any case. I am for letting that Chinamanlive.""Thank you, Bianchon; you have done me good. We will always be friends.""I say," remarked the medical student, as they came to the end of abroad walk in the Jardin des Plantes, "I saw the Michonneau and Poiret afew minutes ago on a bench chatting with a gentleman whom I used to seein last year's troubles hanging about the Chamber of Deputies; he seemsto me, in fact, to be a detective dressed up like a decent retiredtradesman. Let us keep an eye on that couple; I will tell you why sometime. Good-bye; it is nearly four o'clock, and I must be in to answer tomy name."When Eugene reached the lodging-house, he found Father Goriot waitingfor him."Here," cried the old man, "here is a letter from her. Prettyhandwriting, eh?"Eugene broke the seal and read:--"Sir,--I have heard from my father that you are fond of Italianmusic. I shall be delighted if you will do me the pleasure ofaccepting a seat in my box. La Fodor and Pellegrini will sing onSaturday, so I am sure that you will not refuse me. M. de Nucingenand I shall be pleased if you will dine with us; we shall be quiteby ourselves. If you will come and be my escort, my husband willbe glad to be relieved from his conjugal duties. Do not answer,but simply come.--Yours sincerely, D. DE N.""Let me see it," said Father Goriot, when Eugene had read the letter."You are going, aren't you?" he added, when he had smelled thewriting-paper. "How nice it smells! Her fingers have touched it, that iscertain.""A woman does not fling herself at a man's head in this way," thestudent was thinking. "She wants to use me to bring back de Marsay;nothing but pique makes a woman do a thing like this.""Well," said Father Goriot, "what are you thinking about?"Eugene did not know the fever or vanity that possessed some women inthose days; how should he imagine that to open a door in the FaubourgSaint-Germain a banker's wife would go to almost any length. For thecoterie of the Faubourg Saint-Germain was a charmed circle, and thewomen who moved in it were at that time the queens of society; and amongthe greatest of these Dames du Petit-Chateau, as they were called,were Mme. de Beauseant and her friends the Duchesse de Langeais and theDuchesse de Maufrigneause. Rastignac was alone in his ignorance of thefrantic efforts made by women who lived in the Chausee-d'Antin to enterthis seventh heaven and shine among the brightest constellations oftheir sex. But his cautious disposition stood him in good stead,and kept his judgment cool, and the not altogether enviable power ofimposing instead of accepting conditions."Yes, I am going," he replied.So it was curiosity that drew him to Mme. de Nucingen; while, if she hadtreated him disdainfully, passion perhaps might have brought him to herfeet. Still he waited almost impatiently for to-morrow, and the hourwhen he could go to her. There is almost as much charm for a youngman in a first flirtation as there is in first love. The certainty ofsuccess is a source of happiness to which men do not confess, and allthe charm of certain women lies in this. The desire of conquest springsno less from the easiness than from the difficulty of triumph, and everypassion is excited or sustained by one or the other of these two motiveswhich divide the empire of love. Perhaps this division is one result ofthe great question of temperaments; which, after all, dominates sociallife. The melancholic temperament may stand in need of the tonic ofcoquetry, while those of nervous or sanguine complexion withdraw ifthey meet with a too stubborn resistance. In other words, the lymphatictemperament is essentially despondent, and the rhapsodic is bilious.Eugene lingered over his toilette with an enjoyment of all its littledetails that is grateful to a young man's self-love, though he will notown to it for fear of being laughed at. He thought, as he arranged hishair, that a pretty woman's glances would wander through the dark curls.He indulged in childish tricks like any young girl dressing for a dance,and gazed complacently at his graceful figure while he smoothed out thecreases of his coat."There are worse figures, that is certain," he said to himself.Then he went downstairs, just as the rest of the household were sittingdown to dinner, and took with good humor the boisterous applause excitedby his elegant appearance. The amazement with which any attention todress is regarded in a lodging-house is a very characteristic trait. Noone can put on a new coat but every one else must say his say about it."Clk! clk! clk!" cried Bianchon, making the sound with his tongueagainst the roof of his mouth, like a driver urging on a horse."He holds himself like a duke and a peer of France," said Mme. Vauquer."Are you going a-courting?" inquired Mlle. Michonneau."Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried the artist."My compliments to my lady your wife," from the employe at the Museum."Your wife; have you a wife?" asked Poiret."Yes, in compartments, water-tight and floats, guaranteed fast color,all prices from twenty-five to forty sous, neat check patterns in thelatest fashion and best taste, will wash, half-linen, half-cotton,half-wool; a certain cure for toothache and other complaints under thepatronage of the Royal College of Physicians! children like it! a remedyfor headache, indigestion, and all other diseases affecting thethroat, eyes, and ears!" cried Vautrin, with a comical imitation of thevolubility of a quack at a fair. "And how much shall we say for thismarvel, gentlemen? Twopence? No. Nothing of the sort. All that is leftin stock after supplying the Great Mogul. All the crowned heads ofEurope, including the Gr-r-rand Duke of Baden, have been anxious to geta sight of it. Walk up! walk up! gentlemen! Pay at the desk as you goin! Strike up the music there! Brooum, la, la, trinn! la, la, boum!boum! Mister Clarinette, there you are out of tune!" he added gruffly;"I will rap your knuckles for you!""Goodness! what an amusing man!" said Mme. Vauquer to Mme. Couture; "Ishould never feel dull with him in the house."This burlesque of Vautrin's was the signal for an outburst of merriment,and under cover of jokes and laughter Eugene caught a glance from Mlle.Taillefer; she had leaned over to say a few words in Mme. Couture's ear."The cab is at the door," announced Sylvie."But where is he going to dine?" asked Bianchon."With Madame la Baronne de Nucingen.""M. Goriot's daughter," said the law student.At this, all eyes turned to the old vermicelli maker; he was gazing atEugene with something like envy in his eyes.Rastignac reached the house in the Rue Saint-Lazare, one of thosemany-windowed houses with a mean-looking portico and slender columns,which are considered the thing in Paris, a typical banker's house,decorated in the most ostentatious fashion; the walls lined with stucco,the landings of marble mosaic. Mme. de Nucingen was sitting in a littledrawing-room; the room was painted in the Italian fashion, and decoratedlike a restaurant. The Baroness seemed depressed. The effort that shemade to hide her feelings aroused Eugene's interest; it was plainthat she was not playing a part. He had expected a little flutter ofexcitement at his coming, and he found her dispirited and sad. Thedisappointment piqued his vanity."My claim to your confidence is very small, madame," he said, afterrallying her on her abstracted mood; "but if I am in the way, pleasetell me so frankly; I count on your good faith.""No, stay with me," she said; "I shall be all alone if you go. Nucingenis dining in town, and I do not want to be alone; I want to be taken outof myself.""But what is the matter?""You are the very last person whom I should tell," she exclaimed."Then I am connected in some way in this secret. I wonder what it is?""Perhaps. Yet, no," she went on; "it is a domestic quarrel, which oughtto be buried in the depths of the heart. I am very unhappy; did I nottell you so the day before yesterday? Golden chains are the heaviest ofall fetters."When a woman tells a young man that she is very unhappy, and when theyoung man is clever, and well dressed, and has fifteen hundred francslying idle in his pocket, he is sure to think as Eugene said, and hebecomes a coxcomb."What can you have left to wish for?" he answered. "You are young,beautiful, beloved, and rich.""Do not let us talk of my affairs," she said shaking her headmournfully. "We will dine together tete-a-tete, and afterwards we willgo to hear the most exquisite music. Am I to your taste?" she went on,rising and displaying her gown of white cashmere, covered with Persiandesigns in the most superb taste."I wish that you were altogether mine," said Eugene; "you are charming.""You would have a forlorn piece of property," she said, smilingbitterly. "There is nothing about me that betrays my wretchedness;and yet, in spite of appearances, I am in despair. I cannot sleep; mytroubles have broken my night's rest; I shall grow ugly.""Oh! that is impossible," cried the law student; "but I am curious toknow what these troubles can be that a devoted love cannot efface.""Ah! if I were to tell you about them, you would shun me," she said."Your love for me is as yet only the conventional gallantry that men useto masquerade in; and, if you really loved me, you would be driven todespair. I must keep silence, you see. Let us talk of something else,for pity's sake," she added. "Let me show you my rooms.""No; let us stay here," answered Eugene; he sat down on the sofabefore the fire, and boldly took Mme. de Nucingen's hand in his. Shesurrendered it to him; he even felt the pressure of her fingers in oneof the spasmodic clutches that betray terrible agitation."Listen," said Rastignac; "if you are in trouble, you ought to tell meabout it. I want to prove to you that I love you for yourself alone. Youmust speak to me frankly about your troubles, so that I can put an endto them, even if I have to kill half-a-dozen men; or I shall go, neverto return.""Very well," she cried, putting her hand to her forehead in an agony ofdespair, "I will put you to the proof, and this very moment. Yes," shesaid to herself, "I have no other resource left."She rang the bell."Are the horses put in for the master?" she asked of the servant."Yes, madame.""I shall take his carriage myself. He can have mine and my horses. Servedinner at seven o'clock.""Now, come with me," she said to Eugene, who thought as he sat inthe banker's carriage beside Mme. de Nucingen that he must surely bedreaming."To the Palais-Royal," she said to the coachman; "stop near theTheatre-Francais."She seemed to be too troubled and excited to answer the innumerablequestions that Eugene put to her. He was at a loss what to think of hermute resistance, her obstinate silence."Another moment and she will escape me," he said to himself.When the carriage stopped at last, the Baroness gave the law student aglance that silenced his wild words, for he was almost beside himself."Is it true that you love me?" she asked."Yes," he answered, and in his manner and tone there was no trace of theuneasiness that he felt."You will not think ill of me, will you, whatever I may ask of you?""No.""Are you ready to do my bidding?""Blindly.""Have you ever been to a gaming-house?" she asked in a tremulous voice."Never.""Ah! now I can breathe. You will have luck. Here is my purse," she said."Take it! there are a hundred francs in it, all that such a fortunatewoman as I can call her own. Go up into one of the gaming-houses--I donot know where they are, but there are some near the Palais-Royal. Tryyour luck with the hundred francs at a game they call roulette; loseit all or bring me back six thousand francs. I will tell you about mytroubles when you come back.""Devil take me, I'm sure, if I have a glimmer of a notion of what I amabout, but I will obey you," he added, with inward exultation, as hethought, "She has gone too far to draw back--she can refuse me nothingnow!"Eugene took the dainty little purse, inquired the way of a second-handclothes-dealer, and hurried to number 9, which happened to be thenearest gaming-house. He mounted the staircase, surrendered his hat, andasked the way to the roulette-table, whither the attendant took him, nota little to the astonishment of the regular comers. All eyes were fixedon Eugene as he asked, without bashfulness, where he was to deposit hisstakes."If you put a louis on one only of those thirty-six numbers, and itturns up, you will win thirty-six louis," said a respectable-looking,white-haired old man in answer to his inquiry.Eugene staked the whole of his money on the number 21 (his own age).There was a cry of surprise; before he knew what he had done, he hadwon."Take your money off, sir," said the old gentleman; "you don't often wintwice running by that system."Eugene took the rake that the old man handed to him, and drew in histhree thousand six hundred francs, and, still perfectly ignorant ofwhat he was about, staked again on the red. The bystanders watched himenviously as they saw him continue to play. The disc turned, and againhe won; the banker threw him three thousand six hundred francs oncemore."You have seven thousand, two hundred francs of your own," the oldgentleman said in his ear. "Take my advice and go away with yourwinnings; red has turned up eight times already. If you are charitable,you will show your gratitude for sound counsel by giving a trifle to anold prefect of Napoleon who is down on his luck."Rastignac's head was swimming; he saw ten of his louis pass into thewhite-haired man's possession, and went down-stairs with his seventhousand francs; he was still ignorant of the game, and stupefied by hisluck."So, that is over; and now where will you take me?" he asked, as soon asthe door was closed, and he showed the seven thousand francs to Mme. deNucingen.Delphine flung her arms about him, but there was no passion in that wildembrace."You have saved me!" she cried, and tears of joy flowed fast."I will tell you everything, my friend. For you will be my friend, willyou not? I am rich, you think, very rich; I have everything I want, orI seem as if I had everything. Very well, you must know that M. deNucingen does not allow me the control of a single penny; he pays allthe bills for the house expenses; he pays for my carriages and operabox; he does not give me enough to pay for my dress, and he reducesme to poverty in secret on purpose. I am too proud to beg from him. Ishould be the vilest of women if I could take his money at the price atwhich he offers it. Do you ask how I, with seven hundred thousand francsof my own, could let myself be robbed? It is because I was proud, andscorned to speak. We are so young, so artless when our married lifebegins! I never could bring myself to ask my husband for money; thewords would have made my lips bleed, I did not dare to ask; I spent mysavings first, and then the money that my poor father gave me, then Iran into debt. Marriage for me is a hideous farce; I cannot talk aboutit, let it suffice to say that Nucingen and I have separate rooms, andthat I would fling myself out of the window sooner than consent to anyother manner of life. I suffered agonies when I had to confess to mygirlish extravagance, my debts for jewelry and trifles (for our poorfather had never refused us anything, and spoiled us), but at last Ifound courage to tell him about them. After all, I had a fortune of myown. Nucingen flew into a rage; he said that I should be the ruin ofhim, and used frightful language! I wished myself a hundred feet downin the earth. He had my dowry, so he paid my debts, but he stipulated atthe same time that my expenses in future must not exceed a certain fixedsum, and I gave way for the sake of peace. And then," she went on, "Iwanted to gratify the self-love of some one whom you know. He may havedeceived me, but I should do him the justice to say that there wasnothing petty in his character. But, after all, he threw me overdisgracefully. If, at a woman's utmost need, somebody heaps gold uponher, he ought never to forsake her; that love should last for ever!But you, at one-and-twenty, you, the soul of honor, with the unsulliedconscience of youth, will ask me how a woman can bring herself to acceptmoney in such a way? Mon Dieu! is it not natural to share everythingwith the one to whom we owe our happiness? When all has been given, whyshould we pause and hesitate over a part? Money is as nothing betweenus until the moment when the sentiment that bound us together ceases toexist. Were we not bound to each other for life? Who that believes inlove foresees such an end to love? You swear to love us eternally; how,then, can our interests be separate?"You do not know how I suffered to-day when Nucingen refused to giveme six thousand francs; he spends as much as that every month on hismistress, an opera dancer! I thought of killing myself. The wildestthoughts came into my head. There have been moments in my life when Ihave envied my servants, and would have changed places with my maid. Itwas madness to think of going to our father, Anastasie and I have bledhim dry; our poor father would have sold himself if he could have raisedsix thousand francs that way. I should have driven him frantic to nopurpose. You have saved me from shame and death; I was beside myselfwith anguish. Ah! monsieur, I owed you this explanation after my madravings. When you left me just now, as soon as you were out of sight, Ilonged to escape, to run away... where, I did not know. Half the womenin Paris lead such lives as mine; they live in apparent luxury, and intheir souls are tormented by anxiety. I know of poor creatures evenmore miserable than I; there are women who are driven to ask theirtradespeople to make out false bills, women who rob their husbands. Somemen believe that an Indian shawl worth a thousand louis only cost fivehundred francs, others that a shawl costing five hundred francs is wortha hundred louis. There are women, too, with narrow incomes, who scrapeand save and starve their children to pay for a dress. I am innocentof these base meannesses. But this is the last extremity of my torture.Some women will sell themselves to their husbands, and so obtain theirway, but I, at any rate, am free. If I chose, Nucingen would cover mewith gold, but I would rather weep on the breast of a man whom I canrespect. Ah! tonight, M. de Marsay will no longer have a right to thinkof me as a woman whom he has paid." She tried to conceal her tears fromhim, hiding her face in her hands; Eugene drew them away and looked ather; she seemed to him sublime at that moment."It is hideous, is it not," she cried, "to speak in a breath of moneyand affection. You cannot love me after this," she added.The incongruity between the ideas of honor which make women so great,and the errors in conduct which are forced upon them by the constitutionof society, had thrown Eugene's thoughts into confusion; he utteredsoothing and consoling words, and wondered at the beautiful woman beforehim, and at the artless imprudence of her cry of pain."You will not remember this against me?" she asked; "promise me that youwill not.""Ah! madame, I am incapable of doing so," he said. She took his hand andheld it to her heart, a movement full of grace that expressed her deepgratitude."I am free and happy once more, thanks to you," she said. "Oh! I havefelt lately as if I were in the grasp of an iron hand. But after thisI mean to live simply and to spend nothing. You will think me just aspretty, will you not, my friend? Keep this," she went on, as she tookonly six of the banknotes. "In conscience I owe you a thousand crowns,for I really ought to go halves with you."Eugene's maiden conscience resisted; but when the Baroness said, "Iam bound to look on you as an accomplice or as an enemy," he took themoney."It shall be a last stake in reserve," he said, "in case of misfortune.""That was what I was dreading to hear," she cried, turning pale. "Oh,if you would that I should be anything to you, swear to me that you willnever re-enter a gaming-house. Great Heaven! that I should corrupt you!I should die of sorrow!"They had reached the Rue Saint-Lazare by this time. The contrast betweenthe ostentation of wealth in the house, and the wretched condition ofits mistress, dazed the student; and Vautrin's cynical words began toring in his ears."Seat yourself there," said the Baroness, pointing to a low chair besidethe fire. "I have a difficult letter to write," she added. "Tell me whatto say.""Say nothing," Eugene answered her. "Put the bills in an envelope,direct it, and send it by your maid.""Why, you are a love of a man," she said. "Ah! see what it is to havebeen well brought up. That is the Beauseant through and through," shewent on, smiling at him."She is charming," thought Eugene, more and more in love. He lookedround him at the room; there was an ostentatious character about theluxury, a meretricious taste in the splendor."Do you like it?" she asked, as she rang for the maid."Therese, take this to M. de Marsay, and give it into his handsyourself. If he is not at home, bring the letter back to me."Therese went, but not before she had given Eugene a spiteful glance.Dinner was announced. Rastignac gave his arm to Mme. de Nucingen, sheled the way into a pretty dining-room, and again he saw the luxury ofthe table which he had admired in his cousin's house."Come and dine with me on opera evenings, and we will go to the Italiensafterwards," she said."I should soon grow used to the pleasant life if it could last, but I ama poor student, and I have my way to make.""Oh! you will succeed," she said laughing. "You will see. All that youwish will come to pass. I did not expect to be so happy."It is the wont of women to prove the impossible by the possible, and toannihilate facts by presentiments. When Mme. de Nucingen and Rastignactook their places in her box at the Bouffons, her face wore a look ofhappiness that made her so lovely that every one indulged in those smallslanders against which women are defenceless; for the scandal thatis uttered lightly is often seriously believed. Those who know Paris,believe nothing that is said, and say nothing of what is done there.Eugene took the Baroness' hand in his, and by some light pressure of thefingers, or a closer grasp of the hand, they found a language in whichto express the sensations which the music gave them. It was an eveningof intoxicating delight for both; and when it ended, and they went outtogether, Mme. de Nucingen insisted on taking Eugene with her as far asthe Pont Neuf, he disputing with her the whole of the way for a singlekiss after all those that she had showered upon him so passionately atthe Palais-Royal; Eugene reproached her with inconsistency."That was gratitude," she said, "for devotion that I did not dare tohope for, but now it would be a promise.""And will you give me no promise, ingrate?"He grew vexed. Then, with one of those impatient gestures that fill alover with ecstasy, she gave him her hand to kiss, and he took it with adiscontented air that delighted her."I shall see you at the ball on Monday," she said.As Eugene went home in the moonlight, he fell to serious reflections.He was satisfied, and yet dissatisfied. He was pleased with an adventurewhich would probably give him his desire, for in the end one of theprettiest and best-dressed women in Paris would be his; but, as aset-off, he saw his hopes of fortune brought to nothing; and as soon ashe realized this fact, the vague thoughts of yesterday evening began totake a more decided shape in his mind. A check is sure to reveal to usthe strength of our hopes. The more Eugene learned of the pleasures oflife in Paris, the more impatient he felt of poverty and obscurity. Hecrumpled the banknote in his pocket, and found any quantity of plausibleexcuses for appropriating it.He reached the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve at last, and from thestairhead he saw a light in Goriot's room; the old man had lighted acandle, and set the door ajar, lest the student should pass him by, andgo to his room without "telling him all about his daughter," to usehis own expression. Eugene, accordingly, told him everything withoutreserve."Then they think that I am ruined!" cried Father Goriot, in an agony ofjealousy and desperation. "Why, I have still thirteen hundred livres ayear! Mon Dieu! Poor little girl! why did she not come to me? I wouldhave sold my rentes; she should have had some of the principal, and Iwould have bought a life-annuity with the rest. My good neighbor, whydid not you come to tell me of her difficulty? How had you theheart to go and risk her poor little hundred francs at play? This isheart-breaking work. You see what it is to have sons-in-law. Oh! if Ihad hold of them, I would wring their necks. Mon Dieu! crying! Did yousay she was crying?""With her head on my waistcoat," said Eugene."Oh! give it to me," said Father Goriot. "What! my daughter's tears havefallen there--my darling Delphine, who never used to cry when she wasa little girl! Oh! I will buy you another; do not wear it again; let mehave it. By the terms of her marriage-contract, she ought to have theuse of her property. To-morrow morning I will go and see Derville; he isan attorney. I will demand that her money should be invested in her ownname. I know the law. I am an old wolf, I will show my teeth.""Here, father; this is a banknote for a thousand francs that she wantedme to keep out of our winnings. Keep them for her, in the pocket of thewaistcoat."Goriot looked hard at Eugene, reached out and took the law student'shand, and Eugene felt a tear fall on it."You will succeed," the old man said. "God is just, you see. I know anhonest man when I see him, and I can tell you, there are not many menlike you. I am to have another dear child in you, am I? There, go tosleep; you can sleep; you are not yet a father. She was crying! and Ihave to be told about it!--and I was quietly eating my dinner, like anidiot, all the time--I, who would sell the Father, Son and Holy Ghost tosave one tear to either of them."
"An honest man!" said Eugene to himself as he lay down. "Upon my word, Ithink I will be an honest man all my life; it is so pleasant to obeythe voice of conscience." Perhaps none but believers in God do good insecret; and Eugene believed in a God.The next day Rastignac went at the appointed time to Mme. de Beauseant,who took him with her to the Duchesse de Carigliano's ball. TheMarechale received Eugene most graciously. Mme. de Nucingen was there.Delphine's dress seemed to suggest that she wished for the admirationof others, so that she might shine the more in Eugene's eyes; shewas eagerly expecting a glance from him, hiding, as she thought, thiseagerness from all beholders. This moment is full of charm for one whocan guess all that passes in a woman's mind. Who has not refrained fromgiving his opinion, to prolong her suspense, concealing his pleasurefrom a desire to tantalize, seeking a confession of love in heruneasiness, enjoying the fears that he can dissipate by a smile? Inthe course of the evening the law student suddenly comprehended hisposition; he saw that, as the cousin of Mme. de Beauseant, he was apersonage in this world. He was already credited with the conquestof Mme. de Nucingen, and for this reason was a conspicuous figure;he caught the envious glances of other young men, and experienced theearliest pleasures of coxcombry. People wondered at his luck, and scrapsof these conversations came to his ears as he went from room to room;all the women prophesied his success; and Delphine, in her dread oflosing him, promised that this evening she would not refuse the kissthat all his entreaties could scarcely win yesterday.Rastignac received several invitations. His cousin presented him toother women who were present; women who could claim to be of the highestfashion; whose houses were looked upon as pleasant; and this wasthe loftiest and most fashionable society in Paris into which he waslaunched. So this evening had all the charm of a brilliant debut; itwas an evening that he was to remember even in old age, as a woman looksback upon her first ball and the memories of her girlish triumphs.The next morning, at breakfast, he related the story of his success forthe benefit of Father Goriot and the lodgers. Vautrin began to smile ina diabolical fashion."And do you suppose," cried that cold-blooded logician, "that a youngman of fashion can live here in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, in theMaison Vauquer--an exceedingly respectable boarding-house in every way,I grant you, but an establishment that, none the less, falls shortof being fashionable? The house is comfortable, it is lordly in itsabundance; it is proud to be the temporary abode of a Rastignac; but,after all, it is in the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve, and luxury would beout of place here, where we only aim at the purely patriarchalorama.If you mean to cut a figure in Paris, my young friend," Vautrincontinued, with half-paternal jocularity, "you must have three horses,a tilbury for the mornings, and a closed carriage for the evening; youshould spend altogether about nine thousand francs on your stables. Youwould show yourself unworthy of your destiny if you spent no more thanthree thousand francs with your tailor, six hundred in perfumery, ahundred crowns to your shoemaker, and a hundred more to your hatter. Asfor your laundress, there goes another thousand francs; a young man offashion must of necessity make a great point of his linen; if your linencomes up to the required standard, people often do not look any further.Love and the Church demand a fair altar-cloth. That is fourteen thousandfrancs. I am saying nothing of losses at play, bets, and presents; itis impossible to allow less than two thousand francs for pocket money. Ihave led that sort of life, and I know all about these expenses. Add thecost of necessaries next; three hundred louis for provender, a thousandfrancs for a place to roost in. Well, my boy, for all these little wantsof ours we had need to have twenty-five thousand francs every year inour purse, or we shall find ourselves in the kennel, and people laughingat us, and our career is cut short, good-bye to success, and good-bye toyour mistress! I am forgetting your valet and your groom! Is Christophegoing to carry your billets-doux for you? Do you mean to employ thestationery you use at present? Suicidal policy! Hearken to the wisdomof your elders!" he went on, his bass voice growing louder at eachsyllable. "Either take up your quarters in a garret, live virtuously,and wed your work, or set about the thing in a different way."Vautrin winked and leered in the direction of Mlle. Taillefer to enforcehis remarks by a look which recalled the late tempting proposals bywhich he had sought to corrupt the student's mind.Several days went by, and Rastignac lived in a whirl of gaiety. He dinedalmost every day with Mme. de Nucingen, and went wherever she went, onlyreturning to the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevieve in the small hours. He roseat mid-day, and dressed to go into the Bois with Delphine if the day wasfine, squandering in this way time that was worth far more than he knew.He turned as eagerly to learn the lessons of luxury, and was as quickto feel its fascination, as the flowers of the date palm to receive thefertilizing pollen. He played high, lost and won large sums of money,and at last became accustomed to the extravagant life that young menlead in Paris. He sent fifteen hundred francs out of his first winningsto his mother and sisters, sending handsome presents as well as themoney. He had given out that he meant to leave the Maison Vauquer; butJanuary came and went, and he was still there, still unprepared to go.One rule holds good of most young men--whether rich or poor. They neverhave money for the necessaries of life, but they have always money tospare for their caprices--an anomaly which finds its explanation intheir youth and in the almost frantic eagerness with which youth graspsat pleasure. They are reckless with anything obtained on credit, whileeverything for which they must pay in ready money is made to last aslong as possible; if they cannot have all that they want, they makeup for it, it would seem, by squandering what they have. To state thematter simply--a student is far more careful of his hat than of hiscoat, because the latter being a comparatively costly article of dress,it is in the nature of things that a tailor should be a creditor; butit is otherwise with the hatter; the sums of money spent with him are somodest, that he is the most independent and unmanageable of his tribe,and it is almost impossible to bring him to terms. The young man in thebalcony of a theatre who displays a gorgeous waistcoat for the benefitof the fair owners of opera glasses, has very probably no socks in hiswardrobe, for the hosier is another of the genus of weevils that nibbleat the purse. This was Rastignac's condition. His purse was alwaysempty for Mme. Vauquer, always full at the demand of vanity; there wasa periodical ebb and flow in his fortunes, which was seldom favorableto the payment of just debts. If he was to leave that unsavory and meanabode, where from time to time his pretensions met with humiliation, thefirst step was to pay his hostess for a month's board and lodging, andthe second to purchase furniture worthy of the new lodgings he must takein his quality of dandy, a course that remained impossible. Rastignac,out of his winnings at cards, would pay his jeweler exorbitant pricesfor gold watches and chains, and then, to meet the exigencies of play,would carry them to the pawnbroker, that discreet and forbidding-lookingfriend of youth; but when it was a question of paying for board orlodging, or for the necessary implements for the cultivation of hisElysian fields, his imagination and pluck alike deserted him. There wasno inspiration to be found in vulgar necessity, in debts contracted forpast requirements. Like most of those who trust to their luck, he putoff till the last moment the payment of debts that among the bourgeoisieare regarded as sacred engagements, acting on the plan of Mirabeau,who never settled his baker's bill until it underwent a formidabletransformation into a bill of exchange.It was about this time when Rastignac was down on his luck and fell intodebt, that it became clear to the law student's mind that he must havesome more certain source of income if he meant to live as he had beendoing. But while he groaned over the thorny problems of his precarioussituation, he felt that he could not bring himself to renounce thepleasures of this extravagant life, and decided that he must continue itat all costs. His dreams of obtaining a fortune appeared more and morechimerical, and the real obstacles grew more formidable. His initiationinto the secrets of the Nucingen household had revealed to him that ifhe were to attempt to use this love affair as a means of mending hisfortunes, he must swallow down all sense of decency, and renounce allthe generous ideas which redeem the sins of youth. He had chosen thislife of apparent splendor, but secretly gnawed by the canker worm ofremorse, a life of fleeting pleasure dearly paid for by persistent pain;like Le Distrait of La Bruyere, he had descended so far as to makehis bed in a ditch; but (also like Le Distrait) he himself wasuncontaminated as yet by the mire that stained his garments."So we have killed our mandarin, have we?" said Bianchon one day as theyleft the dinner table."Not yet," he answered, "but he is at his last gasp."The medical student took this for a joke, but it was not a jest. Eugenehad dined in the house that night for the first time for a long while,and had looked thoughtful during the meal. He had taken his place besideMlle. Taillefer, and stayed through the dessert, giving his neighbor anexpressive glance from time to time. A few of the boarders discussedthe walnuts at the table, and others walked about the room, still takingpart in the conversation which had begun among them. People usually wentwhen they chose; the amount of time that they lingered being determinedby the amount of interest that the conversation possessed for them, orby the difficulty of the process of digestion. In winter-time the roomwas seldom empty before eight o'clock, when the four women had it all tothemselves, and made up for the silence previously imposed upon them bythe preponderating masculine element. This evening Vautrin had noticedEugene's abstractedness, and stayed in the room, though he had seemedto be in a hurry to finish his dinner and go. All through the talkafterwards he had kept out of the sight of the law student, who quitebelieved that Vautrin had left the room. He now took up his positioncunningly in the sitting-room instead of going when the last boarderswent. He had fathomed the young man's thoughts, and felt that a crisiswas at hand. Rastignac was, in fact, in a dilemma, which many anotheryoung man must have known.Mme. de Nucingen might love him, or might merely be playing withhim, but in either case Rastignac had been made to experience allthe alternations of hope and despair of genuine passion, and allthe diplomatic arts of a Parisienne had been employed on him. Aftercompromising herself by continually appearing in public with Mme. deBeauseant's cousin she still hesitated, and would not give him thelover's privileges which he appeared to enjoy. For a whole month she hadso wrought on his senses, that at last she had made an impression onhis heart. If in the earliest days the student had fancied himself to bemaster, Mme. de Nucingen had since become the stronger of the two, forshe had skilfully roused and played upon every instinct, good or bad, inthe two or three men comprised in a young student in Paris. This was notthe result of deep design on her part, nor was she playing a part, forwomen are in a manner true to themselves even through their grossestdeceit, because their actions are prompted by a natural impulse. It mayhave been that Delphine, who had allowed this young man to gain such anascendency over her, conscious that she had been too demonstrative, wasobeying a sentiment of dignity, and either repented of her concessions,or it pleased her to suspend them. It is so natural to a Parisienne,even when passion has almost mastered her, to hesitate and pause beforetaking the plunge; to probe the heart of him to whom she intrusts herfuture. And once already Mme. de Nucingen's hopes had been betrayed,and her loyalty to a selfish young lover had been despised. She had goodreason to be suspicious. Or it may have been that something in Eugene'smanner (for his rapid success was making a coxcomb of him) had warnedher that the grotesque nature of their position had lowered her somewhatin his eyes. She doubtless wished to assert her dignity; he was young,and she would be great in his eyes; for the lover who had forsaken herhad held her so cheap that she was determined that Eugene should notthink her an easy conquest, and for this very reason--he knew thatde Marsay had been his predecessor. Finally, after the degradation ofsubmission to the pleasure of a heartless young rake, it was so sweetto her to wander in the flower-strewn realms of love, that it was notwonderful that she should wish to dwell a while on the prospect, totremble with the vibrations of love, to feel the freshness of the breathof its dawn. The true lover was suffering for the sins of the false.This inconsistency is unfortunately only to be expected so long as mendo not know how many flowers are mown down in a young woman's soul bythe first stroke of treachery.Whatever her reasons may have been, Delphine was playing with Rastignac,and took pleasure in playing with him, doubtless because she felt sureof his love, and confident that she could put an end to the tortureas soon as it was her royal pleasure to do so. Eugene's self-love wasengaged; he could not suffer his first passage of love to end in adefeat, and persisted in his suit like a sportsman determined tobring down at least one partridge to celebrate his first Feast ofSaint-Hubert. The pressure of anxiety, his wounded self-love, hisdespair, real or feigned, drew him nearer and nearer to this woman. AllParis credited him with this conquest, and yet he was conscious that hehad made no progress since the day when he saw Mme. de Nucingen for thefirst time. He did not know as yet that a woman's coquetry is sometimesmore delightful than the pleasure of secure possession of her love, andwas possessed with helpless rage. If, at this time, while she deniedherself to love, Eugene gathered the springtide spoils of his life,the fruit, somewhat sharp and green, and dearly bought, was no lessdelicious to the taste. There were moments when he had not a sou inhis pockets, and at such times he thought in spite of his conscience ofVautrin's offer and the possibility of fortune by a marriage with Mlle.Taillefer. Poverty would clamor so loudly that more than once he was onthe point of yielding to the cunning temptations of the terrible sphinx,whose glance had so often exerted a strange spell over him.Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau went up to their rooms; and Rastignac,thinking that he was alone with the women in the dining-room, satbetween Mme. Vauquer and Mme. Couture, who was nodding over the woolencuffs that she was knitting by the stove, and looked at Mlle. Tailleferso tenderly that she lowered her eyes."Can you be in trouble, M. Eugene?" Victorine said after a pause."Who has not his troubles?" answered Rastignac. "If we men were sureof being loved, sure of a devotion which would be our reward for thesacrifices which we are always ready to make, then perhaps we shouldhave no troubles."For answer Mlle. Taillefer only gave him a glance but it was impossibleto mistake its meaning."You, for instance, mademoiselle; you feel sure of your heart to-day,but are you sure that it will never change?"A smile flitted over the poor girl's lips; it seemed as if a ray oflight from her soul had lighted up her face. Eugene was dismayed at thesudden explosion of feeling caused by his words."Ah! but suppose," he said, "that you should be rich and happyto-morrow, suppose that a vast fortune dropped down from the cloudsfor you, would you still love the man whom you loved in your days ofpoverty?"A charming movement of the head was her only answer."Even if he were very poor?"Again the same mute answer."What nonsense are you talking, you two?" exclaimed Mme. Vauquer."Never mind," answered Eugene; "we understand each other.""So there is to be an engagement of marriage between M. le ChevalierEugene de Rastignac and Mlle. Victorine Taillefer, is there?" The wordswere uttered in Vautrin's deep voice, and Vautrin appeared at the dooras he spoke."Oh! how you startled me!" Mme. Couture and Mme. Vauquer exclaimedtogether."I might make a worse choice," said Rastignac, laughing. Vautrin's voicehad thrown him into the most painful agitation that he had yet known."No bad jokes, gentlemen!" said Mme. Couture. "My dear, let us goupstairs."Mme. Vauquer followed the two ladies, meaning to pass the evening intheir room, an arrangement that economized fire and candlelight. Eugeneand Vautrin were left alone."I felt sure you would come round to it," said the elder man with thecoolness that nothing seemed to shake. "But stay a moment! I have asmuch delicacy as anybody else. Don't make up your mind on the spur ofthe moment; you are a little thrown off your balance just now. You arein debt, and I want you to come over to my way of thinking after soberreflection, and not in a fit of passion or desperation. Perhaps you wanta thousand crowns. There, you can have them if you like."The tempter took out a pocketbook, and drew thence three banknotes,which he fluttered before the student's eyes. Eugene was in a mostpainful dilemma. He had debts, debts of honor. He owed a hundred louisto the Marquis d'Ajuda and to the Count de Trailles; he had not themoney, and for this reason had not dared to go to Mme. de Restaud'shouse, where he was expected that evening. It was one of those informalgatherings where tea and little cakes are handed round, but where it ispossible to lose six thousand francs at whist in the course of a night."You must see," said Eugene, struggling to hide a convulsive tremor,"that after what has passed between us, I cannot possibly lay myselfunder any obligation to you.""Quite right; I should be sorry to hear you speak otherwise," answeredthe tempter. "You are a fine young fellow, honorable, brave as a lion,and as gentle as a young girl. You would be a fine haul for the devil! Ilike youngsters of your sort. Get rid of one or two more prejudices, andyou will see the world as it is. Make a little scene now and then, andact a virtuous part in it, and a man with a head on his shoulders cando exactly as he likes amid deafening applause from the fools in thegallery. Ah! a few days yet, and you will be with us; and if you wouldonly be tutored by me, I would put you in the way of achieving all yourambitions. You should no sooner form a wish than it should be realizedto the full; you should have all your desires--honors, wealth, or women.Civilization should flow with milk and honey for you. You should be ourpet and favorite, our Benjamin. We would all work ourselves to death foryou with pleasure; every obstacle should be removed from your path. Youhave a few prejudices left; so you think that I am a scoundrel, do you?Well, M. de Turenne, quite as honorable a man as you take yourself tobe, had some little private transactions with bandits, and did notfeel that his honor was tarnished. You would rather not lie under anyobligation to me, eh? You need not draw back on that account," Vautrinwent on, and a smile stole over his lips. "Take these bits of paperand write across this," he added, producing a piece of stamped paper,"Accepted the sum of three thousand five hundred francs due this daytwelvemonth, and fill in the date. The rate of interest is stiff enoughto silence any scruples on your part; it gives you the right to call mea Jew. You can call quits with me on the score of gratitude. I am quitewilling that you should despise me to-day, because I am sure that youwill have a kindlier feeling towards me later on. You will find outfathomless depths in my nature, enormous and concentrated forces thatweaklings call vices, but you will never find me base or ungrateful.In short, I am neither a pawn nor a bishop, but a castle, a tower ofstrength, my boy.""What manner of man are you?" cried Eugene. "Were you created to tormentme?""Why no; I am a good-natured fellow, who is willing to do a dirty pieceof work to put you high and dry above the mire for the rest of yourdays. Do you ask the reason of this devotion? All right; I will tell youthat some of these days. A word or two in your ear will explain it. Ihave begun by shocking you, by showing you the way to ring the changes,and giving you a sight of the mechanism of the social machine; but yourfirst fright will go off like a conscript's terror on the battlefield.You will grow used to regarding men as common soldiers who have made uptheir minds to lose their lives for some self-constituted king. Timeshave altered strangely. Once you could say to a bravo, 'Here are ahundred crowns; go and kill Monsieur So-and-so for me,' and you couldsup quietly after turning some one off into the dark for the least thingin the world. But nowadays I propose to put you in the way of a handsomefortune; you have only to nod your head, it won't compromise you in anyway, and you hesitate. 'Tis an effeminate age."Eugene accepted the draft, and received the banknotes in exchange forit."Well, well. Come, now, let us talk rationally," Vautrin continued. "Imean to leave this country in a few months' time for America, and setabout planting tobacco. I will send you the cigars of friendship. IfI make money at it, I will help you in your career. If I have nochildren--which will probably be the case, for I have no anxiety toraise slips of myself here--you shall inherit my fortune. That is whatyou may call standing by a man; but I myself have a liking for you. Ihave a mania, too, for devoting myself to some one else. I have done itbefore. You see, my boy, I live in a loftier sphere than other men do;I look on all actions as means to an end, and the end is all that I lookat. What is a man's life to me? Not that," he said, and he snapped histhumb-nail against his teeth. "A man, in short, is everything to me, orjust nothing at all. Less than nothing if his name happens to be Poiret;you can crush him like a bug, he is flat and he is offensive. But a manis a god when he is like you; he is not a machine covered with a skin,but a theatre in which the greatest sentiments are displayed--greatthoughts and feelings--and for these, and these only, I live. Asentiment--what is that but the whole world in a thought? Look at FatherGoriot. For him, his two girls are the whole universe; they are the clueby which he finds his way through creation. Well, for my own part,I have fathomed the depths of life, there is only one realsentiment--comradeship between man and man. Pierre and Jaffier, that ismy passion. I knew Venice Preserved by heart. Have you met many menplucky enough when a comrade says, 'Let us bury a dead body!' to go anddo it without a word or plaguing him by taking a high moral tone? I havedone it myself. I should not talk like this to just everybody, but youare not like an ordinary man; one can talk to you, you can understandthings. You will not dabble about much longer among the tadpoles inthese swamps. Well, then, it is all settled. You will marry. Both of uscarry our point. Mine is made of iron, and will never soften, he! he!"Vautrin went out. He would not wait to hear the student's repudiation,he wished to put Eugene at his ease. He seemed to understand the secretsprings of the faint resistance still made by the younger man; thestruggles in which men seek to preserve their self-respect by justifyingtheir blameworthy actions to themselves."He may do as he likes; I shall not marry Mlle. Taillefer, that iscertain," said Eugene to himself.He regarded this man with abhorrence, and yet the very cynicism ofVautrin's ideas, and the audacious way in which he used other men forhis own ends, raised him in the student's eyes; but the thought of acompact threw Eugene into a fever of apprehension, and not until hehad recovered somewhat did he dress, call for a cab, and go to Mme. deRestaud's.For some days the Countess had paid more and more attention to a youngman whose every step seemed a triumphal progress in the great world; itseemed to her that he might be a formidable power before long. He paidMessieurs de Trailles and d'Ajuda, played at whist for part of theevening, and made good his losses. Most men who have their way to makeare more or less of fatalists, and Eugene was superstitious; he chose toconsider that his luck was heaven's reward for his perseverance in theright way. As soon as possible on the following morning he asked Vautrinwhether the bill he had given was still in the other's possession; andon receiving a reply in the affirmative, he repaid the three thousandfrancs with a not unnatural relief."Everything is going on well," said Vautrin."But I am not your accomplice," said Eugene."I know, I know," Vautrin broke in. "You are still acting like a child.You are making mountains out of molehills at the outset."Two days later, Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau were sitting together ona bench in the sun. They had chosen a little frequented alley in theJardin des Plantes, and a gentleman was chatting with them, the sameperson, as a matter of fact, about whom the medical student had, notwithout good reason, his own suspicions."Mademoiselle," this M. Gondureau was saying, "I do not see anycause for your scruples. His Excellency, Monseigneur the Minister ofPolice----""Yes, his Excellency is taking a personal interest in the matter," saidGondureau.Who would think it probable that Poiret, a retired clerk, doubtlesspossessed of some notions of civic virtue, though there might be nothingelse in his head--who would think it likely that such a man wouldcontinue to lend an ear to this supposed independent gentleman of theRue de Buffon, when the latter dropped the mask of a decent citizen bythat word "police," and gave a glimpse of the features of a detectivefrom the Rue de Jerusalem? And yet nothing was more natural. Perhaps thefollowing remarks from the hitherto unpublished records made by certainobservers will throw a light on the particular species to which Poiretbelonged in the great family of fools. There is a race of quill-drivers,confined in the columns of the budget between the first degree oflatitude (a kind of administrative Greenland where the salaries begin attwelve hundred francs) to the third degree, a more temperate zone, whereincomes grow from three to six thousand francs, a climate wherethe bonus flourishes like a half-hardy annual in spite of somedifficulties of culture. A characteristic trait that best reveals thefeeble narrow-mindedness of these inhabitants of petty officialdom is akind of involuntary, mechanical, and instinctive reverence for the GrandLama of every Ministry, known to the rank and file only by his signature(an illegible scrawl) and by his title--"His Excellency Monseigneurle Ministre," five words which produce as much effect as the il BondoCani of the Calife de Bagdad, five words which in the eyes of thislow order of intelligence represent a sacred power from which there isno appeal. The Minister is administratively infallible for the clerksin the employ of the Government, as the Pope is infallible for goodCatholics. Something of this peculiar radiance invests everything hedoes or says, or that is said or done in his name; the robe of officecovers everything and legalizes everything done by his orders; does nothis very title--His Excellency--vouch for the purity of his intentionsand the righteousness of his will, and serve as a sort of passport andintroduction to ideas that otherwise would not be entertained for amoment? Pronounce the words "His Excellency," and these poor folk willforthwith proceed to do what they would not do for their own interests.Passive obedience is as well known in a Government department as inthe army itself; and the administrative system silences consciences,annihilates the individual, and ends (give it time enough) by fashioninga man into a vise or a thumbscrew, and he becomes part of the machineryof Government. Wherefore, M. Gondureau, who seemed to know somethingof human nature, recognized Poiret at once as one of those dupes ofofficialdom, and brought out for his benefit, at the proper moment, thedeus ex machina, the magical words "His Excellency," so as to dazzlePoiret just as he himself unmasked his batteries, for he took Poiret andthe Michonneau for the male and female of the same species."If his Excellency himself, his Excellency the Minister... Ah! that isquite another thing," said Poiret."You seem to be guided by this gentleman's opinion, and you hear what hesays," said the man of independent means, addressing Mlle. Michonneau."Very well, his Excellency is at this moment absolutely certain that theso-called Vautrin, who lodges at the Maison Vauquer, is a convictwho escaped from penal servitude at Toulon, where he is known by thenickname Trompe-la-Mort.""Trompe-la-Mort?" said Pioret. "Dear me, he is very lucky if he deservesthat nickname.""Well, yes," said the detective. "They call him so because he has beenso lucky as not to lose his life in the very risky businesses that hehas carried through. He is a dangerous man, you see! He has qualitiesthat are out of the common; the thing he is wanted for, in fact, was amatter which gained him no end of credit with his own set----""Then is he a man of honor?" asked Poiret."Yes, according to his notions. He agreed to take another man's crimeupon himself--a forgery committed by a very handsome young fellow thathe had taken a great fancy to, a young Italian, a bit of a gambler,who has since gone into the army, where his conduct has beenunexceptionable.""But if his Excellency the Minister of Police is certain that M.Vautrin is this Trompe-la-Mort, why should he want me?" asked Mlle.Michonneau."Oh yes," said Poiret, "if the Minister, as you have been so obliging asto tell us, really knows for a certainty----""Certainty is not the word; he only suspects. You will soon understandhow things are. Jacques Collin, nicknamed Trompe-la-Mort, is in theconfidence of every convict in the three prisons; he is their man ofbusiness and their banker. He makes a very good thing out of managingtheir affairs, which want a man of mark to see about them.""Ha! ha! do you see the pun, mademoiselle?" asked Poiret. "Thisgentleman calls himself a man of mark because he is a markedman--branded, you know.""This so-called Vautrin," said the detective, "receives the moneybelonging to my lords the convicts, invests it for them, and holds it atthe disposal of those who escape, or hands it over to their families ifthey leave a will, or to their mistresses when they draw upon him fortheir benefit.""Their mistresses! You mean their wives," remarked Poiret."No, sir. A convict's wife is usually an illegitimate connection. Wecall them concubines.""Then they all live in a state of concubinage?""Naturally.""Why, these are abominations that his Excellency ought not to allow.Since you have the honor of seeing his Excellency, you, who seem to havephilanthropic ideas, ought really to enlighten him as to their immoralconduct--they are setting a shocking example to the rest of society.""But the Government does not hold them up as models of all the virtues,my dear sir----""Of course not, sir; but still----""Just let the gentleman say what he has to say, dearie," said Mlle.Michonneau."You see how it is, mademoiselle," Gondureau continued. "The Governmentmay have the strongest reasons for getting this illicit hoard into itshands; it mounts up to something considerable, by all that we canmake out. Trompe-la-Mort not only holds large sums for his friends theconvicts, but he has other amounts which are paid over to him by theSociety of the Ten Thousand----""Ten Thousand Thieves!" cried Pioret in alarm."No. The Society of the Ten Thousand is not an association of pettyoffenders, but of people who set about their work on a large scale--theywon't touch a matter unless there are ten thousand francs in it. It iscomposed of the most distinguished of the men who are sent straight tothe Assize Courts when they come up for trial. They know the Codetoo well to risk their necks when they are nabbed. Collin is theirconfidential agent and legal adviser. By means of the large sums ofmoney at his disposal he has established a sort of detective system ofhis own; it is widespread and mysterious in its workings. We have hadspies all about him for a twelvemonth, and yet we could not manage tofathom his games. His capital and his cleverness are at the service ofvice and crime; this money furnishes the necessary funds for a regulararmy of blackguards in his pay who wage incessant war against society.If we can catch Trompe-la-Mort, and take possession of his funds,we should strike at the root of this evil. So this job is a kind ofGovernment affair--a State secret--and likely to redound to the honorof those who bring the thing to a successful conclusion. You, sir, forinstance, might very well be taken into a Government department again;they might make you secretary to a Commissary of Police; you couldaccept that post without prejudice to your retiring pension."Mlle. Michonneau interposed at this point with, "What is there to hinderTrompe-la-Mort from making off with the money?""Oh!" said the detective, "a man is told off to follow him everywhere hegoes, with orders to kill him if he were to rob the convicts. Then it isnot quite as easy to make off with a lot of money as it is to run awaywith a young lady of family. Besides, Collin is not the sort of fellowto play such a trick; he would be disgraced, according to his notions.""You are quite right, sir," said Poiret, "utterly disgraced he wouldbe.""But none of all this explains why you do not come and take him withoutmore ado," remarked Mlle. Michonneau."Very well, mademoiselle, I will explain--but," he added in her ear,"keep your companion quiet, or I shall never have done. The old boyought to pay people handsomely for listening to him.--Trompe-la-Mort,when he came back here," he went on aloud "slipped into the skin of anhonest man; he turned up disguised as a decent Parisian citizen, andtook up his quarters in an unpretending lodging-house. He is cunning,that he is! You don't catch him napping. Then M. Vautrin is a man ofconsequence, who transacts a good deal of business.""Naturally," said Poiret to himself."And suppose that the Minister were to make a mistake and get hold ofthe real Vautrin, he would put every one's back up among the businessmen in Paris, and public opinion would be against him. M. le Prefet dePolice is on slippery ground; he has enemies. They would take advantageof any mistake. There would be a fine outcry and fuss made by theOpposition, and he would be sent packing. We must set about this just aswe did about the Coignard affair, the sham Comte de Sainte-Helene; ifhe had been the real Comte de Sainte-Helene, we should have been in thewrong box. We want to be quite sure what we are about.""Yes, but what you want is a pretty woman," said Mlle. Michonneaubriskly."Trompe-la-Mort would not let a woman come near him," said thedetective. "I will tell you a secret--he does not like them.""Still, I do not see what I can do, supposing that I did agree toidentify him for two thousand francs.""Nothing simpler," said the stranger. "I will send you a little bottlecontaining a dose that will send a rush of blood to the head; it will dohim no harm whatever, but he will fall down as if he were in a fit. Thedrug can be put into wine or coffee; either will do equally well. Youcarry your man to bed at once, and undress him to see that he is notdying. As soon as you are alone, you give him a slap on the shoulder,and presto! the letters will appear.""Why, that is just nothing at all," said Poiret."Well, do you agree?" said Gondureau, addressing the old maid."But, my dear sir, suppose there are no letters at all," said Mlle.Michonneau; "am I to have the two thousand francs all the same?""No.""What will you give me then?""Five hundred francs.""It is such a thing to do for so little! It lies on your conscience justthe same, and I must quiet my conscience, sir.""I assure you," said Poiret, "that mademoiselle has a great deal ofconscience, and not only so, she is a very amiable person, and veryintelligent.""Well, now," Mlle. Michonneau went on, "make it three thousand francs ifhe is Trompe-la-Mort, and nothing at all if he is an ordinary man.""Done!" said Gondureau, "but on the condition that the thing is settledto-morrow.""Not quite so soon, my dear sir; I must consult my confessor first.""You are a sly one," said the detective as he rose to his feet."Good-bye till to-morrow, then. And if you should want to see me in ahurry, go to the Petite Rue Saint-Anne at the bottom of the Cour de laSainte-Chapelle. There is one door under the archway. Ask there for M.Gondureau."Bianchon, on his way back from Cuvier's lecture, overheard thesufficiently striking nickname of Trompe-la-Mort, and caught thecelebrated chief detective's "Done!""Why didn't you close with him? It would be three hundred francs ayear," said Poiret to Mlle. Michonneau."Why didn't I?" she asked. "Why, it wants thinking over. Suppose that M.Vautrin is this Trompe-la-Mort, perhaps we might do better for ourselveswith him. Still, on the other hand, if you ask him for money, it wouldput him on his guard, and he is just the man to clear out withoutpaying, and that would be an abominable sell.""And suppose you did warn him," Poiret went on, "didn't that gentlemansay that he was closely watched? You would spoil everything.""Anyhow," thought Mlle. Michonneau, "I can't abide him. He says nothingbut disagreeable things to me.""But you can do better than that," Poiret resumed. "As that gentlemansaid (and he seemed to me to be a very good sort of man, besides beingvery well got up), it is an act of obedience to the laws to rid societyof a criminal, however virtuous he may be. Once a thief, always a thief.Suppose he were to take it into his head to murder us all? The deuce! Weshould be guilty of manslaughter, and be the first to fall victims intothe bargain!"Mlle. Michonneau's musings did not permit her to listen very closely tothe remarks that fell one by one from Poiret's lips like water drippingfrom a leaky tap. When once this elderly babbler began to talk, he wouldgo on like clockwork unless Mlle. Michonneau stopped him. He startedon some subject or other, and wandered on through parenthesis afterparenthesis, till he came to regions as remote as possible from hispremises without coming to any conclusions by the way.By the time they reached the Maison Vauquer he had tacked together awhole string of examples and quotations more or less irrelevant tothe subject in hand, which led him to give a full account of his owndeposition in the case of the Sieur Ragoulleau versus Dame Morin, whenhe had been summoned as a witness for the defence.As they entered the dining-room, Eugene de Rastignac was talking apartwith Mlle. Taillefer; the conversation appeared to be of such thrillinginterest that the pair never noticed the two older lodgers as theypassed through the room. None of this was thrown away on Mlle.Michonneau."I knew how it would end," remarked that lady, addressing Poiret. "Theyhave been making eyes at each other in a heartrending way for a weekpast.""Yes," he answered. "So she was found guilty.""Who?""Mme. Morin.""I am talking about Mlle. Victorine," said Mlle, Michonneau, as sheentered Poiret's room with an absent air, "and you answer, 'Mme. Morin.'Who may Mme. Morin be?""What can Mlle. Victorine be guilty of?" demanded Poiret."Guilty of falling in love with M. Eugene de Rastignac and going furtherand further without knowing exactly where she is going, poor innocent!"
That morning Mme. de Nucingen had driven Eugene to despair. In his ownmind he had completely surrendered himself to Vautrin, and deliberatelyshut his eyes to the motive for the friendship which that extraordinaryman professed for him, nor would he look to the consequences of such analliance. Nothing short of a miracle could extricate him now out of thegulf into which he had walked an hour ago, when he exchanged vows in thesoftest whispers with Mlle. Taillefer. To Victorine it seemed as if sheheard an angel's voice, that heaven was opening above her; the MaisonVauquer took strange and wonderful hues, like a stage fairy-palace. Sheloved and she was loved; at any rate, she believed that she was loved;and what woman would not likewise have believed after seeing Rastignac'sface and listening to the tones of his voice during that hour snatchedunder the Argus eyes of the Maison Vauquer? He had trampled on hisconscience; he knew that he was doing wrong, and did it deliberately;he had said to himself that a woman's happiness should atone for thisvenial sin. The energy of desperation had lent new beauty to his face;the lurid fire that burned in his heart shone from his eyes. Luckilyfor him, the miracle took place. Vautrin came in in high spirits, andat once read the hearts of these two young creatures whom he had broughttogether by the combinations of his infernal genius, but his deep voicebroke in upon their bliss."A charming girl is my FanchetteIn her simplicity,"he sang mockingly.Victorine fled. Her heart was more full than it had ever been, but itwas full of joy, and not of sorrow. Poor child! A pressure of the hand,the light touch of Rastignac's hair against her cheek, a word whisperedin her ear so closely that she felt the student's warm breath onher, the pressure of a trembling arm about her waist, a kiss upon herthroat--such had been her betrothal. The near neighborhood of the stoutSylvie, who might invade that glorified room at any moment, only madethese first tokens of love more ardent, more eloquent, more entrancingthan the noblest deeds done for love's sake in the most famousromances. This plain-song of love, to use the pretty expression of ourforefathers, seemed almost criminal to the devout young girl who went toconfession every fortnight. In that one hour she had poured out more ofthe treasures of her soul than she could give in later days of wealthand happiness, when her whole self followed the gift."The thing is arranged," Vautrin said to Eugene, who remained. "Our twodandies have fallen out. Everything was done in proper form. It isa matter of opinion. Our pigeon has insulted my hawk. They will meetto-morrow in the redoubt at Clignancourt. By half-past eight in themorning Mlle. Taillefer, calmly dipping her bread and butter in hercoffee cup, will be sole heiress of her father's fortune and affections.A funny way of putting it, isn't it? Taillefer's youngster is an expertswordsman, and quite cocksure about it, but he will be bled; I have justinvented a thrust for his benefit, a way of raising your sword pointand driving it at the forehead. I must show you that thrust; it is anuncommonly handy thing to know."Rastignac heard him in dazed bewilderment; he could not find a word inreply. Just then Goriot came in, and Bianchon and a few of the boarderslikewise appeared."That is just as I intended." Vautrin said. "You know quite well whatyou are about. Good, my little eaglet! You are born to command, you arestrong, you stand firm on your feet, you are game! I respect you."He made as though he would take Eugene's hand, but Rastignac hastilywithdrew it, sank into a chair, and turned ghastly pale; it seemed tohim that there was a sea of blood before his eyes."Oh! so we still have a few dubious tatters of the swaddling clothesof virtue about us!" murmured Vautrin. "But Papa Doliban has threemillions; I know the amount of his fortune. Once have her dowry in yourhands, and your character will be as white as the bride's white dress,even in your own eyes."Rastignac hesitated no longer. He made up his mind that he would go thatevening to warn the Taillefers, father and son. But just as Vautrin lefthim, Father Goriot came up and said in his ear, "You look melancholy, myboy; I will cheer you up. Come with me."The old vermicelli dealer lighted his dip at one of the lamps as hespoke. Eugene went with him, his curiosity had been aroused."Let us go up to your room," the worthy soul remarked, when he hadasked Sylvie for the law student's key. "This morning," he resumed, "youthought that she did not care about you, did you not? Eh? She wouldhave nothing to say to you, and you went away out of humor and out ofheart. Stuff and rubbish! She wanted you to go because she was expectingme! Now do you understand? We were to complete the arrangements fortaking some chambers for you, a jewel of a place, you are to moveinto it in three days' time. Don't split upon me. She wants it to be asurprise; but I couldn't bear to keep the secret from you. You will bein the Rue d'Artois, only a step or two from the Rue Saint-Lazare, andyou are to be housed like a prince! Any one might have thought we werefurnishing the house for a bride. Oh! we have done a lot of things inthe last month, and you knew nothing about it. My attorney has appearedon the scene, and my daughter is to have thirty-six thousand francs ayear, the interest on her money, and I shall insist on having her eighthundred thousand invested in sound securities, landed property thatwon't run away."Eugene was dumb. He folded his arms and paced up and down in hischeerless, untidy room. Father Goriot waited till the student's back wasturned, and seized the opportunity to go to the chimney-piece and setupon it a little red morocco case with Rastignac's arms stamped in goldon the leather."My dear boy," said the kind soul, "I have been up to the eyes in thisbusiness. You see, there was plenty of selfishness on my part; I have aninterested motive in helping you to change lodgings. You will not refuseme if I ask you something; will you, eh?""What is it?""There is a room on the fifth floor, up above your rooms, that is to letalong with them; that is where I am going to live, isn't that so? I amgetting old: I am too far from my girls. I shall not be in the way, butI shall be there, that is all. You will come and talk to me about herevery evening. It will not put you about, will it? I shall have gone tobed before you come in, but I shall hear you come up, and I shall sayto myself, 'He has just seen my little Delphine. He has been to a dancewith her, and she is happy, thanks to him.' If I were ill, it would domy heart good to hear you moving about below, to know when you leavethe house and when you come in. It is only a step to the Champs-Elysees,where they go every day, so I shall be sure of seeing them, whereas nowI am sometimes too late. And then--perhaps she may come to see you! Ishall hear her, I shall see her in her soft quilted pelisse trippingabout as daintily as a kitten. In this one month she has become mylittle girl again, so light-hearted and gay. Her soul is recovering, andher happiness is owing to you! Oh! I would do impossibilities for you.Only just now she said to me, 'I am very happy, papa!' When they say'father' stiffly, it sends a chill through me; but when they call me'papa,' it brings all the old memories back. I feel most their fatherthen; I even believe that they belong to me, and to no one else."The good man wiped his eyes, he was crying."It is a long while since I have heard them talk like that, a long, longtime since she took my arm as she did to-day. Yes, indeed, it must bequite ten years since I walked side by side with one of my girls. Howpleasant it was to keep step with her, to feel the touch of her gown,the warmth of her arm! Well, I took Delphine everywhere this morning; Iwent shopping with her, and I brought her home again. Oh! you must letme live near you. You may want some one to do you a service some ofthese days, and I shall be on the spot to do it. Oh! if only that greatdolt of an Alsatian would die, if his gout would have the sense toattack his stomach, how happy my poor child would be! You would be myson-in-law; you would be her husband in the eyes of the world. Bah! shehas known no happiness, that excuses everything. Our Father in heaven issurely on the side of fathers on earth who love their children. How fondof you she is!" he said, raising his head after a pause. "All the timewe were going about together she chatted away about you. 'He is sonice-looking, papa; isn't he? He is kind-hearted! Does he talk to youabout me?' Pshaw! she said enough about you to fill whole volumes;between the Rue d'Artois and the Passage des Panoramas she poured herheart out into mine. I did not feel old once during that delightfulmorning; I felt as light as a feather. I told her how you had given thebanknote to me; it moved my darling to tears. But what can this be onyour chimney-piece?" said Father Goriot at last. Rastignac had showed nosign, and he was dying of impatience.Eugene stared at his neighbor in dumb and dazed bewilderment. He thoughtof Vautrin, of that duel to be fought to-morrow morning, and of thisrealization of his dearest hopes, and the violent contrast between thetwo sets of ideas gave him all the sensations of nightmare. He went tothe chimney-piece, saw the little square case, opened it, and founda watch of Breguet's make wrapped in paper, on which these words werewritten:"I want you to think of me every hour, because..."DELPHINE."That last word doubtless contained an allusion to some scene thathad taken place between them. Eugene felt touched. Inside the goldwatch-case his arms had been wrought in enamel. The chain, the key, theworkmanship and design of the trinket were all such as he had imagined,for he had long coveted such a possession. Father Goriot was radiant. Ofcourse he had promised to tell his daughter every little detail of thescene and of the effect produced upon Eugene by her present; he sharedin the pleasure and excitement of the young people, and seemed to be notthe least happy of the three. He loved Rastignac already for his own aswell as for his daughter's sake."You must go and see her; she is expecting you this evening. That greatlout of an Alsatian is going to have supper with his opera-dancer. Aha!he looked very foolish when my attorney let him know where he was. Hesays he idolizes my daughter, does he? He had better let her alone, or Iwill kill him. To think that my Delphine is his"--he heaved a sigh--"itis enough to make me murder him, but it would not be manslaughter tokill that animal; he is a pig with a calf's brains.--You will take mewith you, will you not?""Yes, dear Father Goriot; you know very well how fond I am of you----""Yes, I do know very well. You are not ashamed of me, are you? Not you!Let me embrace you," and he flung his arms around the student's neck."You will make her very happy; promise me that you will! You will go toher this evening, will you not?""Oh! yes. I must go out; I have some urgent business on hand.""Can I be of any use?""My word, yes! Will you go to old Taillefer's while I go to Mme. deNucingen? Ask him to make an appointment with me some time this evening;it is a matter of life and death.""Really, young man!" cried Father Goriot, with a change of countenance;"are you really paying court to his daughter, as those simpletons weresaying down below?... Tonnerre de dieu! you have no notion what a tapa la Goriot is like, and if you are playing a double game, I shall puta stop to it by one blow of the fist... Oh! the thing is impossible!""I swear to you that I love but one woman in the world," said thestudent. "I only knew it a moment ago.""Oh! what happiness!" cried Goriot."But young Taillefer has been called out; the duel comes off to-morrowmorning, and I have heard it said that he may lose his life in it.""But what business is it of yours?" said Goriot."Why, I ought to tell him so, that he may prevent his son from puttingin an appearance----"Just at that moment Vautrin's voice broke in upon them; he was standingat the threshold of his door and singing: "Oh! Richard, oh my king! All the world abandons thee! Broum! broum! broum! broum! broum! The same old story everywhere, A roving heart and a... tra la la." "Gentlemen!" shouted Christophe, "the soup is ready, and every one iswaiting for you.""Here," Vautrin called down to him, "come and take a bottle of myBordeaux.""Do you think your watch is pretty?" asked Goriot. "She has good taste,hasn't she? Eh?"Vautrin, Father Goriot, and Rastignac came downstairs in company, and,all three of them being late, were obliged to sit together.Eugene was as distant as possible in his manner to Vautrin duringdinner; but the other, so charming in Mme. Vauquer's opinion, had neverbeen so witty. His lively sallies and sparkling talk put the wholetable in good humor. His assurance and coolness filled Eugene withconsternation."Why, what has come to you to-day?" inquired Mme. Vauquer. "You are asmerry as a skylark.""I am always in spirits after I have made a good bargain.""Bargain?" said Eugene."Well, yes, bargain. I have just delivered a lot of goods, and I shallbe paid a handsome commission on them--Mlle. Michonneau," he went on,seeing that the elderly spinster was scrutinizing him intently, "haveyou any objection to some feature in my face, that you are making thoselynx eyes at me? Just let me know, and I will have it changed to obligeyou... We shall not fall out about it, Poiret, I dare say?" he added,winking at the superannuated clerk."Bless my soul, you ought to stand as model for a burlesque Hercules,"said the young painter."I will, upon my word! if Mlle. Michonneau will consent to sit as theVenus of Pere-Lachaise," replied Vautrin."There's Poiret," suggested Bianchon."Oh! Poiret shall pose as Poiret. He can be a garden god!" criedVautrin; "his name means a pear----""A sleepy pear!" Bianchon put in. "You will come in between the pear andthe cheese.""What stuff are you all talking!" said Mme. Vauquer; "you would dobetter to treat us to your Bordeaux; I see a glimpse of a bottle there.It would keep us all in a good humor, and it is good for the stomachbesides.""Gentlemen," said Vautrin, "the Lady President calls us to order. Mme.Couture and Mlle. Victorine will take your jokes in good part, butrespect the innocence of the aged Goriot. I propose a glass or two ofBordeauxrama, rendered twice illustrious by the name of Laffite, nopolitical allusions intended.--Come, you Turk!" he added, looking atChristophe, who did not offer to stir. "Christophe! Here! What, youdon't answer to your own name? Bring us some liquor, Turk!""Here it is, sir," said Christophe, holding out the bottle.Vautrin filled Eugene's glass and Goriot's likewise, then hedeliberately poured out a few drops into his own glass, and sipped itwhile his two neighbors drank their wine. All at once he made a grimace."Corked!" he cried. "The devil! You can drink the rest of this,Christophe, and go and find another bottle; take from the right-handside, you know. There are sixteen of us; take down eight bottles.""If you are going to stand treat," said the painter, "I will pay for ahundred chestnuts.""Oh! oh!""Booououh!""Prrr!"These exclamations came from all parts of the table like squibs from aset firework."Come, now, Mama Vauquer, a couple of bottles of champagne," calledVautrin."Quien! just like you! Why not ask for the whole house at once. Acouple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! I shall neversee the money back again, I know! But if M. Eugene has a mind to pay forit, I have some currant cordial.""That currant cordial of hers is as bad as a black draught," mutteredthe medical student."Shut up, Bianchon," exclaimed Rastignac; "the very mention of blackdraught makes me feel----. Yes, champagne, by all means; I will pay forit," he added."Sylvie," called Mme. Vauquer, "bring in some biscuits, and the littlecakes.""Those little cakes are mouldy graybeards," said Vautrin. "But trot outthe biscuits."The Bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner table became a livelier scenethan ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. Imitations of the criesof various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the Museum officialhaving taken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like thecaterwauling of the animal in question, eight voices simultaneouslystruck up with the following variations:"Scissors to grind!""Chick-weeds for singing bir-ds!""Brandy-snaps, ladies!""China to mend!""Boat ahoy!""Sticks to beat your wives or your clothes!""Old clo'!""Cherries all ripe!"But the palm was awarded to Bianchon for the nasal accent with which herendered the cry of "Umbrellas to me-end!"A few seconds later, and there was a head-splitting racket in theroom, a storm of tomfoolery, a sort of cats' concert, with Vautrinas conductor of the orchestra, the latter keeping an eye the while onEugene and Father Goriot. The wine seemed to have gone to their headsalready. They leaned back in their chairs, looking at the generalconfusion with an air of gravity, and drank but little; both of themwere absorbed in the thought of what lay before them to do that evening,and yet neither of them felt able to rise and go. Vautrin gave a sideglance at them from time to time, and watched the change that came overtheir faces, choosing the moment when their eyes drooped and seemedabout to close, to bend over Rastignac and to say in his ear:--"My little lad, you are not quite shrewd enough to outwit Papa Vautrinyet, and he is too fond of you to let you make a mess of your affairs.When I have made up my mind to do a thing, no one short of Providencecan put me off. Aha! we were for going round to warn old Taillefer,telling tales out of school! The oven is hot, the dough is kneaded, thebread is ready for the oven; to-morrow we will eat it up and whisk awaythe crumbs; and we are not going to spoil the baking? ... No, no, it isall as good as done! We may suffer from a few conscientious scruples,but they will be digested along with the bread. While we are having ourforty winks, Colonel Count Franchessini will clear the way to MichelTaillefer's inheritance with the point of his sword. Victorine will comein for her brother's money, a snug fifteen thousand francs a year. Ihave made inquiries already, and I know that her late mother's propertyamounts to more than three hundred thousand----"Eugene heard all this, and could not answer a word; his tongue seemedto be glued to the roof of his mouth, an irresistible drowsiness wascreeping over him. He still saw the table and the faces round it, but itwas through a bright mist. Soon the noise began to subside, one by onethe boarders went. At last, when their numbers had so dwindled that theparty consisted of Mme. Vauquer, Mme. Couture, Mlle. Victorine, Vautrin,and Father Goriot, Rastignac watched as though in a dream how Mme.Vauquer busied herself by collecting the bottles, and drained theremainder of the wine out of each to fill others."Oh! how uproarious they are! what a thing it is to be young!" said thewidow.These were the last words that Eugene heard and understood."There is no one like M. Vautrin for a bit of fun like this," saidSylvie. "There, just hark at Christophe, he is snoring like a top.""Good-bye, mamma," said Vautrin; "I am going to a theatre on theboulevard to see M. Marty in Le Mont Sauvage, a fine play takenfrom Le Solitaire.... If you like, I will take you and these twoladies----""Thank you; I must decline," said Mme. Couture."What! my good lady!" cried Mme. Vauquer, "decline to see a play foundedon the Le Solitaire, a work by Atala de Chateaubriand? We were so fondof that book that we cried over it like Magdalens under the line-treeslast summer, and then it is an improving work that might edify youryoung lady.""We are forbidden to go to the play," answered Victorine."Just look, those two yonder have dropped off where they sit," saidVautrin, shaking the heads of the two sleepers in a comical way.He altered the sleeping student's position, settled his head morecomfortably on the back of his chair, kissed him warmly on the forehead,and began to sing:"Sleep, little darlings;I watch while you slumber.""I am afraid he may be ill," said Victorine."Then stop and take care of him," returned Vautrin. "'Tis your duty asa meek and obedient wife," he whispered in her ear. "The young fellowworships you, and you will be his little wife--there's your fortune foryou. In short," he added aloud, "they lived happily ever afterwards,were much looked up to in all the countryside, and had a numerousfamily. That is how all the romances end.--Now, mamma," he went on, ashe turned to Madame Vauquer and put his arm round her waist, "put onyour bonnet, your best flowered silk, and the countess' scarf, while Igo out and call a cab--all my own self."And he started out, singing as he went:"Oh! sun! divine sun!Ripening the pumpkins every one.""My goodness! Well, I'm sure! Mme. Couture, I could live happily in agarret with a man like that.--There, now!" she added, looking round forthe old vermicelli maker, "there is that Father Goriot half seas over.He never thought of taking me anywhere, the old skinflint. But he willmeasure his length somewhere. My word! it is disgraceful to lose hissenses like that, at his age! You will be telling me that he couldn'tlose what he hadn't got--Sylvie, just take him up to his room!"Sylvie took him by the arm, supported him upstairs, and flung him justas he was, like a package, across the bed."Poor young fellow!" said Mme. Couture, putting back Eugene's hair thathad fallen over his eyes; "he is like a young girl, he does not knowwhat dissipation is.""Well, I can tell you this, I know," said Mme. Vauquer, "I have takenlodgers these thirty years, and a good many have passed through myhands, as the saying is, but I have never seen a nicer nor a morearistocratic looking young man than M. Eugene. How handsome he lookssleeping! Just let his head rest on your shoulder, Mme. Couture. Pshaw!he falls over towards Mlle. Victorine. There's a special providence foryoung things. A little more, and he would have broken his head againstthe knob of the chair. They'd make a pretty pair those two would!""Hush, my good neighbor," cried Mme. Couture, "you are saying suchthings----""Pooh!" put in Mme. Vauquer, "he does not hear.--Here, Sylvie! come andhelp me to dress. I shall put on my best stays.""What! your best stays just after dinner, madame?" said Sylvie. "No, youcan get some one else to lace you. I am not going to be your murderer.It's a rash thing to do, and might cost you your life.""I don't care, I must do honor to M. Vautrin.""Are you so fond of your heirs as all that?""Come, Sylvie, don't argue," said the widow, as she left the room."At her age, too!" said the cook to Victorine, pointing to her mistressas she spoke.Mme. Couture and her ward were left in the dining-room, and Eugeneslept on Victorine's shoulder. The sound of Christophe's snoring echoedthrough the silent house; Eugene's quiet breathing seemed all thequieter by force of contrast, he was sleeping as peacefully as a child.Victorine was very happy; she was free to perform one of those acts ofcharity which form an innocent outlet for all the overflowing sentimentsof a woman's nature; he was so close to her that she could feel thethrobbing of his heart; there was a look of almost maternal protectionand conscious pride in Victorine's face. Among the countless thoughtsthat crowded up in her young innocent heart, there was a wild flutter ofjoy at this close contact."Poor, dear child!" said Mme. Couture, squeezing her hand.The old lady looked at the girl. Victorine's innocent, pathetic face,so radiant with the new happiness that had befallen her, called tomind some naive work of mediaeval art, when the painter neglected theaccessories, reserving all the magic of his brush for the quiet,austere outlines and ivory tints of the face, which seems to have caughtsomething of the golden glory of heaven."After all, he only took two glasses, mamma," said Victorine, passingher fingers through Eugene's hair."Indeed, if he had been a dissipated young man, child, he would havecarried his wine like the rest of them. His drowsiness does him credit."There was a sound of wheels outside in the street."There is M. Vautrin, mamma," said the girl. "Just take M. Eugene. Iwould rather not have that man see me like this; there are some ways oflooking at you that seem to sully your soul and make you feel as thoughyou had nothing on.""Oh, no, you are wrong!" said Mme. Couture. "M. Vautrin is a worthy man;he reminds me a little of my late husband, poor dear M. Couture, roughbut kind-hearted; his bark is worse than his bite."Vautrin came in while she was speaking; he did not make a sound, butlooked for a while at the picture of the two young faces--the lamplightfalling full upon them seemed to caress them."Well," he remarked, folding his arms, "here is a picture! It would havesuggested some pleasing pages to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (goodsoul), who wrote Paul et Virginie. Youth is very charming, Mme.Couture!--Sleep on, poor boy," he added, looking at Eugene, "lucksometimes comes while you are sleeping.--There is something touching andattractive to me about this young man, madame," he continued; "I knowthat his nature is in harmony with his face. Just look, the head ofa cherub on an angel's shoulder! He deserves to be loved. If I were awoman, I would die (no--not such a fool), I would live for him." Hebent lower and spoke in the widow's ear. "When I see those two together,madame, I cannot help thinking that Providence meant them for eachother; He works by secret ways, and tries the reins and the heart," hesaid in a loud voice. "And when I see you, my children, thus united bya like purity and by all human affections, I say to myself that it isquite impossible that the future should separate you. God is just."--Heturned to Victorine. "It seems to me," he said, "that I have seen theline of success in your hand. Let me look at it, Mlle. Victorine; I amwell up in palmistry, and I have told fortunes many a time. Come, now,don't be frightened. Ah! what do I see? Upon my word, you will be one ofthe richest heiresses in Paris before very long. You will heap richeson the man who loves you. Your father will want you to go and live withhim. You will marry a young and handsome man with a title, and he willidolize you."The heavy footsteps of the coquettish widow, who was coming down thestairs, interrupted Vautrin's fortune-telling. "Here is Mamma Vauquerre,fair as a starr-r-r, dressed within an inch of her life.--Aren't we atrifle pinched for room?" he inquired, with his arm round the lady;"we are screwed up very tightly about the bust, mamma! If we are muchagitated, there may be an explosion; but I will pick up the fragmentswith all the care of an antiquary.""There is a man who can talk the language of French gallantry!" said thewidow, bending to speak in Mme. Couture's ear."Good-bye, little ones!" said Vautrin, turning to Eugene and Victorine."Bless you both!" and he laid a hand on either head. "Take my word forit, young lady, an honest man's prayers are worth something; they shouldbring you happiness, for God hears them.""Good-bye, dear," said Mme. Vauquer to her lodger. "Do you think that M.Vautrin means to run away with me?" she added, lowering her voice."Lack-a-day!" said the widow."Oh! mamma dear, suppose it should really happen as that kind M. Vautrinsaid!" said Victorine with a sigh as she looked at her hands. The twowomen were alone together."Why, it wouldn't take much to bring it to pass," said the elderly lady;"just a fall from his horse, and your monster of a brother----""Oh! mamma.""Good Lord! Well, perhaps it is a sin to wish bad luck to an enemy," thewidow remarked. "I will do penance for it. Still, I would strewflowers on his grave with the greatest pleasure, and that is the truth.Black-hearted, that he is! The coward couldn't speak up for his ownmother, and cheats you out of your share by deceit and trickery. Mycousin had a pretty fortune of her own, but unluckily for you, nothingwas said in the marriage-contract about anything that she might come infor.""It would be very hard if my fortune is to cost some one else his life,"said Victorine. "If I cannot be happy unless my brother is to be takenout of the world, I would rather stay here all my life.""Mon Dieu! it is just as that good M. Vautrin says, and he is full ofpiety, you see," Mme. Couture remarked. "I am very glad to find thathe is not an unbeliever like the rest of them that talk of the Almightywith less respect than they do of the Devil. Well, as he was saying, whocan know the ways by which it may please Providence to lead us?"With Sylvie's help the two women at last succeeded in getting Eugeneup to his room; they laid him on the bed, and the cook unfastenedhis clothes to make him more comfortable. Before they left the room,Victorine snatched an opportunity when her guardian's back was turned,and pressed a kiss on Eugene's forehead, feeling all the joy that thisstolen pleasure could give her. Then she looked round the room, andgathering up, as it were, into one single thought all the untold blissof that day, she made a picture of her memories, and dwelt upon it untilshe slept, the happiest creature in Paris.That evening's merry-making, in the course of which Vautrin hadgiven the drugged wine to Eugene and Father Goriot, was his ownruin. Bianchon, flustered with wine, forgot to open the subject ofTrompe-la-Mort with Mlle. Michonneau. The mere mention of the name wouldhave set Vautrin on his guard; for Vautrin, or, to give him his realname, Jacques Collin, was in fact the notorious escaped convict.But it was the joke about the Venus of Pere-Lachaise that finallydecided his fate. Mlle. Michonneau had very nearly made up her mind towarn the convict and to throw herself on his generosity, with the ideaof making a better bargain for herself by helping him to escape thatnight; but as it was, she went out escorted by Poiret in search of thefamous chief of detectives in the Petite Rue Saint-Anne, still thinkingthat it was the district superintendent--one Gondureau--with whom shehad to do. The head of the department received his visitors courteously.There was a little talk, and the details were definitely arranged. Mlle.Michonneau asked for the draught that she was to administer in order toset about her investigation. But the great man's evident satisfactionset Mlle. Michonneau thinking; and she began to see that this businessinvolved something more than the mere capture of a runaway convict. Sheracked her brains while he looked in a drawer in his desk for thelittle phial, and it dawned upon her that in consequence of treacherousrevelations made by the prisoners the police were hoping to lay theirhands on a considerable sum of money. But on hinting her suspicions tothe old fox of the Petite Rue Saint-Anne, that officer began to smile,and tried to put her off the scent."A delusion," he said. "Collin's sorbonne is the most dangerous thathas yet been found among the dangerous classes. That is all, and therascals are quite aware of it. They rally round him; he is the backboneof the federation, its Bonaparte, in short; he is very popular with themall. The rogue will never leave his chump in the Place de Greve."As Mlle. Michonneau seemed mystified, Gondureau explained the twoslang words for her benefit. Sorbonne and chump are two forcibleexpressions borrowed from thieves' Latin, thieves, of all people, beingcompelled to consider the human head in its two aspects. A sorbonne isthe head of a living man, his faculty of thinking--his council; a chumpis a contemptuous epithet that implies how little a human head is worthafter the axe has done its work."Collin is playing us off," he continued. "When we come across a manlike a bar of steel tempered in the English fashion, there is always oneresource left--we can kill him if he takes it into his head to make theleast resistance. We are reckoning on several methods of killing Collinto-morrow morning. It saves a trial, and society is rid of him withoutall the expense of guarding and feeding him. What with getting up thecase, summoning witnesses, paying their expenses, and carrying out thesentence, it costs a lot to go through all the proper formalities beforeyou can get quit of one of these good-for-nothings, over and above thethree thousand francs that you are going to have. There is a savingin time as well. One good thrust of the bayonet into Trompe-la-Mort'spaunch will prevent scores of crimes, and save fifty scoundrels fromfollowing his example; they will be very careful to keep themselves outof the police courts. That is doing the work of the police thoroughly,and true philanthropists will tell you that it is better to preventcrime than to punish it.""And you do a service to our country," said Poiret."Really, you are talking in a very sensible manner tonight, that youare," said the head of the department. "Yes, of course, we are servingour country, and we are very hardly used too. We do society very greatservices that are not recognized. In fact, a superior man must riseabove vulgar prejudices, and a Christian must resign himself tothe mishaps that doing right entails, when right is done in anout-of-the-way style. Paris is Paris, you see! That is the explanationof my life.--I have the honor to wish you a good-evening, mademoiselle.I shall bring my men to the Jardin du Roi in the morning. SendChristophe to the Rue du Buffon, tell him to ask for M. Gondureau in thehouse where you saw me before.--Your servant, sir. If you should everhave anything stolen from you, come to me, and I will do my best to getit back for you.""Well, now," Poiret remarked to Mlle. Michonneau, "there are idiotswho are scared out of their wits by the word police. That was a verypleasant-spoken gentleman, and what he wants you to do is as easy assaying 'Good-day.'"
The next day was destined to be one of the most extraordinary in theannals of the Maison Vauquer. Hitherto the most startling occurrence inits tranquil existence had been the portentous, meteor-like apparitionof the sham Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil. But the catastrophes of thisgreat day were to cast all previous events into the shade, and supply aninexhaustible topic of conversation for Mme. Vauquer and her boarders solong as she lived.In the first place, Goriot and Eugene de Rastignac both slept till closeupon eleven o'clock. Mme. Vauquer, who came home about midnight fromthe Gaite, lay a-bed till half-past ten. Christophe, after a prolongedslumber (he had finished Vautrin's first bottle of wine), was behindhandwith his work, but Poiret and Mlle. Michonneau uttered no complaint,though breakfast was delayed. As for Victorine and Mme. Couture, theyalso lay late. Vautrin went out before eight o'clock, and only came backjust as breakfast was ready. Nobody protested, therefore, when Sylvieand Christophe went up at a quarter past eleven, knocked at all thedoors, and announced that breakfast was waiting. While Sylvie and theman were upstairs, Mlle. Michonneau, who came down first, poured thecontents of the phial into the silver cup belonging to Vautrin--it wasstanding with the others in the bain-marie that kept the cream hot forthe morning coffee. The spinster had reckoned on this custom of thehouse to do her stroke of business. The seven lodgers were at lastcollected together, not without some difficulty. Just as Eugene camedownstairs, stretching himself and yawning, a commissionaire handed hima letter from Mme. de Nucingen. It ran thus:--"I feel neither false vanity nor anger where you are concerned, myfriend. Till two o'clock this morning I waited for you. Oh, that waitingfor one whom you love! No one that had passed through that torture couldinflict it on another. I know now that you have never loved before.What can have happened? Anxiety has taken hold of me. I would have comemyself to find out what had happened, if I had not feared to betray thesecrets of my heart. How can I walk out or drive out at this time ofday? Would it not be ruin? I have felt to the full how wretched it is tobe a woman. Send a word to reassure me, and explain how it is that youhave not come after what my father told you. I shall be angry, but Iwill forgive you. One word, for pity's sake. You will come to me soon,will you not? If you are busy, a line will be enough. Say, 'I willhasten to you,' or else, 'I am ill.' But if you were ill my father wouldhave come to tell me so. What can have happened?...""Yes, indeed, what has happened?" exclaimed Eugene, and, hurrying downto the dining-room, he crumpled up the letter without reading any more."What time is it?""Half-past eleven," said Vautrin, dropping a lump of sugar into hiscoffee.The escaped convict cast a glance at Eugene, a cold and fascinatingglance; men gifted with this magnetic power can quell furious lunaticsin a madhouse by such a glance, it is said. Eugene shook in every limb.There was the sound of wheels in the street, and in another moment a manwith a scared face rushed into the room. It was one of M. Taillefer'sservants; Mme. Couture recognized the livery at once."Mademoiselle," he cried, "your father is asking for you--somethingterrible has happened! M. Frederic has had a sword thrust in theforehead in a duel, and the doctors have given him up. You will scarcelybe in time to say good-bye to him! he is unconscious.""Poor young fellow!" exclaimed Vautrin. "How can people brawl when theyhave a certain income of thirty thousand livres? Young people have badmanners, and that is a fact.""Sir!" cried Eugene."Well, what then, you big baby!" said Vautrin, swallowing down hiscoffee imperturbably, an operation which Mlle. Michonneau watched withsuch close attention that she had no emotion to spare for the amazingnews that had struck the others dumb with amazement. "Are there notduels every morning in Paris?" added Vautrin."I will go with you, Victorine," said Mme. Couture, and the two womenhurried away at once without either hats or shawls. But before shewent, Victorine, with her eyes full of tears, gave Eugene a glance thatsaid--"How little I thought that our happiness should cost me tears!""Dear me, you are a prophet, M. Vautrin," said Mme. Vauquer."I am all sorts of things," said Vautrin."Queer, isn't it?" said Mme. Vauquer, stringing together a succession ofcommonplaces suited to the occasion. "Death takes us off without askingus about it. The young often go before the old. It is a lucky thingfor us women that we are not liable to fight duels, but we have othercomplaints that men don't suffer from. We bear children, and it takes along time to get over it. What a windfall for Victorine! Her father willhave to acknowledge her now!""There!" said Vautrin, looking at Eugene, "yesterday she had not apenny; this morning she has several millions to her fortune.""I say, M. Eugene!" cried Mme. Vauquer, "you have landed on your feet!"At this exclamation, Father Goriot looked at the student, and saw thecrumpled letter still in his hand."You have not read it through! What does this mean? Are you going to belike the rest of them?" he asked."Madame, I shall never marry Mlle. Victorine," said Eugene, turning toMme. Vauquer with an expression of terror and loathing that surprisedthe onlookers at this scene.Father Goriot caught the student's hand and grasped it warmly. He couldhave kissed it."Oh, ho!" said Vautrin, "the Italians have a good proverb--Col tempo.""Is there any answer?" said Mme. de Nucingen's messenger, addressingEugene."Say that I will come directly."The man went. Eugene was in a state of such violent excitement that hecould not be prudent."What is to be done?" he exclaimed aloud. "There are no proofs!"Vautrin began to smile. Though the drug he had taken was doing its work,the convict was so vigorous that he rose to his feet, gave Rastignac alook, and said in hollow tones, "Luck comes to us while we sleep, youngman," and fell stiff and stark, as if he were struck dead."So there is a Divine Justice!" said Eugene."Well, if ever! What has come to that poor dear M. Vautrin?""A stroke!" cried Mlle. Michonneau."Here, Sylvie! girl, run for the doctor," called the widow. "Oh, M.Rastignac, just go for M. Bianchon, and be as quick as you can; Sylviemight not be in time to catch our doctor, M. Grimprel."Rastignac was glad of an excuse to leave that den of horrors, his hurryfor the doctor was nothing but a flight."Here, Christophe, go round to the chemist's and ask for somethingthat's good for the apoplexy."Christophe likewise went."Father Goriot, just help us to get him upstairs."Vautrin was taken up among them, carried carefully up the narrowstaircase, and laid upon his bed."I can do no good here, so I shall go to see my daughter," said M.Goriot."Selfish old thing!" cried Mme. Vauquer. "Yes, go; I wish you may dielike a dog.""Just go and see if you can find some ether," said Mlle. Michonneau toMme. Vauquer; the former, with some help from Poiret, had unfastened thesick man's clothes.Mme. Vauquer went down to her room, and left Mlle. Michonneau mistressof the situation."Now! just pull down his shirt and turn him over, quick! You might beof some use in sparing my modesty," she said to Poiret, "instead ofstanding there like a stock."Vautrin was turned over; Mlle. Michonneau gave his shoulder a sharpslap, and the two portentous letters appeared, white against the red."There, you have earned your three thousand francs very easily,"exclaimed Poiret, supporting Vautrin while Mlle. Michonneau slippedon the shirt again.--"Ouf! How heavy he is," he added, as he laid theconvict down."Hush! Suppose there is a strong-box here!" said the old maid briskly;her glances seemed to pierce the walls, she scrutinized every article ofthe furniture with greedy eyes. "Could we find some excuse for openingthat desk?""It mightn't be quite right," responded Poiret to this."Where is the harm? It is money stolen from all sorts of people, soit doesn't belong to any one now. But we haven't time, there is theVauquer.""Here is the ether," said that lady. "I must say that this is aneventful day. Lord! that man can't have had a stroke; he is as white ascurds.""White as curds?" echoed Poiret."And his pulse is steady," said the widow, laying her hand on hisbreast."Steady?" said the astonished Poiret."He is all right.""Do you think so?" asked Poiret."Lord! Yes, he looks as if he were sleeping. Sylvie has gone for adoctor. I say, Mlle. Michonneau, he is sniffing the ether. Pooh! it isonly a spasm. His pulse is good. He is as strong as a Turk. Just look,mademoiselle, what a fur tippet he has on his chest; that is the sortof man to live till he is a hundred. His wig holds on tightly, however.Dear me! it is glued on, and his own hair is red; that is why he wearsa wig. They say that red-haired people are either the worst or the best.Is he one of the good ones, I wonder?""Good to hang," said Poiret."Round a pretty woman's neck, you mean," said Mlle Michonneau, hastily."Just go away, M. Poiret. It is a woman's duty to nurse you men when youare ill. Besides, for all the good you are doing, you may as well takeyourself off," she added. "Mme. Vauquer and I will take great care ofdear M. Vautrin."Poiret went out on tiptoe without a murmur, like a dog kicked out of theroom by his master.Rastignac had gone out for the sake of physical exertion; he wantedto breathe the air, he felt stifled. Yesterday evening he had meant toprevent the murder arranged for half-past eight that morning. What hadhappened? What ought he to do now? He trembled to think that he himselfmight be implicated. Vautrin's coolness still further dismayed him."Yet, how if Vautrin should die without saying a word?" Rastignac askedhimself.He hurried along the alleys of the Luxembourg Gardens as if the houndsof justice were after him, and he already heard the baying of the pack."Well?" shouted Bianchon, "you have seen the Pilote?"The Pilote was a Radical sheet, edited by M. Tissot. It came outseveral hours later than the morning papers, and was meant for thebenefit of country subscribers; for it brought the morning news intoprovincial districts twenty-four hours sooner than the ordinary localjournals."There is a wonderful history in it," said the house student of theHopital Cochin. "Young Taillefer called out Count Franchessini, ofthe Old Guard, and the Count put a couple of inches of steel into hisforehead. And here is little Victorine one of the richest heiresses inParis! If we had known that, eh? What a game of chance death is! Theysay Victorine was sweet on you; was there any truth in it?""Shut up, Bianchon; I shall never marry her. I am in love with acharming woman, and she is in love with me, so----""You said that as if you were screwing yourself up to be faithfulto her. I should like to see the woman worth the sacrifice of MasterTaillefer's money!""Are all the devils of hell at my heels?" cried Rastignac."What is the matter with you? Are you mad? Give us your hand," saidBianchon, "and let me feel your pulse. You are feverish.""Just go to Mother Vauquer's," said Rastignac; "that scoundrel Vautrinhas dropped down like one dead.""Aha!" said Bianchon, leaving Rastignac to his reflections, "you confirmmy suspicions, and now I mean to make sure for myself."The law student's long walk was a memorable one for him. He made insome sort a survey of his conscience. After a close scrutiny, afterhesitation and self-examination, his honor at any rate came outscatheless from this sharp and terrible ordeal, like a bar of irontested in the English fashion. He remembered Father Goriot's confidencesof the evening before; he recollected the rooms taken for him in the Rued'Artois, so that he might be near Delphine; and then he thought of hisletter, and read it again and kissed it."Such a love is my anchor of safety," he said to himself. "How the oldman's heart must have been wrung! He says nothing about all that he hasbeen through; but who could not guess? Well, then, I will be like ason to him; his life shall be made happy. If she cares for me, she willoften come to spend the day with him. That grand Comtesse de Restaud isa heartless thing; she would make her father into her hall porter. DearDelphine! she is kinder to the old man; she is worthy to be loved. Ah!this evening I shall be very happy!"He took out his watch and admired it."I have had nothing but success! If two people mean to love each otherfor ever, they may help each other, and I can take this. Besides,I shall succeed, and I will pay her a hundredfold. There is nothingcriminal in this liaison; nothing that could cause the most austeremoralist to frown. How many respectable people contract similar unions!We deceive nobody; it is deception that makes a position humiliating.If you lie, you lower yourself at once. She and her husband have livedapart for a long while. Besides, how if I called upon that Alsatian toresign a wife whom he cannot make happy?"Rastignac's battle with himself went on for a long while; and though thescruples of youth inevitably gained the day, an irresistible curiosityled him, about half-past four, to return to the Maison Vauquer throughthe gathering dusk.Bianchon had given Vautrin an emetic, reserving the contents of thestomach for chemical analysis at the hospital. Mlle. Michonneau'sofficious alacrity had still further strengthened his suspicions of her.Vautrin, moreover, had recovered so quickly that it was impossiblenot to suspect some plot against the leader of all frolics at thelodging-house. Vautrin was standing in front of the stove in thedining-room when Rastignac came in. All the lodgers were assembledsooner than usual by the news of young Taillefer's duel. They wereanxious to hear any detail about the affair, and to talk over theprobable change in Victorine's prospects. Father Goriot alone wasabsent, but the rest were chatting. No sooner did Eugene come into theroom, than his eyes met the inscrutable gaze of Vautrin. It was the samelook that had read his thoughts before--the look that had such power towaken evil thoughts in his heart. He shuddered."Well, dear boy," said the escaped convict, "I am likely to cheat deathfor a good while yet. According to these ladies, I have had a strokethat would have felled an ox, and come off with flying colors.""A bull you might say," cried the widow."You really might be sorry to see me still alive," said Vautrin inRastignac's ear, thinking that he guessed the student's thoughts. "Youmust be mighty sure of yourself.""Mlle. Michonneau was talking the day before yesterday about a gentlemannamed Trompe-la-Mort," said Bianchon; "and, upon my word, that namewould do very well for you."Vautrin seemed thunderstruck. He turned pale, and staggered back.He turned his magnetic glance, like a ray of vivid light, on Mlle.Michonneau; the old maid shrank and trembled under the influence of thatstrong will, and collapsed into a chair. The mask of good-nature haddropped from the convict's face; from the unmistakable ferocity of thatsinister look, Poiret felt that the old maid was in danger, and hastilystepped between them. None of the lodgers understood this scene in theleast, they looked on in mute amazement. There was a pause. Just thenthere was a sound of tramping feet outside; there were soldiers there,it seemed, for there was a ring of several rifles on the pavement ofthe street. Collin was mechanically looking round the walls for a way ofescape, when four men entered by way of the sitting-room."In the name of the King and the Law!" said an officer, but the wordswere almost lost in a murmur of astonishment.Silence fell on the room. The lodgers made way for three of the men, whohad each a hand on a cocked pistol in a side pocket. Two policemen, whofollowed the detectives, kept the entrance to the sitting-room, and twomore men appeared in the doorway that gave access to the staircase. Asound of footsteps came from the garden, and again the rifles of severalsoldiers rang on the cobblestones under the window. All chance ofsalvation by flight was cut off for Trompe-la-Mort, to whom all eyesinstinctively turned. The chief walked straight up to him, and commencedoperations by giving him a sharp blow on the head, so that the wig felloff, and Collin's face was revealed in all its ugliness. There wasa terrible suggestion of strength mingled with cunning in the short,brick-red crop of hair, the whole head was in harmony with his powerfulframe, and at that moment the fires of hell seemed to gleam from hiseyes. In that flash the real Vautrin shone forth, revealed at oncebefore them all; they understood his past, his present, and future, hispitiless doctrines, his actions, the religion of his own good pleasure,the majesty with which his cynicism and contempt for mankind investedhim, the physical strength of an organization proof against all trials.The blood flew to his face, and his eyes glared like the eyes of a wildcat. He started back with savage energy and a fierce growl that drewexclamations of alarm from the lodgers. At that leonine start the policecaught at their pistols under cover of the general clamor. Collin sawthe gleaming muzzles of the weapons, saw his danger, and instantly gaveproof of a power of the highest order. There was something horrible andmajestic in the spectacle of the sudden transformation in his face; hecould only be compared to a cauldron full of the steam that can sendmountains flying, a terrific force dispelled in a moment by a dropof cold water. The drop of water that cooled his wrathful fury was areflection that flashed across his brain like lightning. He began tosmile, and looked down at his wig."You are not in the politest of humors to-day," he remarked to thechief, and he held out his hands to the policemen with a jerk of hishead."Gentlemen," he said, "put on the bracelets or the handcuffs. I call onthose present to witness that I make no resistance."A murmur of admiration ran through the room at the sudden outpouringlike fire and lava flood from this human volcano, and its equally suddencessation."There's a sell for you, master crusher," the convict added, looking atthe famous director of police."Come, strip!" said he of the Petite Rue Saint-Anne, contemptuously."Why?" asked Collin. "There are ladies present; I deny nothing, andsurrender."He paused, and looked round the room like an orator who is about tooverwhelm his audience."Take this down, Daddy Lachapelle," he went on, addressing a little,white-haired old man who had seated himself at the end of the table; andafter drawing a printed form from the portfolio, was proceeding to drawup a document. "I acknowledge myself to be Jacques Collin, otherwiseknown as Trompe-la-Mort, condemned to twenty years' penal servitude, andI have just proved that I have come fairly by my nickname.--If I hadas much as raised my hand," he went on, addressing the other lodgers,"those three sneaking wretches yonder would have drawn claret on MammaVauquer's domestic hearth. The rogues have laid their heads together toset a trap for me."Mme. Vauquer felt sick and faint at these words."Good Lord!" she cried, "this does give one a turn; and me at the Gaitewith him only last night!" she said to Sylvie."Summon your philosophy, mamma," Collin resumed. "Is it a misfortune tohave sat in my box at the Gaite yesterday evening? After all, are youbetter than we are? The brand upon our shoulders is less shameful thanthe brand set on your hearts, you flabby members of a society rottento the core. Not the best man among you could stand up to me." Hiseyes rested upon Rastignac, to whom he spoke with a pleasant smilethat seemed strangely at variance with the savage expression in hiseyes.--"Our little bargain still holds good, dear boy; you can acceptany time you like! Do you understand?" And he sang:"A charming girl is my FanchetteIn her simplicity.""Don't you trouble yourself," he went on; "I can get in my money. Theyare too much afraid of me to swindle me."The convicts' prison, its language and customs, its sudden sharptransitions from the humorous to the horrible, its appalling grandeur,its triviality and its dark depths, were all revealed in turn by thespeaker's discourse; he seemed to be no longer a man, but the type andmouthpiece of a degenerate race, a brutal, supple, clear-headed race ofsavages. In one moment Collin became the poet of an inferno, wherein allthoughts and passions that move human nature (save repentance) find aplace. He looked about him like a fallen archangel who is for war to theend. Rastignac lowered his eyes, and acknowledged this kinship claimedby crime as an expiation of his own evil thoughts."Who betrayed me?" said Collin, and his terrible eyes traveled round theroom. Suddenly they rested on Mlle. Michonneau."It was you, old cat!" he said. "That sham stroke of apoplexy was yourdoing, lynx eyes!... Two words from me, and your throat would be cut inless than a week, but I forgive you, I am a Christian. You did not sellme either. But who did?----Aha! you may rummage upstairs," he shouted,hearing the police officers opening his cupboards and taking possessionof his effects. "The nest is empty, the birds flew away yesterday, andyou will be none the wiser. My ledgers are here," he said tapping hisforehead. "Now I know who sold me! It could only be that blackguardFil-de-Soie. That is who it was, old catchpoll, eh?" he said, turning tothe chief. "It was timed so neatly to get the banknotes up above there.There is nothing left for you--spies! As for Fil-de-Soie, he will beunder the daisies in less than a fortnight, even if you were to tell offthe whole force to protect him. How much did you give the Michonnette?"he asked of the police officers. "A thousand crowns? Oh you Ninon indecay, Pompadour in tatters, Venus of the graveyard, I was worth morethan that! If you had given me warning, you should have had six thousandfrancs. Ah! you had no suspicion of that, old trafficker in flesh andblood, or I should have had the preference. Yes, I would have given sixthousand francs to save myself an inconvenient journey and some loss ofmoney," he said, as they fastened the handcuffs on his wrists. "Thesefolks will amuse themselves by dragging out this business till the endof time to keep me idle. If they were to send me straight to jail, Ishould soon be back at my old tricks in spite of the duffers at the Quaides Orfevres. Down yonder they will all turn themselves inside out tohelp their general--their good Trompe-la-Mort--to get clear away. Isthere a single one among you that can say, as I can, that he has tenthousand brothers ready to do anything for him?" he asked proudly."There is some good there," he said tapping his heart; "I have neverbetrayed any one!--Look you here, you slut," he said to the old maid,"they are all afraid of me, do you see? but the sight of you turns themsick. Rake in your gains."He was silent for a moment, and looked round at the lodgers' faces."What dolts you are, all of you! Have you never seen a convict before?A convict of Collin's stamp, whom you see before you, is a man lessweak-kneed than others; he lifts up his voice against the colossal fraudof the Social Contract, as Jean Jacques did, whose pupil he is proudto declare himself. In short, I stand here single-handed against aGovernment and a whole subsidized machinery of tribunals and police, andI am a match for them all.""Ye gods!" cried the painter, "what a magnificent sketch one might makeof him!""Look here, you gentlemen-in-waiting to his highness the gibbet, masterof ceremonies to the widow" (a nickname full of sombre poetry, givenby prisoners to the guillotine), "be a good fellow, and tell me if itreally was Fil-de-Soie who sold me. I don't want him to suffer for someone else, that would not be fair."But before the chief had time to answer, the rest of the party returnedfrom making their investigations upstairs. Everything had been openedand inventoried. A few words passed between them and the chief, and theofficial preliminaries were complete."Gentlemen," said Collin, addressing the lodgers, "they will take meaway directly. You have all made my stay among you very agreeable, and Ishall look back upon it with gratitude. Receive my adieux, and permit meto send you figs from Provence."He advanced a step or two, and then turned to look once more atRastignac."Good-bye, Eugene," he said, in a sad and gentle tone, a strangetransition from his previous rough and stern manner. "If you shouldbe hard up, I have left you a devoted friend," and, in spite of hisshackles, he managed to assume a posture of defence, called, "One, two!"like a fencing-master, and lunged. "If anything goes wrong, apply inthat quarter. Man and money, all at your service."The strange speaker's manner was sufficiently burlesque, so that noone but Rastignac knew that there was a serious meaning underlying thepantomime.As soon as the police, soldiers, and detectives had left the house,Sylvie, who was rubbing her mistress' temples with vinegar, looked roundat the bewildered lodgers."Well," said she, "he was a man, he was, for all that."Her words broke the spell. Every one had been too much excited, too muchmoved by very various feelings to speak. But now the lodgers beganto look at each other, and then all eyes were turned at once on Mlle.Michonneau, a thin, shriveled, dead-alive, mummy-like figure, crouchingby the stove; her eyes were downcast, as if she feared that the greeneye-shade could not shut out the expression of those faces from her.This figure and the feeling of repulsion she had so long excited wereexplained all at once. A smothered murmur filled the room; it was sounanimous, that it seemed as if the same feeling of loathing had pitchedall the voices in one key. Mlle. Michonneau heard it, and did not stir.It was Bianchon who was the first to move; he bent over his neighbor,and said in a low voice, "If that creature is going to stop here, andhave dinner with us, I shall clear out."In the twinkling of an eye it was clear that every one in the room, savePoiret, was of the medical student's opinion, so that the latter, strongin the support of the majority, went up to that elderly person."You are more intimate with Mlle. Michonneau than the rest of us," hesaid; "speak to her, make her understand that she must go, and go atonce.""At once!" echoed Poiret in amazement.Then he went across to the crouching figure, and spoke a few words inher ear."I have paid beforehand for the quarter; I have as much right to be hereas any one else," she said, with a viperous look at the boarders."Never mind that! we will club together and pay you the money back,"said Rastignac."Monsieur is taking Collin's part" she said, with a questioning,malignant glance at the law student; "it is not difficult to guess why."Eugene started forward at the words, as if he meant to spring upon herand wring her neck. That glance, and the depths of treachery that itrevealed, had been a hideous enlightenment."Let her alone!" cried the boarders.Rastignac folded his arms and was silent."Let us have no more of Mlle. Judas," said the painter, turning to Mme.Vauquer. "If you don't show the Michonneau the door, madame, we shallall leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there are onlyconvicts and spies left there. If you do the other thing, we will holdour tongues about the business; for when all is said and done, it mighthappen in the best society until they brand them on the forehead, whenthey send them to the hulks. They ought not to let convicts go aboutParis disguised like decent citizens, so as to carry on their anticslike a set of rascally humbugs, which they are."At this Mme. Vauquer recovered miraculously. She sat up and folded herarms; her eyes were wide open now, and there was no sign of tears inthem."Why, do you really mean to be the ruin of my establishment, my dearsir? There is M. Vautrin----Goodness," she cried, interrupting herself,"I can't help calling him by the name he passed himself off by for anhonest man! There is one room to let already, and you want me toturn out two more lodgers in the middle of the season, when no one ismoving----""Gentlemen, let us take our hats and go and dine at Flicoteaux's in thePlace Sorbonne," cried Bianchon.Mme. Vauquer glanced round, and saw in a moment on which side herinterest lay. She waddled across to Mlle. Michonneau."Come, now," she said; "you would not be the ruin of my establishment,would you, eh? There's a dear, kind soul. You see what a pass thesegentlemen have brought me to; just go up to your room for this evening.""Never a bit of it!" cried the boarders. "She must go, and go thisminute!""But the poor lady has had no dinner," said Poiret, with piteousentreaty."She can go and dine where she likes," shouted several voices."Turn her out, the spy!""Turn them both out! Spies!""Gentlemen," cried Poiret, his heart swelling with the courage that lovegives to the ovine male, "respect the weaker sex.""Spies are of no sex!" said the painter."A precious sexorama!""Turn her into the streetorama!""Gentlemen, this is not manners! If you turn people out of the house,it ought not to be done so unceremoniously and with no notice at all. Wehave paid our money, and we are not going," said Poiret, putting on hiscap, and taking a chair beside Mlle. Michonneau, with whom Mme. Vauquerwas remonstrating."Naughty boy!" said the painter, with a comical look; "run away, naughtylittle boy!""Look here," said Bianchon; "if you do not go, all the rest of us will,"and the boarders, to a man, made for the sitting-room-door."Oh! mademoiselle, what is to be done?" cried Mme. Vauquer. "I am aruined woman. You can't stay here; they will go further, do somethingviolent."Mlle. Michonneau rose to her feet."She is goingShe is going!--No, she isn't."These alternate exclamations, and a suggestion of hostile intentions,borne out by the behavior of the insurgents, compelled Mlle. Michonneauto take her departure. She made some stipulations, speaking in a lowvoice in her hostess' ear, and then--"I shall go to Mme. Buneaud's," shesaid, with a threatening look."Go where you please, mademoiselle," said Mme. Vauquer, who regardedthis choice of an opposition establishment as an atrocious insult. "Goand lodge with the Buneaud; the wine would give a cat the colic, and thefood is cheap and nasty."The boarders stood aside in two rows to let her pass; not a word wasspoken. Poiret looked so wistfully after Mlle. Michonneau, and soartlessly revealed that he was in two minds whether to go or stay, thatthe boarders, in their joy at being quit of Mlle. Michonneau, burst outlaughing at the sight of him."Histst! Poiret," shouted the painter. "Hallo! I say, Poiret,hallo!" The employe from the Museum began to sing:"Partant pour la Syrie,Le jeune et beau Dunois...""Get along with you; you must be dying to go, trahit sua quemquevoluptas!" said Bianchon."Every one to his taste--free rendering from Virgil," said the tutor.Mlle. Michonneau made a movement as if to take Poiret's arm, with anappealing glance that he could not resist. The two went out together,the old maid leaning upon him, and there was a burst of applause,followed by peals of laughter."Bravo, Poiret!""Who would have thought it of old Poiret!""Apollo Poiret!""Mars Poiret!""Intrepid Poiret!"A messenger came in at that moment with a letter for Mme. Vauquer, whoread it through, and collapsed in her chair."The house might as well be burned down at once," cried she, "if thereare to be any more of these thunderbolts! Young Taillefer died at threeo'clock this afternoon. It serves me right for wishing well to thoseladies at that poor man's expense. Mme. Couture and Victorine want meto send their things, because they are going to live with her father.M. Taillefer allows his daughter to keep old Mme. Couture as her ladycompanion. Four rooms to let! and five lodgers gone!..."She sat up, and seemed about to burst into tears."Bad luck has come to lodge here, I think," she cried.Once more there came a sound of wheels from the street outside."What! another windfall for somebody!" was Sylvie's comment.But it was Goriot who came in, looking so radiant, so flushed withhappiness, that he seemed to have grown young again."Goriot in a cab!" cried the boarders; "the world is coming to an end."The good soul made straight for Eugene, who was standing wrapped inthought in a corner, and laid a hand on the young man's arm."Come," he said, with gladness in his eyes."Then you haven't heard the news?" said Eugene. "Vautrin was an escapedconvict; they have just arrested him; and young Taillefer is dead.""Very well, but what business is it of ours?" replied Father Goriot. "Iam going to dine with my daughter in your house, do you understand?She is expecting you. Come!"He carried off Rastignac with him by main force, and they departed in asgreat a hurry as a pair of eloping lovers."Now, let us have dinner," cried the painter, and every one drew hischair to the table."Well, I never," said the portly Sylvie. "Nothing goes right to-day! Theharicot mutton has caught! Bah! you will have to eat it, burned as itis, more's the pity!"Mme. Vauquer was so dispirited that she could not say a word as shelooked round the table and saw only ten people where eighteen shouldbe; but every one tried to comfort and cheer her. At first the dinnercontingent, as was natural, talked about Vautrin and the day's events;but the conversation wound round to such topics of interest as duels,jails, justice, prison life, and alterations that ought to be madein the laws. They soon wandered miles away from Jacques Collin andVictorine and her brother. There might be only ten of them, but theymade noise enough for twenty; indeed, there seemed to be more of themthan usual; that was the only difference between yesterday and to-day.Indifference to the fate of others is a matter of course in this selfishworld, which, on the morrow of tragedy, seeks among the events ofParis for a fresh sensation for its daily renewed appetite, and thisindifference soon gained the upper hand. Mme. Vauquer herself grewcalmer under the soothing influence of hope, and the mouthpiece of hopewas the portly Sylvie.That day had gone by like a dream for Eugene, and the sense of unrealitylasted into the evening; so that, in spite of his energetic characterand clear-headedness, his ideas were a chaos as he sat beside Goriot inthe cab. The old man's voice was full of unwonted happiness, but Eugenehad been shaken by so many emotions that the words sounded in his earslike words spoken in a dream."It was finished this morning! All three of us are going to dinethere together, together! Do you understand? I have not dined with myDelphine, my little Delphine, these four years, and I shall have herfor a whole evening! We have been at your lodging the whole time sincemorning. I have been working like a porter in my shirt sleeves, helpingto carry in the furniture. Aha! you don't know what pretty ways shehas; at table she will look after me, 'Here, papa, just try this, it isnice.' And I shall not be able to eat. Oh, it is a long while since Ihave been with her in quiet every-day life as we shall have her.""It really seems as if the world has been turned upside down.""Upside down?" repeated Father Goriot. "Why, the world has never been soright-side up. I see none but smiling faces in the streets, people whoshake hands cordially and embrace each other, people who all look ashappy as if they were going to dine with their daughter, and gobble downa nice little dinner that she went with me to order of the chef at theCafe des Anglais. But, pshaw! with her beside you gall and wormwoodwould be as sweet as honey.""I feel as if I were coming back to life again," said Eugene."Why, hurry up there!" cried Father Goriot, letting down the window infront. "Get on faster; I will give you five francs if you get to theplace I told you of in ten minutes time."With this prospect before him the cabman crossed Paris with miraculouscelerity."How that fellow crawls!" said Father Goriot."But where are you taking me?" Eugene asked him."To your own house," said Goriot.The cab stopped in the Rue d'Artois. Father Goriot stepped out first andflung ten francs to the man with the recklessness of a widower returningto bachelor ways."Come along upstairs," he said to Rastignac. They crossed a courtyard,and climbed up to the third floor of a new and handsome house. Therethey stopped before a door; but before Goriot could ring, it was openedby Therese, Mme. de Nucingen's maid. Eugene found himself in a charmingset of chambers; an ante-room, a little drawing-room, a bedroom, and astudy, looking out upon a garden. The furniture and the decorations ofthe little drawing-room were of the most daintily charming description,the room was full of soft light, and Delphine rose up from a low chairby the fire and stood before him. She set her fire-screen down on thechimney-piece, and spoke with tenderness in every tone of her voice."So we had to go in search of you, sir, you who are so slow tounderstand!"Therese left the room. The student took Delphine in his arms and heldher in a tight clasp, his eyes filled with tears of joy. This lastcontrast between his present surroundings and the scenes he had justwitnessed was too much for Rastignac's over-wrought nerves, after theday's strain and excitement that had wearied heart and brain; he wasalmost overcome by it."I felt sure myself that he loved you," murmured Father Goriot, whileEugene lay back bewildered on the sofa, utterly unable to speak a wordor to reason out how and why the magic wand had been waved to bringabout this final transformation scene."But you must see your rooms," said Mme. de Nucingen. She took his handand led him into a room carpeted and furnished like her own; indeed,down to the smallest details, it was a reproduction in miniature ofDelphine's apartment."There is no bed," said Rastignac."No, monsieur," she answered, reddening, and pressing his hand. Eugene,looking at her, understood, young though he yet was, how deeply modestyis implanted in the heart of a woman who loves."You are one of those beings whom we cannot choose but to adore forever," he said in her ear. "Yes, the deeper and truer love is, the moremysterious and closely veiled it should be; I can dare to say so, sincewe understand each other so well. No one shall learn our secret.""Oh! so I am nobody, I suppose," growled the father."You know quite well that 'we' means you.""Ah! that is what I wanted. You will not mind me, will you? I shall goand come like a good fairy who makes himself felt everywhere withoutbeing seen, shall I not? Eh, Delphinette, Ninette, Dedel--was it not agood idea of mine to say to you, 'There are some nice rooms to let inthe Rue d'Artois; let us furnish them for him?' And she would not hearof it! Ah! your happiness has been all my doing. I am the author of yourhappiness and of your existence. Fathers must always be giving if theywould be happy themselves; always giving--they would not be fatherselse.""Was that how it happened?" asked Eugene."Yes. She would not listen to me. She was afraid that people wouldtalk, as if the rubbish that they say about you were to be compared withhappiness! Why, all women dream of doing what she has done----"Father Goriot found himself without an audience, for Mme. de Nucingenhad led Rastignac into the study; he heard a kiss given and taken, lowthough the sound was.The study was furnished as elegantly as the other rooms, and nothing waswanting there."Have we guessed your wishes rightly?" she asked, as they returned tothe drawing-room for dinner."Yes," he said, "only too well, alas! For all this luxury so wellcarried out, this realization of pleasant dreams, the elegance thatsatisfies all the romantic fancies of youth, appeals to me so stronglythat I cannot but feel that it is my rightful possession, but I cannotaccept it from you, and I am too poor as yet to----""Ah! ah! you say me nay already," she said with arch imperiousness,and a charming little pout of the lips, a woman's way of laughing awayscruples.But Eugene had submitted so lately to that solemn self-questioning, andVautrin's arrest had so plainly shown him the depths of the pit that layready to his feet, that the instincts of generosity and honor had beenstrengthened in him, and he could not allow himself to be coaxed intoabandoning his high-minded determinations. Profound melancholy filledhis mind."Do you really mean to refuse?" said Mme. de Nucingen. "And do you knowwhat such a refusal means? That you are not sure of yourself, that youdo not dare to bind yourself to me. Are you really afraid of betrayingmy affection? If you love me, if I--love you, why should you shrink backfrom such a slight obligation? If you but knew what a pleasure it hasbeen to see after all the arrangements of this bachelor establishment,you would not hesitate any longer, you would ask me to forgive you foryour hesitation. I had some money that belonged to you, and I have madegood use of it, that is all. You mean this for magnanimity, but it isvery little of you. You are asking me for far more than this.... Ah!"she cried, as Eugene's passionate glance was turned on her, "and you aremaking difficulties about the merest trifles. Of, if you feel no lovewhatever for me, refuse, by all means. My fate hangs on a word from you.Speak!--Father," she said after a pause, "make him listen to reason. Canhe imagine that I am less nice than he is on the point of honor?"Father Goriot was looking on and listening to this pretty quarrel with aplacid smile, as if he had found some balm for all the sorrows of life."Child that you are!" she cried again, catching Eugene's hand. "You arejust beginning life; you find barriers at the outset that many a manfinds insurmountable; a woman's hand opens the way and you shrink back!Why, you are sure to succeed! You will have a brilliant future. Successis written on that broad forehead of yours, and will you not be able torepay me my loan of to-day? Did not a lady in olden times arm her knightwith sword and helmet and coat of mail, and find him a charger, so thathe might fight for her in the tournament? Well, then, Eugene, thesethings that I offer you are the weapons of this age; every one whomeans to be something must have such tools as these. A pretty place yourgarret must be if it is like papa's room! See, dinner is waiting allthis time. Do you want to make me unhappy?--Why don't you answer?" shesaid, shaking his hand. "Mon Dieu! papa, make up his mind for him, orI will go away and never see him any more.""I will make up your mind," said Goriot, coming down from the clouds."Now, my dear M. Eugene, the next thing is to borrow money of the Jews,isn't it?""There is positively no help for it," said Eugene."All right, I will give you credit," said the other, drawing out a cheapleather pocket-book, much the worse for wear. "I have turned Jew myself;I paid for everything; here are the invoices. You do not owe a pennyfor anything here. It did not come to very much--five thousand francs atmost, and I am going to lend you the money myself. I am not a woman--youcan refuse me. You shall give me a receipt on a scrap of paper, and youcan return it some time or other."Delphine and Eugene looked at each other in amazement, tears sprang totheir eyes. Rastignac held out his hand and grasped Goriot's warmly."Well, what is all this about? Are you not my children?""Oh! my poor father," said Mme. de Nucingen, "how did you do it?""Ah! now you ask me. When I made up my mind to move him nearer to you,and saw you buying things as if they were wedding presents, I said tomyself, 'She will never be able to pay for them.' The attorney says thatthose law proceedings will last quite six months before your husband canbe made to disgorge your fortune. Well and good. I sold out my propertyin the funds that brought in thirteen hundred and fifty livres a year,and bought a safe annuity of twelve hundred francs a year for fifteenthousand francs. Then I paid your tradesmen out of the rest of thecapital. As for me, children, I have a room upstairs for which I payfifty crowns a year; I can live like a prince on two francs a day, andstill have something left over. I shall not have to spend anything muchon clothes, for I never wear anything out. This fortnight past I havebeen laughing in my sleeve, thinking to myself, 'How happy they aregoing to be!' and--well, now, are you not happy?""Oh papa! papa!" cried Mme. de Nucingen, springing to her father, whotook her on his knee. She covered him with kisses, her fair hair brushedhis cheek, her tears fell on the withered face that had grown so brightand radiant."Dear father, what a father you are! No, there is not another fatherlike you under the sun. If Eugene loved you before, what must he feelfor you now?""Why, children, why Delphinette!" cried Goriot, who had not felt hisdaughter's heart beat against his breast for ten years, "do you want meto die of joy? My poor heart will break! Come, Monsieur Eugene, we arequits already." And the old man strained her to his breast with suchfierce and passionate force that she cried out."Oh! you are hurting me!" she said."I am hurting you!" He grew pale at the words. The pain expressed in hisface seemed greater than it is given to humanity to know. The agony ofthis Christ of paternity can only be compared with the masterpieces ofthose princes of the palette who have left for us the record of theirvisions of an agony suffered for a whole world by the Saviour of men.Father Goriot pressed his lips very gently against the waist than hisfingers had grasped too roughly."Oh! no, no," he cried. "I have not hurt you, have I?" and his smileseemed to repeat the question. "YOU have hurt me with that cry justnow.--The things cost rather more than that," he said in her ear, withanother gentle kiss, "but I had to deceive him about it, or he wouldhave been angry."Eugene sat dumb with amazement in the presence of this inexhaustiblelove; he gazed at Goriot, and his face betrayed the artless admirationwhich shapes the beliefs of youth."I will be worthy of all this," he cried."Oh! my Eugene, that is nobly said," and Mme. de Nucingen kissed the lawstudent on the forehead."He gave up Mlle. Taillefer and her millions for you," said FatherGoriot. "Yes, the little thing was in love with you, and now that herbrother is dead she is as rich as Croesus.""Oh! why did you tell her?" cried Rastignac."Eugene," Delphine said in his ear, "I have one regret now this evening.Ah! how I will love you! and for ever!""This is the happiest day I have had since you two were married!" criedGoriot. "God may send me any suffering, so long as I do not sufferthrough you, and I can still say, 'In this short month of February I hadmore happiness than other men have in their whole lives.'--Look at me,Fifine!" he said to his daughter. "She is very beautiful, is she not?Tell me, now, have you seen many women with that pretty soft color--thatlittle dimple of hers? No, I thought not. Ah, well, and but for me thislovely woman would never have been. And very soon happiness will makeher a thousand times lovelier, happiness through you. I could give upmy place in heaven to you, neighbor, if needs be, and go down to hellinstead. Come, let us have dinner," he added, scarcely knowing what hesaid, "everything is ours.""Poor dear father!"He rose and went over to her, and took her face in his hands, and set akiss on the plaits of hair. "If you only knew, little one, how happy youcan make me--how little it takes to make me happy! Will you come and seeme sometimes? I shall be just above, so it is only a step. Promise me,say that you will!""Yes, dear father.""Say it again.""Yes, I will, my kind father.""Hush! hush! I should make you say it a hundred times over if I followedmy own wishes. Let us have dinner."The three behaved like children that evening, and Father Goriot'sspirits were certainly not the least wild. He lay at his daughter'sfeet, kissed them, gazed into her eyes, rubbed his head against herdress; in short, no young lover could have been more extravagant or moretender."You see!" Delphine said with a look at Eugene, "so long as my father iswith us, he monopolizes me. He will be rather in the way sometimes."Eugene had himself already felt certain twinges of jealousy, and couldnot blame this speech that contained the germ of all ingratitude."And when will the rooms be ready?" asked Eugene, looking round. "Wemust all leave them this evening, I suppose.""Yes, but to-morrow you must come and dine with me," she answered, withan eloquent glance. "It is our night at the Italiens.""I shall go to the pit," said her father.It was midnight. Mme. de Nucingen's carriage was waiting for her, andFather Goriot and the student walked back to the Maison Vauquer, talkingof Delphine, and warming over their talk till there grew up a curiousrivalry between the two violent passions. Eugene could not help seeingthat the father's self-less love was deeper and more steadfast thanhis own. For this worshiper Delphine was always pure and fair, and herfather's adoration drew its fervor from a whole past as well as a futureof love.They found Mme. Vauquer by the stove, with Sylvie and Christophe to keepher company; the old landlady, sitting like Marius among the ruins ofCarthage, was waiting for the two lodgers that yet remained to her, andbemoaning her lot with the sympathetic Sylvie. Tasso's lamentations asrecorded in Byron's poem are undoubtedly eloquent, but for sheer forceof truth they fall far short of the widow's cry from the depths."Only three cups of coffee in the morning, Sylvie! Oh dear! to have yourhouse emptied in this way is enough to break your heart. What is life,now my lodgers are gone? Nothing at all. Just think of it! It is just asif all the furniture had been taken out of the house, and your furnitureis your life. How have I offended heaven to draw down all this troubleupon me? And haricot beans and potatoes laid in for twenty people!The police in my house too! We shall have to live on potatoes now, andChristophe will have to go!"The Savoyard, who was fast asleep, suddenly woke up at this, and said,"Madame," questioningly."Poor fellow!" said Sylvie, "he is like a dog.""In the dead season, too! Nobody is moving now. I would like to knowwhere the lodgers are to drop down from. It drives me distracted. Andthat old witch of a Michonneau goes and takes Poiret with her! What canshe have done to make him so fond of her? He runs about after her like alittle dog.""Lord!" said Sylvie, flinging up her head, "those old maids are up toall sorts of tricks.""There's that poor M. Vautrin that they made out to be a convict," thewidow went on. "Well, you know that is too much for me, Sylvie; Ican't bring myself to believe it. Such a lively man as he was, and paidfifteen francs a month for his coffee of an evening, paid you very pennyon the nail too.""And open-handed he was!" said Christophe."There is some mistake," said Sylvie."Why, no there isn't! he said so himself!" said Mme. Vauquer. "And tothink that all these things have happened in my house, and in a quarterwhere you never see a cat go by. On my word as an honest woman, it'slike a dream. For, look here, we saw Louis XVI. meet with his mishap;we saw the fall of the Emperor; and we saw him come back and fall again;there was nothing out of the way in all that, but lodging-houses are notliable to revolutions. You can do without a king, but you must eat allthe same; and so long as a decent woman, a de Conflans born and bred,will give you all sorts of good things for dinner, nothing short of theend of the world ought to--but there, it is the end of the world, thatis just what it is!""And to think that Mlle. Michonneau who made all this mischief is tohave a thousand crowns a year for it, so I hear," cried Sylvie."Don't speak of her, she is a wicked woman!" said Mme. Vauquer. "Sheis going to the Buneaud, who charges less than cost. But the Buneaudis capable of anything; she must have done frightful things, robbedand murdered people in her time. She ought to be put in jail for lifeinstead of that poor dear----"Eugene and Goriot rang the door-bell at that moment."Ah! here are my two faithful lodgers," said the widow, sighing.But the two faithful lodgers, who retained but shadowy recollectionsof the misfortunes of their lodging-house, announced to their hostesswithout more ado that they were about to remove to the Chaussee d'Antin."Sylvie!" cried the widow, "this is the last straw.--Gentlemen, thiswill be the death of me! It has quite upset me! There's a weight on mychest! I am ten years older for this day! Upon my word, I shall go outof my senses! And what is to be done with the haricots!--Oh, well, ifI am to be left here all by myself, you shall go to-morrow,Christophe.--Good-night, gentlemen," and she went."What is the matter now?" Eugene inquired of Sylvie."Lord! everybody is going about his business, and that has addled herwits. There! she is crying upstairs. It will do her good to snivel abit. It's the first time she has cried since I've been with her."By the morning, Mme. Vauquer, to use her own expression, had "made upher mind to it." True, she still wore a doleful countenance, as mightbe expected of a woman who had lost all her lodgers, and whose mannerof life had been suddenly revolutionized, but she had all her wits abouther. Her grief was genuine and profound; it was real pain of mind, forher purse had suffered, the routine of her existence had been broken. Alover's farewell glance at his lady-love's window is not more mournfulthan Mme. Vauquer's survey of the empty places round her table. Eugeneadministered comfort, telling the widow that Bianchon, whose term ofresidence at the hospital was about to expire, would doubtless takehis (Rastignac's) place; that the official from the Museum had oftenexpressed a desire to have Mme. Couture's rooms; and that in a very fewdays her household would be on the old footing."God send it may, my dear sir! but bad luck has come to lodge here.There'll be a death in the house before ten days are out, you'll see,"and she gave a lugubrious look round the dining-room. "Whose turn willit be, I wonder?""It is just as well that we are moving out," said Eugene to FatherGoriot in a low voice."Madame," said Sylvie, running in with a scared face, "I have not seenMistigris these three days.""Ah! well, if my cat is dead, if he has gone and left us, I----"The poor woman could not finish her sentence; she clasped her handsand hid her face on the back of her armchair, quite overcome by thisdreadful portent.By twelve o'clock, when the postman reaches that quarter, Eugenereceived a letter. The dainty envelope bore the Beauseant arms on theseal, and contained an invitation to the Vicomtesse's great ball, whichhad been talked of in Paris for a month. A little note for Eugene wasslipped in with the card."I think, monsieur, that you will undertake with pleasure tointerpret my sentiments to Mme. de Nucingen, so I am sending thecard for which you asked me to you. I shall be delighted to makethe acquaintance of Mme. de Restaud's sister. Pray introduce thatcharming lady to me, and do not let her monopolize all youraffection, for you owe me not a little in return for mine."VICOMTESSE DE BEAUSEANT.""Well," said Eugene to himself, as he read the note a second time, "Mme.de Beauseant says pretty plainly that she does not want the Baron deNucingen."He went to Delphine at once in his joy. He had procured this pleasurefor her, and doubtless he would receive the price of it. Mme. deNucingen was dressing. Rastignac waited in her boudoir, enduring as besthe might the natural impatience of an eager temperament for the rewarddesired and withheld for a year. Such sensations are only known oncein a life. The first woman to whom a man is drawn, if she is reallya woman--that is to say, if she appears to him amid the splendidaccessories that form a necessary background to life in the world ofParis--will never have a rival.Love in Paris is a thing distinct and apart; for in Paris neither mennor women are the dupes of the commonplaces by which people seek tothrow a veil over their motives, or to parade a fine affectation ofdisinterestedness in their sentiments. In this country within a country,it is not merely required of a woman that she should satisfy the sensesand the soul; she knows perfectly well that she has still greaterobligations to discharge, that she must fulfil the countless demandsof a vanity that enters into every fibre of that living organism calledsociety. Love, for her, is above all things, and by its very nature, avainglorious, brazen-fronted, ostentatious, thriftless charlatan. Ifat the Court of Louis XIV. there was not a woman but envied Mlle. de laValliere the reckless devotion of passion that led the grand monarch totear the priceless ruffles at his wrists in order to assist the entry ofa Duc de Vermandois into the world--what can you expect of the restof society? You must have youth and wealth and rank; nay, you must, ifpossible, have more than these, for the more incense you bring with youto burn at the shrine of the god, the more favorably will he regard theworshiper. Love is a religion, and his cult must in the nature of thingsbe more costly than those of all other deities; Love the Spoiler staysfor a moment, and then passes on; like the urchin of the streets, hiscourse may be traced by the ravages that he has made. The wealth offeeling and imagination is the poetry of the garret; how should loveexist there without that wealth?If there are exceptions who do not subscribe to these Draconian laws ofthe Parisian code, they are solitary examples. Such souls live so farout of the main current that they are not borne away by the doctrinesof society; they dwell beside some clear spring of everflowing water,without seeking to leave the green shade; happy to listen to the echoesof the infinite in everything around them and in their own souls,waiting in patience to take their flight for heaven, while they lookwith pity upon those of earth.Rastignac, like most young men who have been early impressed by thecircumstances of power and grandeur, meant to enter the lists fullyarmed; the burning ambition of conquest possessed him already; perhapshe was conscious of his powers, but as yet he knew neither the end towhich his ambition was to be directed, nor the means of attaining it.In default of the pure and sacred love that fills a life, ambitionmay become something very noble, subduing to itself every thought ofpersonal interest, and setting as the end--the greatness, not of oneman, but of a whole nation.But the student had not yet reached the time of life when a man surveysthe whole course of existence and judges it soberly. Hitherto he hadscarcely so much as shaken off the spell of the fresh and graciousinfluences that envelop a childhood in the country, like green leavesand grass. He had hesitated on the brink of the Parisian Rubicon, andin spite of the prickings of ambition, he still clung to a lingeringtradition of an old ideal--the peaceful life of the noble in hischateau. But yesterday evening, at the sight of his rooms, thosescruples had vanished. He had learned what it was to enjoy the materialadvantages of fortune, as he had already enjoyed the social advantagesof birth; he ceased to be a provincial from that moment, and slippednaturally and easily into a position which opened up a prospect of abrilliant future.So, as he waited for Delphine, in the pretty boudoir, where he feltthat he had a certain right to be, he felt himself so far away from theRastignac who came back to Paris a year ago, that, turning some power ofinner vision upon this latter, he asked himself whether that past selfbore any resemblance to the Rastignac of that moment."Madame is in her room," Therese came to tell him. The woman's voicemade him start.He found Delphine lying back in her low chair by the fireside, lookingfresh and bright. The sight of her among the flowing draperies of muslinsuggested some beautiful tropical flower, where the fruit is set amidthe blossom."Well," she said, with a tremor in her voice, "here you are.""Guess what I bring for you," said Eugene, sitting down beside her. Hetook possession of her arm to kiss her hand.Mme. de Nucingen gave a joyful start as she saw the card. She turnedto Eugene; there were tears in her eyes as she flung her arms about hisneck, and drew him towards her in a frenzy of gratified vanity."And I owe this happiness to you--to thee" (she whispered the moreintimate word in his ear); "but Therese is in my dressing-room, let usbe prudent.--This happiness--yes, for I may call it so, when it comesto me through you--is surely more than a triumph for self-love? No onehas been willing to introduce me into that set. Perhaps just now I mayseem to you to be frivolous, petty, shallow, like a Parisienne, butremember, my friend, that I am ready to give up all for you; and that ifI long more than ever for an entrance into the Faubourg Saint-Germain,it is because I shall meet you there.""Mme. de Beauseant's note seems to say very plainly that she does notexpect to see the Baron de Nucingen at her ball; don't you think so?"said Eugene."Why, yes," said the Baroness as she returned the letter. "Those womenhave a talent for insolence. But it is of no consequence, I shall go.My sister is sure to be there, and sure to be very beautifullydressed.--Eugene," she went on, lowering her voice, "she will go todispel ugly suspicions. You do not know the things that people aresaying about her. Only this morning Nucingen came to tell me that theyhad been discussing her at the club. Great heavens! on what does awoman's character and the honor of a whole family depend! I feel thatI am nearly touched and wounded in my poor sister. According to somepeople, M. de Trailles must have put his name to bills for a hundredthousand francs, nearly all of them are overdue, and proceedings arethreatened. In this predicament, it seems that my sister sold herdiamonds to a Jew--the beautiful diamonds that belonged to her husband'smother, Mme. de Restaud the elder,--you have seen her wearing them. Infact, nothing else has been talked about for the last two days. So I cansee that Anastasie is sure to come to Mme. de Beauseant's ball in tissueof gold, and ablaze with diamonds, to draw all eyes upon her; and I willnot be outshone. She has tried to eclipse me all her life, she has neverbeen kind to me, and I have helped her so often, and always had moneyfor her when she had none.--But never mind other people now, to-day Imean to be perfectly happy."At one o'clock that morning Eugene was still with Mme. de Nucingen. Inthe midst of their lovers' farewell, a farewell full of hope of bliss tocome, she said in a troubled voice, "I am very fearful, superstitious.Give what name you like to my presentiments, but I am afraid that myhappiness will be paid for by some horrible catastrophe.""Child!" said Eugene."Ah! have we changed places, and am I the child to-night?" she asked,laughingly.Eugene went back to the Maison Vauquer, never doubting but that heshould leave it for good on the morrow; and on the way he fell todreaming the bright dreams of youth, when the cup of happiness has leftits sweetness on the lips."Well?" cried Goriot, as Rastignac passed by his door."Yes," said Eugene; "I will tell you everything to-morrow.""Everything, will you not?" cried the old man. "Go to bed. To-morrow ourhappy life will begin."Next day, Goriot and Rastignac were ready to leave the lodging-house,and only awaited the good pleasure of a porter to move out of it;but towards noon there was a sound of wheels in the RueNeuve-Sainte-Genevieve, and a carriage stopped before the door of theMaison Vauquer. Mme. de Nucingen alighted, and asked if her father wasstill in the house, and, receiving an affirmative reply from Sylvie, ranlightly upstairs.It so happened that Eugene was at home all unknown to his neighbor. Atbreakfast time he had asked Goriot to superintend the removal ofhis goods, saying that he would meet him in the Rue d'Artois at fouro'clock; but Rastignac's name had been called early on the list atthe Ecole de Droit, and he had gone back at once to the RueNueve-Sainte-Genevieve. No one had seen him come in, for Goriot had goneto find a porter, and the mistress of the house was likewise out. Eugenehad thought to pay her himself, for it struck him that if he left this,Goriot in his zeal would probably pay for him. As it was, Eugene wentup to his room to see that nothing had been forgotten, and blessed hisforesight when he saw the blank bill bearing Vautrin's signature lyingin the drawer where he had carelessly thrown it on the day when he hadrepaid the amount. There was no fire in the grate, so he was about totear it into little pieces, when he heard a voice speaking in Goriot'sroom, and the speaker was Delphine! He made no more noise, and stoodstill to listen, thinking that she should have no secrets from him;but after the first few words, the conversation between the fatherand daughter was so strange and interesting that it absorbed all hisattention."Ah! thank heaven that you thought of asking him to give an account ofthe money settled on me before I was utterly ruined, father. Is it safeto talk?" she added."Yes, there is no one in the house," said her father faintly."What is the matter with you?" asked Mme. de Nucingen."God forgive you! you have just dealt me a staggering blow, child!" saidthe old man. "You cannot know how much I love you, or you would not haveburst in upon me like this, with such news, especially if all is notlost. Has something so important happened that you must come here aboutit? In a few minutes we should have been in the Rue d'Artois.""Eh! does one think what one is doing after a catastrophe? It has turnedmy head. Your attorney has found out the state of things now, but itwas bound to come out sooner or later. We shall want your long businessexperience; and I come to you like a drowning man who catches at abranch. When M. Derville found that Nucingen was throwing all sorts ofdifficulties in his way, he threatened him with proceedings, and toldhim plainly that he would soon obtain an order from the President of theTribunal. So Nucingen came to my room this morning, and asked if I meantto ruin us both. I told him that I knew nothing whatever about it, thatI had a fortune, and ought to be put into possession of my fortune, andthat my attorney was acting for me in the matter; I said again that Iknew absolutely nothing about it, and could not possibly go into thesubject with him. Wasn't that what you told me to tell him?""Yes, quite right," answered Goriot."Well, then," Delphine continued, "he told me all about his affairs.He had just invested all his capital and mine in business speculations;they have only just been started, and very large sums of money arelocked up. If I were to compel him to refund my dowry now, he would beforced to file his petition; but if I will wait a year, he undertakes,on his honor, to double or treble my fortune, by investing it inbuilding land, and I shall be mistress at last of the whole of myproperty. He was speaking the truth, father dear; he frightened me! Heasked my pardon for his conduct; he has given me my liberty; I am freeto act as I please on condition that I leave him to carry on my businessin my name. To prove his sincerity, he promised that M. Derville mightinspect the accounts as often as I pleased, so that I might be assuredthat everything was being conducted properly. In short, he put himselfin my power, bound hand and foot. He wishes the present arrangementsas to the expenses of housekeeping to continue for two more years, andentreated me not to exceed my allowance. He showed me plainly that itwas all that he could do to keep up appearances; he has broken with hisopera dancer; he will be compelled to practise the most strict economy(in secret) if he is to bide his time with unshaken credit. I scolded, Idid all I could to drive him to desperation, so as to find out more. Heshowed me his ledgers--he broke down and cried at last. I never sawa man in such a state. He lost his head completely, talked of killinghimself, and raved till I felt quite sorry for him.""Do you really believe that silly rubbish?"... cried her father. "It wasall got up for your benefit! I have had to do with Germans in the wayof business, honest and straightforward they are pretty sure to be, butwhen with their simplicity and frankness they are sharpers and humbugsas well, they are the worst rogues of all. Your husband is takingadvantage of you. As soon as pressure is brought to bear on him he shamsdead; he means to be more the master under your name than in his own. Hewill take advantage of the position to secure himself against the risksof business. He is as sharp as he is treacherous; he is a bad lot! No,no; I am not going to leave my girls behind me without a penny when I goto Pere-Lachaise. I know something about business still. He has sunkhis money in speculation, he says; very well then, there is something toshow for it--bills, receipts, papers of some sort. Let him produce them,and come to an arrangement with you. We will choose the most promisingof his speculations, take them over at our own risk, and have thesecurities transferred into your name; they shall represent the separateestate of Delphine Goriot, wife of the Baron de Nucingen. Does thatfellow really take us for idiots? Does he imagine that I could standthe idea of your being without fortune, without bread, for forty-eighthours? I would not stand it a day--no, not a night, not a couple ofhours! If there had been any foundation for the idea, I should never getover it. What! I have worked hard for forty years, carried sacks onmy back, and sweated and pinched and saved all my life for you, mydarlings, for you who made the toil and every burden borne for you seemlight; and now, my fortune, my whole life, is to vanish in smoke! Ishould die raving mad if I believed a word of it. By all that's holiestin heaven and earth, we will have this cleared up at once; go throughthe books, have the whole business looked thoroughly into! I will notsleep, nor rest, nor eat until I have satisfied myself that all yourfortune is in existence. Your money is settled upon you, God be thanked!and, luckily, your attorney, Maitre Derville, is an honest man. GoodLord! you shall have your snug little million, your fifty thousandfrancs a year, as long as you live, or I will raise a racket in Paris, Iwill so! If the Tribunals put upon us, I will appeal to the Chambers.If I knew that you were well and comfortably off as far as money isconcerned, that thought would keep me easy in spite of bad health andtroubles. Money? why, it is life! Money does everything. That great doltof an Alsatian shall sing to another tune! Look here, Delphine, don'tgive way, don't make a concession of half a quarter of a farthing tothat fathead, who has ground you down and made you miserable. If hecan't do without you, we will give him a good cudgeling, and keep himin order. Great heavens! my brain is on fire; it is as if there weresomething redhot inside my head. My Delphine lying on straw! You! myFifine! Good gracious! Where are my gloves? Come, let us go at once;I mean to see everything with my own eyes--books, cash, andcorrespondence, the whole business. I shall have no peace until I knowfor certain that your fortune is secure.""Oh! father dear, be careful how you set about it! If there is the leasthint of vengeance in the business, if you show yourself openly hostile,it will be all over with me. He knows whom he has to deal with; hethinks it quite natural that if you put the idea into my head, I shouldbe uneasy about my money; but I swear to you that he has it in his ownhands, and that he had meant to keep it. He is just the man to abscondwith all the money and leave us in the lurch, the scoundrel! He knowsquite well that I will not dishonor the name I bear by bringing him intoa court of law. His position is strong and weak at the same time. If wedrive him to despair, I am lost.""Why, then, the man is a rogue?""Well, yes, father," she said, flinging herself into a chair, "I wantedto keep it from you to spare your feelings," and she burst into tears;"I did not want you to know that you had married me to such a man ashe is. He is just the same in private life--body and soul andconscience--the same through and through--hideous! I hate him; I despisehim! Yes, after all that that despicable Nucingen has told me, I cannotrespect him any longer. A man capable of mixing himself up in suchaffairs, and of talking about them to me as he did, without theslightest scruple,--it is because I have read him through and throughthat I am afraid of him. He, my husband, frankly proposed to give me myliberty, and do you know what that means? It means that if thingsturn out badly for him, I am to play into his hands, and be hisstalking-horse.""But there is law to be had! There is a Place de Greve for sons-in-lawof that sort," cried her father; "why, I would guillotine him myself ifthere was no headsman to do it.""No, father, the law cannot touch him. Listen, this is what he says,stripped of all his circumlocutions--'Take your choice, you and no oneelse can be my accomplice; either everything is lost, you are ruinedand have not a farthing, or you will let me carry this business throughmyself.' Is that plain speaking? He must have my assistance. He isassured that his wife will deal fairly by him; he knows that I shallleave his money to him and be content with my own. It is an unholy anddishonest compact, and he holds out threats of ruin to compel me toconsent to it. He is buying my conscience, and the price is liberty tobe Eugene's wife in all but name. 'I connive at your errors, and youallow me to commit crimes and ruin poor families!' Is that sufficientlyexplicit? Do you know what he means by speculations? He buys up land inhis own name, then he finds men of straw to run up houses upon it. Thesemen make a bargain with a contractor to build the houses, paying them bybills at long dates; then in consideration of a small sum they leavemy husband in possession of the houses, and finally slip through thefingers of the deluded contractors by going into bankruptcy. The name ofthe firm of Nucingen has been used to dazzle the poor contractors. I sawthat. I noticed, too, that Nucingen had sent bills for large amounts toAmsterdam, London, Naples, and Vienna, in order to prove if necessarythat large sums had been paid away by the firm. How could we getpossession of those bills?"Eugene heard a dull thud on the floor; Father Goriot must have fallen onhis knees."Great heavens! what have I done to you? Bound my daughter to thisscoundrel who does as he likes with her!--Oh! my child, my child!forgive me!" cried the old man."Yes, if I am in the depths of despair, perhaps you are to blame," saidDelphine. "We have so little sense when we marry! What do we know of theworld, of business, or men, or life? Our fathers should think for us!Father dear, I am not blaming you in the least, forgive me for whatI said. This is all my own fault. Nay, do not cry, papa," she said,kissing him."Do not cry either, my little Delphine. Look up and let me kiss awaythe tears. There! I shall find my wits and unravel this skein of yourhusband's winding.""No, let me do that; I shall be able to manage him. He is fond of me,well and good; I shall use my influence to make him invest my money assoon as possible in landed property in my own name. Very likely I couldget him to buy back Nucingen in Alsace in my name; that has always beena pet idea of his. Still, come to-morrow and go through the books, andlook into the business. M. Derville knows little of mercantile matters.No, not to-morrow though. I do not want to be upset. Mme. de Beauseant'sball will be the day after to-morrow, and I must keep quiet, so as tolook my best and freshest, and do honor to my dear Eugene!... Come, letus see his room."But as she spoke a carriage stopped in the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve,and the sound of Mme. de Restaud's voice came from the staircase. "Is myfather in?" she asked of Sylvie.This accident was luckily timed for Eugene, whose one idea had been tothrow himself down on the bed and pretend to be asleep."Oh, father, have you heard about Anastasie?" said Delphine, when sheheard her sister speak. "It looks as though some strange things hadhappened in that family.""What sort of things?" asked Goriot. "This is like to be the death ofme. My poor head will not stand a double misfortune.""Good-morning, father," said the Countess from the threshold. "Oh!Delphine, are you here?"Mme. de Restaud seemed taken aback by her sister's presence."Good-morning, Nasie," said the Baroness. "What is there soextraordinary in my being here? I see our father every day.""Since when?""If you came yourself you would know.""Don't tease, Delphine," said the Countess fretfully. "I am verymiserable, I am lost. Oh! my poor father, it is hopeless this time!""What is it, Nasie?" cried Goriot. "Tell us all about it, child! Howwhite she is! Quick, do something, Delphine; be kind to her, and I willlove you even better, if that were possible.""Poor Nasie!" said Mme. de Nucingen, drawing her sister to a chair. "Weare the only two people in the world whose love is always sufficient toforgive you everything. Family affection is the surest, you see."The Countess inhaled the salts and revived."This will kill me!" said their father. "There," he went on, stirringthe smouldering fire, "come nearer, both of you. It is cold. What is it,Nasie? Be quick and tell me, this is enough to----""Well, then, my husband knows everything," said the Countess. "Justimagine it; do you remember, father, that bill of Maxime's some timeago? Well, that was not the first. I had paid ever so many before that.About the beginning of January M. de Trailles seemed very much troubled.He said nothing to me; but it is so easy to read the hearts of those youlove, a mere trifle is enough; and then you feel things instinctively.Indeed, he was more tender and affectionate than ever, and I was happierthan I had ever been before. Poor Maxime! in himself he was reallysaying good-bye to me, so he has told me since; he meant to blow hisbrains out! At last I worried him so, and begged and implored so hard;for two hours I knelt at his knees and prayed and entreated, and at lasthe told me--that he owed a hundred thousand francs. Oh! papa! a hundredthousand francs! I was beside myself! You had not the money, I knew, Ihad eaten up all that you had----""No," said Goriot; "I could not have got it for you unless I had stolenit. But I would have done that for you, Nasie! I will do it yet."The words came from him like a sob, a hoarse sound like the deathrattle of a dying man; it seemed indeed like the agony of death whenthe father's love was powerless. There was a pause, and neither of thesisters spoke. It must have been selfishness indeed that could hearunmoved that cry of anguish that, like a pebble thrown over a precipice,revealed the depths of his despair."I found the money, father, by selling what was not mine to sell," andthe Countess burst into tears.Delphine was touched; she laid her head on her sister's shoulder, andcried too."Then it is all true," she said.Anastasie bowed her head, Mme. de Nucingen flung her arms about her,kissed her tenderly, and held her sister to her heart."I shall always love you and never judge you, Nasie," she said."My angels," murmured Goriot faintly. "Oh, why should it be trouble thatdraws you together?"This warm and palpitating affection seemed to give the Countess courage."To save Maxime's life," she said, "to save all my own happiness, Iwent to the money-lender you know of, a man of iron forged in hell-fire;nothing can melt him; I took all the family diamonds that M. de Restaudis so proud of--his and mine too--and sold them to that M. Gobseck.Sold them! Do you understand? I saved Maxime, but I am lost. Restaudfound it all out.""How? Who told him? I will kill him," cried Goriot."Yesterday he sent to tell me to come to his room. I went. ...'Anastasie,' he said in a voice--oh! such a voice; that was enough, ittold me everything--'where are your diamonds?'--'In my room----'--'No,'he said, looking straight at me, 'there they are on that chest ofdrawers----' and he lifted his handkerchief and showed me the casket.'Do you know where they came from?' he said. I fell at his feet.... Icried; I besought him to tell me the death he wished to see me die.""You said that!" cried Goriot. "By God in heaven, whoever lays a hand oneither of you so long as I am alive may reckon on being roasted by slowfires! Yes, I will cut him in pieces like..."Goriot stopped; the words died away in his throat."And then, dear, he asked something worse than death of me. Oh! heavenpreserve all other women from hearing such words as I heard then!""I will murder that man," said Goriot quietly. "But he has only onelife, and he deserves to die twice.--And then, what next?" he added,looking at Anastasie."Then," the Countess resumed, "there was a pause, and he looked at me.'Anastasie,' he said, 'I will bury this in silence; there shall be noseparation; there are the children. I will not kill M. de Trailles. Imight miss him if we fought, and as for other ways of getting rid ofhim, I should come into collision with the law. If I killed him in yourarms, it would bring dishonor on those children. But if you do notwant to see your children perish, nor their father nor me, you mustfirst of all submit to two conditions. Answer me. Have I a child of myown?' I answered, 'Yes,'--'Which?'--'Ernest, our eldest boy.'--'Verywell,' he said, 'and now swear to obey me in this particular from thistime forward.' I swore. 'You will make over your property to me when Irequire you to do so.'""Do nothing of the kind!" cried Goriot. "Aha! M. de Restaud, you couldnot make your wife happy; she has looked for happiness and found itelsewhere, and you make her suffer for your own ineptitude? He will haveto reckon with me. Make yourself easy, Nasie. Aha! he cares about hisheir! Good, very good. I will get hold of the boy; isn't he my grandson?What the blazes! I can surely go to see the brat! I will stow him awaysomewhere; I will take care of him, you may be quite easy. I will bringRestaud to terms, the monster! I shall say to him, 'A word or two withyou! If you want your son back again, give my daughter her property, andleave her to do as she pleases.'""Father!""Yes. I am your father, Nasie, a father indeed! That rogue of a greatlord had better not ill-treat my daughter. Tonnerre! What is it in myveins? There is the blood of a tiger in me; I could tear those two mento pieces! Oh! children, children! so this is what your lives are! Why,it is death!... What will become of you when I shall be here no longer?Fathers ought to live as long as their children. Ah! Lord God in heaven!how ill Thy world is ordered! Thou hast a Son, if what they tell usis true, and yet Thou leavest us to suffer so through our children. Mydarlings, my darlings! to think that trouble only should bring you tome, that I should only see you with tears on your faces! Ah! yes, yes,you love me, I see that you love me. Come to me and pour out your griefsto me; my heart is large enough to hold them all. Oh! you might rend myheart in pieces, and every fragment would make a father's heart. If onlyI could bear all your sorrows for you! ... Ah! you were so happy whenyou were little and still with me....""We have never been happy since," said Delphine. "Where are the old dayswhen we slid down the sacks in the great granary?""That is not all, father," said Anastasie in Goriot's ear. The old mangave a startled shudder. "The diamonds only sold for a hundred thousandfrancs. Maxime is hard pressed. There are twelve thousand francs stillto pay. He has given me his word that he will be steady and give up playin future. His love is all that I have left in the world. I have paidsuch a fearful price for it that I should die if I lose him now. I havesacrificed my fortune, my honor, my peace of mind, and my children forhim. Oh! do something, so that at the least Maxime may be at large andlive undisgraced in the world, where he will assuredly make a career forhimself. Something more than my happiness is at stake; the children havenothing, and if he is sent to Sainte-Pelagie all his prospects will beruined.""I haven't the money, Nasie. I have nothing--nothing left. This isthe end of everything. Yes, the world is crumbling into ruin, I am sure.Fly! Save yourselves! Ah!--I have still my silver buckles left, andhalf-a-dozen silver spoons and forks, the first I ever had in mylife. But I have nothing else except my life annuity, twelve hundredfrancs...""Then what has become of your money in the funds?""I sold out, and only kept a trifle for my wants. I wanted twelvethousand francs to furnish some rooms for Delphine.""In your own house?" asked Mme. de Restaud, looking at her sister."What does it matter where they were?" asked Goriot. "The money is spentnow.""I see how it is," said the Countess. "Rooms for M. de Rastignac. PoorDelphine, take warning by me!""M. de Rastignac is incapable of ruining the woman he loves, dear.""Thanks! Delphine. I thought you would have been kinder to me in mytroubles, but you never did love me.""Yes, yes, she loves you, Nasie," cried Goriot; "she was saying so onlyjust now. We were talking about you, and she insisted that you werebeautiful, and that she herself was only pretty!""Pretty!" said the Countess. "She is as hard as a marble statue.""And if I am?" cried Delphine, flushing up, "how have you treated me?You would not recognize me; you closed the doors of every house againstme; you have never let an opportunity of mortifying me slip by. Andwhen did I come, as you were always doing, to drain our poor father, athousand francs at a time, till he is left as you see him now? Thatis all your doing, sister! I myself have seen my father as often as Icould. I have not turned him out of the house, and then come and fawnedupon him when I wanted money. I did not so much as know that he hadspent those twelve thousand francs on me. I am economical, as you know;and when papa has made me presents, it has never been because I came andbegged for them.""You were better off than I. M. de Marsay was rich, as you have reasonto know. You always were as slippery as gold. Good-bye; I have neithersister nor----""Oh! hush, hush, Nasie!" cried her father."Nobody else would repeat what everybody has ceased to believe. You arean unnatural sister!" cried Delphine."Oh, children, children! hush! hush! or I will kill myself before youreyes.""There, Nasie, I forgive you," said Mme. de Nucingen; "you are veryunhappy. But I am kinder than you are. How could you say that justwhen I was ready to do anything in the world to help you, even to bereconciled with my husband, which for my own sake I----Oh! it is justlike you; you have behaved cruelly to me all through these nine years.""Children, children, kiss each other!" cried the father. "You areangels, both of you.""No. Let me alone," cried the Countess shaking off the hand that herfather had laid on her arm. "She is more merciless than my husband. Anyone might think she was a model of all the virtues herself!""I would rather have people think that I owed money to M. de Marsaythan own that M. de Trailles had cost me more than two hundred thousandfrancs," retorted Mme. de Nucingen."Delphine!" cried the Countess, stepping towards her sister."I shall tell you the truth about yourself if you begin to slander me,"said the Baroness coldly."Delphine! you are a ----"Father Goriot sprang between them, grasped the Countess' hand, and laidhis own over her mouth."Good heavens, father! What have you been handling this morning?" saidAnastasie."Ah! well, yes, I ought not to have touched you," said the poor father,wiping his hands on his trousers, "but I have been packing up my things;I did not know that you were coming to see me."He was glad that he had drawn down her wrath upon himself."Ah!" he sighed, as he sat down, "you children have broken my heartbetween you. This is killing me. My head feels as if it were on fire.Be good to each other and love each other! This will be the death ofme! Delphine! Nasie! come, be sensible; you are both in the wrong. Come,Dedel," he added, looking through his tears at the Baroness, "she musthave twelve thousand francs, you see; let us see if we can find them forher. Oh, my girls, do not look at each other like that!" and he sank onhis knees beside Delphine. "Ask her to forgive you--just to pleaseme," he said in her ear. "She is more miserable than you are. Come now,Dedel.""Poor Nasie!" said Delphine, alarmed at the wild extravagant grief inher father's face, "I was in the wrong, kiss me----""Ah! that is like balm to my heart," cried Father Goriot. "But how arewe to find twelve thousand francs? I might offer myself as a substitutein the army----""Oh! father dear!" they both cried, flinging their arms about him. "No,no!""God reward you for the thought. We are not worth it, are we, Nasie?"asked Delphine."And besides, father dear, it would only be a drop in the bucket,"observed the Countess."But is flesh and blood worth nothing?" cried the old man in hisdespair. "I would give body and soul to save you, Nasie. I would do amurder for the man who would rescue you. I would do, as Vautrin did, goto the hulks, go----" he stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt, and putboth hands to his head. "Nothing left!" he cried, tearing his hair. "IfI only knew of a way to steal money, but it is so hard to do it, andthen you can't set to work by yourself, and it takes time to rob a bank.Yes, it is time I was dead; there is nothing left me to do but to die. Iam no good in the world; I am no longer a father! No. She has come to mein her extremity, and, wretch that I am, I have nothing to give her. Ah!you put your money into a life annuity, old scoundrel; and had you notdaughters? You did not love them. Die, die in a ditch, like the dog thatyou are! Yes, I am worse than a dog; a beast would not have done as Ihave done! Oh! my head... it throbs as if it would burst.""Papa!" cried both the young women at once, "do, pray, be reasonable!"and they clung to him to prevent him from dashing his head against thewall. There was a sound of sobbing.Eugene, greatly alarmed, took the bill that bore Vautrin's signature,saw that the stamp would suffice for a larger sum, altered the figures,made it into a regular bill for twelve thousand francs, payable toGoriot's order, and went to his neighbor's room."Here is the money, madame," he said, handing the piece of paper to her."I was asleep; your conversation awoke me, and by this means I learnedall that I owed to M. Goriot. This bill can be discounted, and I shallmeet it punctually at the due date."The Countess stood motionless and speechless, but she held the bill inher fingers."Delphine," she said, with a white face, and her whole frame quiveringwith indignation, anger, and rage, "I forgave you everything; God is mywitness that I forgave you, but I cannot forgive this! So this gentlemanwas there all the time, and you knew it! Your petty spite has let youto wreak your vengeance on me by betraying my secrets, my life, mychildren's lives, my shame, my honor! There, you are nothing to me anylonger. I hate you. I will do all that I can to injure you. I will..."Anger paralyzed her; the words died in her dry parched throat."Why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother, your preserver!" criedGoriot. "Kiss his hand, Nasie! Stay, I will embrace him myself," hesaid, straining Eugene to his breast in a frenzied clasp. "Oh my boy! Iwill be more than a father to you; if I had God's power, I would flingworlds at your feet. Why don't you kiss him, Nasie? He is not a man, butan angel, a angel out of heaven.""Never mind her, father; she is mad just now.""Mad! am I? And what are you?" cried Mme. de Restaud."Children, children, I shall die if you go on like this," cried theold man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet had struckhim.--"They are killing me between them," he said to himself.The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugene, who stood stock still; all hisfaculties were numbed by this violent scene."Sir?..." she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and bearing;she took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine, who was hastilyunfastening his waistcoat."Madame," said Eugene, answering the question before it was asked, "Iwill meet the bill, and keep silence about it.""You have killed our father, Nasie!" said Delphine, pointing to Goriot,who lay unconscious on the bed. The Countess fled."I freely forgive her," said the old man, opening his eyes; "herposition is horrible; it would turn an older head than hers. ComfortNasie, and be nice to her, Delphine; promise it to your poor fatherbefore he dies," he asked, holding Delphine's hand in a convulsiveclasp."Oh! what ails you, father?" she cried in real alarm."Nothing, nothing," said Goriot; "it will go off. There is somethingheavy pressing on my forehead, a little headache.... Ah! poor Nasie,what a life lies before her!"Just as he spoke, the Countess came back again and flung herself on herknees before him. "Forgive me!" she cried."Come," said her father, "you are hurting me still more.""Monsieur," the Countess said, turning to Rastignac, "misery made meunjust to you. You will be a brother to me, will you not?" and she heldout her hand. Her eyes were full of tears as she spoke."Nasie," cried Delphine, flinging her arms round her sister, "my littleNasie, let us forget and forgive.""No, no," cried Nasie; "I shall never forget!""Dear angels," cried Goriot, "it is as if a dark curtain over my eyeshad been raised; your voices have called me back to life. Kiss eachother once more. Well, now, Nasie, that bill will save you, won't it?""I hope so. I say, papa, will you write your name on it?""There! how stupid of me to forget that! But I am not feeling at allwell, Nasie, so you must not remember it against me. Send and let meknow as soon as you are out of your strait. No, I will go to you. No,after all, I will not go; I might meet your husband, and I should killhim on the spot. And as for signing away your property, I shall havea word to say about that. Quick, my child, and keep Maxime in order infuture."Eugene was too bewildered to speak."Poor Anastasie, she always had a violent temper," said Mme. deNucingen, "but she has a good heart.""She came back for the endorsement," said Eugene in Delphine's ear."Do you think so?""I only wish I could think otherwise. Do not trust her," he answered,raising his eyes as if he confided to heaven the thoughts that he didnot venture to express."Yes. She is always acting a part to some extent.""How do you feel now, dear Father Goriot?" asked Rastignac."I should like to go to sleep," he replied.Eugene helped him to bed, and Delphine sat by the bedside, holding hishand until he fell asleep. Then she went."This evening at the Italiens," she said to Eugene, "and you can let meknow how he is. To-morrow you will leave this place, monsieur. Let us gointo your room.--Oh! how frightful!" she cried on the threshold. "Why,you are even worse lodged than our father. Eugene, you have behavedwell. I would love you more if that were possible; but, dear boy, if youare to succeed in life, you must not begin by flinging twelve thousandfrancs out of the windows like that. The Comte de Trailles is aconfirmed gambler. My sister shuts her eyes to it. He would have madethe twelve thousand francs in the same way that he wins and loses heapsof gold."A groan from the next room brought them back to Goriot's bedside; to allappearances he was asleep, but the two lovers caught the words, "Theyare not happy!" Whether he was awake or sleeping, the tone in which theywere spoken went to his daughter's heart. She stole up to the pallet-bedon which her father lay, and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes."Ah! Delphine!" he said."How are you now?" she asked."Quite comfortable. Do not worry about me; I shall get up presently.Don't stay with me, children; go, go and be happy."Eugene went back with Delphine as far as her door; but he was not easyabout Goriot, and would not stay to dinner, as she proposed. He wantedto be back at the Maison Vauquer. Father Goriot had left his room,and was just sitting down to dinner as he came in. Bianchon had placedhimself where he could watch the old man carefully; and when the oldvermicelli maker took up his square of bread and smelled it to find outthe quality of the flour, the medical student, studying him closely, sawthat the action was purely mechanical, and shook his head."Just come and sit over here, hospitaller of Cochin," said Eugene.Bianchon went the more willingly because his change of place brought himnext to the old lodger."What is wrong with him?" asked Rastignac."It is all up with him, or I am much mistaken! Something veryextraordinary must have taken place; he looks to me as if he werein imminent danger of serous apoplexy. The lower part of his face iscomposed enough, but the upper part is drawn and distorted. Then thereis that peculiar look about the eyes that indicates an effusion of serumin the brain; they look as though they were covered with a film of finedust, do you notice? I shall know more about it by to-morrow morning.""Is there any cure for it?""None. It might be possible to stave death off for a time if a way couldbe found of setting up a reaction in the lower extremities; but if thesymptoms do not abate by to-morrow evening, it will be all over withhim, poor old fellow! Do you know what has happened to bring this on?There must have been some violent shock, and his mind has given way.""Yes, there was," said Rastignac, remembering how the two daughters hadstruck blow on blow at their father's heart."But Delphine at any rate loves her father," he said to himself.That evening at the opera Rastignac chose his words carefully, lest heshould give Mme. de Nucingen needless alarm."Do not be anxious about him," she said, however, as soon as Eugenebegan, "our father has really a strong constitution, but this morningwe gave him a shock. Our whole fortunes were in peril, so the thing wasserious, you see. I could not live if your affection did not make meinsensible to troubles that I should once have thought too hard to bear.At this moment I have but one fear left, but one misery to dread--tolose the love that has made me feel glad to live. Everything else is asnothing to me compared with our love; I care for nothing else, for youare all the world to me. If I feel glad to be rich, it is for your sake.To my shame be it said, I think of my lover before my father. Do you askwhy? I cannot tell you, but all my life is in you. My father gave me aheart, but you have taught it to beat. The whole world may condemn me;what does it matter if I stand acquitted in your eyes, for you haveno right to think ill of me for the faults which a tyrannous love hasforced me to commit for you! Do you think me an unnatural daughter? Oh!no, no one could help loving such a dear kind father as ours. But howcould I hide the inevitable consequences of our miserable marriages fromhim? Why did he allow us to marry when we did? Was it not his duty tothink for us and foresee for us? To-day I know he suffers as much as wedo, but how can it be helped? And as for comforting him, we could notcomfort him in the least. Our resignation would give him more pain andhurt him far more than complaints and upbraidings. There are times inlife when everything turns to bitterness."Eugene was silent, the artless and sincere outpouring made an impressionon him.Parisian women are often false, intoxicated with vanity, selfish andself-absorbed, frivolous and shallow; yet of all women, when they love,they sacrifice their personal feelings to their passion; they rise butso much the higher for all the pettiness overcome in their nature, andbecome sublime. Then Eugene was struck by the profound discernment andinsight displayed by this woman in judging of natural affection, when aprivileged affection had separated and set her at a distance apart. Mme.de Nucingen was piqued by the silence,"What are you thinking about?" she asked."I am thinking about what you said just now. Hitherto I have always feltsure that I cared far more for you than you did for me."She smiled, and would not give way to the happiness she felt, lest theirtalk should exceed the conventional limits of propriety. She had neverheard the vibrating tones of a sincere and youthful love; a few morewords, and she feared for her self-control."Eugene," she said, changing the conversation, "I wonder whether youknow what has been happening? All Paris will go to Mme. de Beauseant'sto-morrow. The Rochefides and the Marquis d'Ajuda have agreed to keepthe matter a profound secret, but to-morrow the king will sign themarriage-contract, and your poor cousin the Vicomtesse knows nothingof it as yet. She cannot put off her ball, and the Marquis will not bethere. People are wondering what will happen?""The world laughs at baseness and connives at it. But this will killMme. de Beauseant.""Oh, no," said Delphine, smiling, "you do not know that kind of woman.Why, all Paris will be there, and so shall I; I ought to go there foryour sake.""Perhaps, after all, it is one of those absurd reports that people setin circulation here.""We shall know the truth to-morrow."Eugene did not return to the Maison Vauquer. He could not forego thepleasure of occupying his new rooms in the Rue d'Artois. Yesterdayevening he had been obliged to leave Delphine soon after midnight, butthat night it was Delphine who stayed with him until two o'clock in themorning. He rose late, and waited for Mme. de Nucingen, who came aboutnoon to breakfast with him. Youth snatches eagerly at these rosy momentsof happiness, and Eugene had almost forgotten Goriot's existence.The pretty things that surrounded him were growing familiar; thisdomestication in itself was one long festival for him, and Mme. deNucingen was there to glorify it all by her presence. It was fouro'clock before they thought of Goriot, and of how he had looked forwardto the new life in that house. Eugene said that the old man ought to bemoved at once, lest he should grow too ill to move. He left Delphineand hurried back to the lodging-house. Neither Father Goriot nor youngBianchon was in the dining-room with the others."Aha!" said the painter as Eugene came in, "Father Goriot has brokendown at last. Bianchon is upstairs with him. One of his daughters--theComtesse de Restaurama--came to see the old gentleman, and he would getup and go out, and made himself worse. Society is about to lose one ofits brightest ornaments."Rastignac sprang to the staircase."Hey! Monsieur Eugene!""Monsieur Eugene, the mistress is calling you," shouted Sylvie."It is this, sir," said the widow. "You and M. Goriot should by rightshave moved out on the 15th of February. That was three days ago; to-dayis the 18th, I ought really to be paid a month in advance; but if youwill engage to pay for both, I shall be quite satisfied.""Why can't you trust him?""Trust him, indeed! If the old gentleman went off his head and died,those daughters of his would not pay me a farthing, and his things won'tfetch ten francs. This morning he went out with all the spoons andforks he has left, I don't know why. He had got himself up to look quiteyoung, and--Lord, forgive me--but I thought he had rouge on his cheeks;he looked quite young again.""I will be responsible," said Eugene, shuddering with horror, for heforesaw the end.He climbed the stairs and reached Father Goriot's room. The old man wastossing on his bed. Bianchon was with him."Good-evening, father," said Eugene.The old man turned his glassy eyes on him, smiled gently, and said:"How is she?""She is quite well. But how are you?""There is nothing much the matter.""Don't tire him," said Bianchon, drawing Eugene into a corner of theroom."Well?" asked Rastignac."Nothing but a miracle can save him now. Serous congestion has set in;I have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, they areacting.""Is it possible to move him?""Quite out of the question. He must stay where he is, and be kept asquiet as possible----""Dear Bianchon," said Eugene, "we will nurse him between us.""I have had the head physician round from my hospital to see him.""And what did he say?""He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening. He promised to look inagain at the end of the day. Unluckily, the preposterous creature mustneeds go and do something foolish this morning; he will not say what itwas. He is as obstinate as a mule. As soon as I begin to talk to himhe pretends not to hear, and lies as if he were asleep instead ofanswering, or if he opens his eyes he begins to groan. Some time thismorning he went out on foot in the streets, nobody knows where he went,and he took everything that he had of any value with him. He has beendriving some confounded bargain, and it has been too much for hisstrength. One of his daughters has been here.""Was it the Countess?" asked Eugene. "A tall, dark-haired woman, withlarge bright eyes, slender figure, and little feet?""Yes.""Leave him to me for a bit," said Rastignac. "I will make him confess;he will tell me all about it.""And meanwhile I will get my dinner. But try not to excite him; there isstill some hope left.""All right.""How they will enjoy themselves to-morrow," said Father Goriot when theywere alone. "They are going to a grand ball.""What were you doing this morning, papa, to make yourself so poorly thisevening that you have to stop in bed?""Nothing.""Did not Anastasie come to see you?" demanded Rastignac."Yes," said Father Goriot."Well, then, don't keep anything from me. What more did she want ofyou?""Oh, she was very miserable," he answered, gathering up all his strengthto speak. "It was this way, my boy. Since that affair of the diamonds,Nasie has not had a penny of her own. For this ball she had ordered agolden gown like a setting for a jewel. Her mantuamaker, a woman withouta conscience, would not give her credit, so Nasie's waiting-womanadvanced a thousand francs on account. Poor Nasie! reduced to suchshifts! It cut me to the heart to think of it! But when Nasie's maidsaw how things were between her master and mistress, she was afraid oflosing her money, and came to an understanding with the dressmaker, andthe woman refuses to send the ball-dress until the money is paid. Thegown is ready, and the ball is to-morrow night! Nasie was in despair.She wanted to borrow my forks and spoons to pawn them. Her husband isdetermined that she shall go and wear the diamonds, so as to contradictthe stories that are told all over Paris. How can she go to thatheartless scoundrel and say, 'I owe a thousand francs to my dressmaker;pay her for me!' She cannot. I saw that myself. Delphine will be theretoo in a superb toilette, and Anastasie ought not to be outshone by heryounger sister. And then--she was drowned in tears, poor girl! I feltso humbled yesterday when I had not the twelve thousand francs, that Iwould have given the rest of my miserable life to wipe out that wrong.You see, I could have borne anything once, but latterly this want ofmoney has broken my heart. Oh! I did not do it by halves; I titivatedmyself up a bit, and went out and sold my spoons and forks and bucklesfor six hundred francs; then I went to old Daddy Gobseck, and sold ayear's interest on my annuity for four hundred francs down. Pshaw! I canlive on dry bread, as I did when I was a young man; if I have done itbefore, I can do it again. My Nasie shall have one happy evening, at anyrate. She shall be smart. The banknote for a thousand francs is undermy pillow; it warms me to have it lying there under my head, for it isgoing to make my poor Nasie happy. She can turn that bad girl Victoireout of the house. A servant that cannot trust her mistress, did any oneever hear the like! I shall be quite well to-morrow. Nasie is coming atten o'clock. They must not think that I am ill, or they will not go tothe ball; they will stop and take care of me. To-morrow Nasie will comeand hold me in her arms as if I were one of her children; her kisseswill make me well again. After all, I might have spent the thousandfrancs on physic; I would far rather give them to my little Nasie, whocan charm all the pain away. At any rate, I am some comfort to her inher misery; and that makes up for my unkindness in buying an annuity.She is in the depths, and I cannot draw her out of them now. Oh! I willgo into business again, I will buy wheat in Odessa; out there, wheatfetches a quarter of the price it sells for here. There is a law againstthe importation of grain, but the good folk who made the law forgot toprohibit the introduction of wheat products and food stuffs made fromcorn. Hey! hey!... That struck me this morning. There is a fine trade tobe done in starch."Eugene, watching the old man's face, thought that his friend waslight-headed."Come," he said, "do not talk any more, you must rest----" Just thenBianchon came up, and Eugene went down to dinner.The two students sat up with him that night, relieving each other inturn. Bianchon brought up his medical books and studied; Eugene wroteletters home to his mother and sisters. Next morning Bianchon thoughtthe symptoms more hopeful, but the patient's condition demandedcontinual attention, which the two students alone were willing togive--a task impossible to describe in the squeamish phraseology of theepoch. Leeches must be applied to the wasted body, the poultices andhot foot-baths, and other details of the treatment required the physicalstrength and devotion of the two young men. Mme. de Restaud did notcome; but she sent a messenger for the money."I expected she would come herself; but it would have been a pity forher to come, she would have been anxious about me," said the father, andto all appearances he was well content.At seven o'clock that evening Therese came with a letter from Delphine."What are you doing, dear friend? I have been loved for a verylittle while, and I am neglected already? In the confidences ofheart and heart, I have learned to know your soul--you are toonoble not to be faithful for ever, for you know that love with allits infinite subtle changes of feeling is never the same. Once yousaid, as we were listening to the Prayer in Mose in Egitto, 'Forsome it is the monotony of a single note; for others, it is theinfinite of sound.' Remember that I am expecting you this eveningto take me to Mme. de Beauseant's ball. Every one knows now thatthe King signed M. d'Ajuda's marriage-contract this morning, andthe poor Vicomtesse knew nothing of it until two o'clock thisafternoon. All Paris will flock to her house, of course, just as acrowd fills the Place de Greve to see an execution. It ishorrible, is it not, to go out of curiosity to see if she willhide her anguish, and whether she will die courageously? Icertainly should not go, my friend, if I had been at her housebefore; but, of course, she will not receive society any moreafter this, and all my efforts would be in vain. My position is avery unusual one, and besides, I am going there partly on youraccount. I am waiting for you. If you are not beside me in lessthan two hours, I do not know whether I could forgive suchtreason."Rastignac took up a pen and wrote:"I am waiting till the doctor comes to know if there is any hope ofyour father's life. He is lying dangerously ill. I will come andbring you the news, but I am afraid it may be a sentence of death.When I come you can decide whether you can go to the ball.--Yoursa thousand times."At half-past eight the doctor arrived. He did not take a very hopefulview of the case, but thought that there was no immediate danger.Improvements and relapses might be expected, and the good man's life andreason hung in the balance."It would be better for him to die at once," the doctor said as he tookleave.Eugene left Goriot to Bianchon's care, and went to carry the sad news toMme. de Nucingen. Family feeling lingered in her, and this must put anend for the present to her plans of amusement."Tell her to enjoy her evening as if nothing had happened," criedGoriot. He had been lying in a sort of stupor, but he suddenly satupright as Eugene went out.Eugene, half heartbroken, entered Delphine's. Her hair had been dressed;she wore her dancing slippers; she had only to put on her ball-dress;but when the artist is giving the finishing stroke to his creation, thelast touches require more time than the whole groundwork of the picture."Why, you are not dressed!" she cried."Madame, your father----""My father again!" she exclaimed, breaking in upon him. "You need notteach me what is due to my father, I have known my father this longwhile. Not a word, Eugene. I will hear what you have to say when youare dressed. My carriage is waiting, take it, go round to your rooms anddress, Therese has put out everything in readiness for you. Come backas soon as you can; we will talk about my father on the way to Mme. deBeauseant's. We must go early; if we have to wait our turn in a row ofcarriages, we shall be lucky if we get there by eleven o'clock.""Madame----""Quick! not a word!" she cried, darting into her dressing-room for anecklace."Do go, Monsieur Eugene, or you will vex madame," said Therese, hurryinghim away; and Eugene was too horror-stricken by this elegant parricideto resist.He went to his rooms and dressed, sad, thoughtful, and dispirited. Theworld of Paris was like an ocean of mud for him just then; and it seemedthat whoever set foot in that black mire must needs sink into it up tothe chin."Their crimes are paltry," said Eugene to himself. "Vautrin wasgreater."He had seen society in its three great phases--Obedience, Struggle,and Revolt; the Family, the World, and Vautrin; and he hesitated in hischoice. Obedience was dull, Revolt impossible, Struggle hazardous.His thoughts wandered back to the home circle. He thought of the quietuneventful life, the pure happiness of the days spent among those wholoved him there. Those loving and beloved beings passed their lives inobedience to the natural laws of the hearth, and in that obedience founda deep and constant serenity, unvexed by torments such as these. Yet,for all his good impulses, he could not bring himself to make professionof the religion of pure souls to Delphine, nor to prescribe the dutiesof piety to her in the name of love. His education had begun to bear itsfruits; he loved selfishly already. Besides, his tact had discovered tohim the real nature of Delphine; he divined instinctively that she wascapable of stepping over her father's corpse to go to the ball; andwithin himself he felt that he had neither the strength of mind to playthe part of mentor, nor the strength of character to vex her, nor thecourage to leave her to go alone."She would never forgive me for putting her in the wrong over it," hesaid to himself. Then he turned the doctor's dictum over in his mind;he tried to believe that Goriot was not so dangerously ill as he hadimagined, and ended by collecting together a sufficient quantity oftraitorous excuses for Delphine's conduct. She did not know how ill herfather was; the kind old man himself would have made her go to the ballif she had gone to see him. So often it happens that this one or thatstands condemned by the social laws that govern family relations;and yet there are peculiar circumstances in the case, differences oftemperament, divergent interests, innumerable complications of familylife that excuse the apparent offence.Eugene did not wish to see too clearly; he was ready to sacrifice hisconscience to his mistress. Within the last few days his whole life hadundergone a change. Woman had entered into his world and thrown it intochaos, family claims dwindled away before her; she had appropriatedall his being to her uses. Rastignac and Delphine found each other ata crisis in their lives when their union gave them the most poignantbliss. Their passion, so long proved, had only gained in strength by thegratified desire that often extinguishes passion. This woman was his,and Eugene recognized that not until then had he loved her; perhaps loveis only gratitude for pleasure. This woman, vile or sublime, he adoredfor the pleasure she had brought as her dower; and Delphine lovedRastignac as Tantalus would have loved some angel who had satisfied hishunger and quenched the burning thirst in his parched throat."Well," said Mme. de Nucingen when he came back in evening dress, "howis my father?""Very dangerously ill," he answered; "if you will grant me a proof ofyour affections, we will just go in to see him on the way.""Very well," she said. "Yes, but afterwards. Dear Eugene, do be nice,and don't preach to me. Come."They set out. Eugene said nothing for a while."What is it now?" she asked."I can hear the death-rattle in your father's throat," he said almostangrily. And with the hot indignation of youth, he told the story ofMme. de Restaud's vanity and cruelty, of her father's final act ofself-sacrifice, that had brought about this struggle between lifeand death, of the price that had been paid for Anastasie's goldenembroideries. Delphine cried."I shall look frightful," she thought. She dried her tears."I will nurse my father; I will not leave his bedside," she said aloud."Ah! now you are as I would have you," exclaimed Rastignac.The lamps of five hundred carriages lit up the darkness about the Hotelde Beauseant. A gendarme in all the glory of his uniform stood on eitherside of the brightly lighted gateway. The great world was flockingthither that night in its eager curiosity to see the great lady at themoment of her fall, and the rooms on the ground floor were already fullto overflowing, when Mme. de Nucingen and Rastignac appeared. Neversince Louis XIV. tore her lover away from La grand Mademoiselle, andthe whole court hastened to visit that unfortunate princess, had adisastrous love affair made such a sensation in Paris. But the youngestdaughter of the almost royal house of Burgundy had risen proudly aboveher pain, and moved till the last moment like a queen in this world--itsvanities had always been valueless for her, save in so far as theycontributed to the triumph of her passion. The salons were filled withthe most beautiful women in Paris, resplendent in their toilettes, andradiant with smiles. Ministers and ambassadors, the most distinguishedmen at court, men bedizened with decorations, stars, and ribbons, menwho bore the most illustrious names in France, had gathered about theVicomtesse.The music of the orchestra vibrated in wave after wave of sound from thegolden ceiling of the palace, now made desolate for its queen.Madame de Beauseant stood at the door of the first salon to receive theguests who were styled her friends. She was dressed in white, and woreno ornament in the plaits of hair braided about her head; her face wascalm; there was no sign there of pride, nor of pain, nor of joy thatshe did not feel. No one could read her soul; she stood there like someNiobe carved in marble. For a few intimate friends there was a tinge ofsatire in her smile; but no scrutiny saw any change in her, nor had shelooked otherwise in the days of the glory of her happiness. The mostcallous of her guests admired her as young Rome applauded some gladiatorwho could die smiling. It seemed as if society had adorned itself for alast audience of one of its sovereigns."I was afraid that you would not come," she said to Rastignac."Madame," he said, in an unsteady voice, taking her speech as areproach, "I shall be the last to go, that is why I am here.""Good," she said, and she took his hand. "You are perhaps the only oneI can trust here among all these. Oh, my friend, when you love, lovea woman whom you are sure that you can love always. Never forsake awoman."She took Rastignac's arm, and went towards a sofa in the card-room."I want you to go to the Marquis," she said. "Jacques, my footman, willgo with you; he has a letter that you will take. I am asking the Marquisto give my letters back to me. He will give them all up, I like to thinkthat. When you have my letters, go up to my room with them. Some oneshall bring me word."She rose to go to meet the Duchesse de Langeais, her most intimatefriend, who had come like the rest of the world.Rastignac went. He asked for the Marquis d'Ajuda at the Hotel Rochefide,feeling certain that the latter would be spending his evening there, andso it proved. The Marquis went to his own house with Rastignac, and gavea casket to the student, saying as he did so, "They are all there."He seemed as if he was about to say something to Eugene, to askabout the ball, or the Vicomtesse; perhaps he was on the brink ofthe confession that, even then, he was in despair, and knew that hismarriage had been a fatal mistake; but a proud gleam shone in his eyes,and with deplorable courage he kept his noblest feelings a secret."Do not even mention my name to her, my dear Eugene." He graspedRastignac's hand sadly and affectionately, and turned away from him.Eugene went back to the Hotel Beauseant, the servant took him to theVicomtesse's room. There were signs there of preparations for a journey.He sat down by the fire, fixed his eyes on the cedar wood casket, andfell into deep mournful musings. Mme. de Beauseant loomed large in theseimaginings, like a goddess in the Iliad."Ah! my friend!..." said the Vicomtesse; she crossed the room and laidher hand on Rastignac's shoulder. He saw the tears in his cousin'suplifted eyes, saw that one hand was raised to take the casket, and thatthe fingers of the other trembled. Suddenly she took the casket, put itin the fire, and watched it burn."They are dancing," she said. "They all came very early; but deathwill be long in coming. Hush! my friend," and she laid a finger onRastignac's lips, seeing that he was about to speak. "I shall never seeParis again. I am taking my leave of the world. At five o'clock thismorning I shall set out on my journey; I mean to bury myself in theremotest part of Normandy. I have had very little time to make myarrangements; since three o'clock this afternoon I have been busysigning documents, setting my affairs in order; there was no one whom Icould send to..."She broke off."He was sure to be..."Again she broke off; the weight of her sorrow was more than she couldbear. In such moments as these everything is agony, and some words areimpossible to utter."And so I counted upon you to do me this last piece of servicethis evening," she said. "I should like to give you some pledge offriendship. I shall often think of you. You have seemed to me to be kindand noble, fresh-hearted and true, in this world where such qualitiesare seldom found. I should like you to think sometimes of me. Stay," shesaid, glancing about her, "there is this box that has held my gloves.Every time I opened it before going to a ball or to the theatre, I usedto feel that I must be beautiful, because I was so happy; and I nevertouched it except to lay some gracious memory in it: there is so muchof my old self in it, of a Madame de Beauseant who now lives no longer.Will you take it? I will leave directions that it is to be sent toyou in the Rue d'Artois.--Mme. de Nucingen looked very charming thisevening. Eugene, you must love her. Perhaps we may never see each otheragain, my friend; but be sure of this, that I shall pray for you whohave been kind to me.--Now, let us go downstairs. People shall not thinkthat I am weeping. I have all time and eternity before me, and whereI am going I shall be alone, and no one will ask me the reason of mytears. One last look round first."She stood for a moment. Then she covered her eyes with her hands foran instant, dashed away the tears, bathed her face with cold water, andtook the student's arm."Let us go!" she said.This suffering, endured with such noble fortitude, shook Eugene witha more violent emotion than he had felt before. They went back to theballroom, and Mme. de Beauseant went through the rooms on Eugene'sarm--the last delicately gracious act of a gracious woman. In anothermoment he saw the sisters, Mme. de Restaud and Mme. de Nucingen. TheCountess shone in all the glory of her magnificent diamonds; every stonemust have scorched like fire, she was never to wear them again. Strongas love and pride might be in her, she found it difficult to meet herhusband's eyes. The sight of her was scarcely calculated to lightenRastignac's sad thoughts; through the blaze of those diamonds he seemedto see the wretched pallet-bed on which Father Goriot was lying. TheVicomtesse misread his melancholy; she withdrew her hand from his arm."Come," she said, "I must not deprive you of a pleasure."Eugene was soon claimed by Delphine. She was delighted by the impressionthat she had made, and eager to lay at her lover's feet the homageshe had received in this new world in which she hoped to live and movehenceforth."What do you think of Nasie?" she asked him."She has discounted everything, even her own father's death," saidRastignac.Towards four o'clock in the morning the rooms began to empty. A littlelater the music ceased, and the Duchesse de Langeais and Rastignac wereleft in the great ballroom. The Vicomtesse, who thought to find thestudent there alone, came back there at last. She had taken leave of M.de Beauseant, who had gone off to bed, saying again as he went, "It isa great pity, my dear, to shut yourself up at your age! Pray stay amongus."Mme. de Beauseant saw the Duchesse, and, in spite of herself, anexclamation broke from her."I saw how it was, Clara," said Mme. de Langeais. "You are going fromamong us, and you will never come back. But you must not go until youhave heard me, until we have understood each other."She took her friend's arm, and they went together into the next room.There the Duchess looked at her with tears in her eyes; she held herfriend in close embrace and kissed her cheek."I could not let you go without a word, dearest; the remorse would havebeen too hard to bear. You can count upon me as surely as upon yourself.You have shown yourself great this evening; I feel that I am worthyof our friendship, and I mean to prove myself worthy of it. I have notalways been kind; I was in the wrong; forgive me, dearest; I wish Icould unsay anything that may have hurt you; I take back those words.One common sorrow has brought us together again, for I do not know whichof us is the more miserable. M. de Montriveau was not here to-night;do you understand what that means?--None of those who saw you to-night,Clara, will ever forget you. I mean to make one last effort. If I fail,I shall go into a convent. Clara, where are you going?""Into Normandy, to Courcelles. I shall love and pray there until the daywhen God shall take me from this world.--M. de Rastignac!" called theVicomtesse, in a tremulous voice, remembering that the young man waswaiting there.The student knelt to kiss his cousin's hand."Good-bye, Antoinette!" said Mme. de Beauseant. "May you be happy."--Sheturned to the student. "You are young," she said; "you have some beliefsstill left. I have been privileged, like some dying people, to findsincere and reverent feeling in those about me as I take my leave ofthis world."It was nearly five o'clock that morning when Rastignac came away. He hadput Mme. de Beauseant into her traveling carriage, and received her lastfarewells, spoken amid fast-falling tears; for no greatness is so greatthat it can rise above the laws of human affection, or live beyondthe jurisdiction of pain, as certain demagogues would have the peoplebelieve. Eugene returned on foot to the Maison Vauquer through the coldand darkness. His education was nearly complete."There is no hope for poor Father Goriot," said Bianchon, as Rastignaccame into the room. Eugene looked for a while at the sleeping man, thenhe turned to his friend. "Dear fellow, you are content with the modestcareer you have marked out for yourself; keep to it. I am in hell, andI must stay there. Believe everything that you hear said of the world,nothing is too impossibly bad. No Juvenal could paint the horrors hiddenaway under the covering of gems and gold."At two o'clock in the afternoon Bianchon came to wake Rastignac, andbegged him to take charge of Goriot, who had grown worse as the day woreon. The medical student was obliged to go out."Poor old man, he has not two days to live, maybe not many hours," hesaid; "but we must do our utmost, all the same, to fight the disease. Itwill be a very troublesome case, and we shall want money. We can nursehim between us, of course, but, for my own part, I have not a penny. Ihave turned out his pockets, and rummaged through his drawers--result,nix. I asked him about it while his mind was clear, and he told me hehad not a farthing of his own. What have you?""I have twenty francs left," said Rastignac; "but I will take them tothe roulette table, I shall be sure to win.""And if you lose?""Then I shall go to his sons-in-law and his daughters and ask them formoney.""And suppose they refuse?" Bianchon retorted. "The most pressing thingjust now is not really money; we must put mustard poultices, as hot asthey can be made, on his feet and legs. If he calls out, there is stillsome hope for him. You know how to set about doing it, and besides,Christophe will help you. I am going round to the dispensary to persuadethem to let us have the things we want on credit. It is a pity thatwe could not move him to the hospital; poor fellow, he would be betterthere. Well, come along, I leave you in charge; you must stay with himtill I come back."The two young men went back to the room where the old man was lying.Eugene was startled at the change in Goriot's face, so livid, distorted,and feeble."How are you, papa?" he said, bending over the pallet-bed. Goriotturned his dull eyes upon Eugene, looked at him attentively, and did notrecognize him. It was more than the student could bear; the tears cameinto his eyes."Bianchon, ought we to have the curtains put up in the windows?""No, the temperature and the light do not affect him now. It would be agood thing for him if he felt heat or cold; but we must have a fire inany case to make tisanes and heat the other things. I will send round afew sticks; they will last till we can have in some firewood. I burnedall the bark fuel you had left, as well as his, poor man, yesterday andduring the night. The place is so damp that the water stood in drops onthe walls; I could hardly get the room dry. Christophe came in and sweptthe floor, but the place is like a stable; I had to burn juniper, thesmell was something horrible."Mon Dieu!" said Rastignac. "To think of those daughters of his.""One moment, if he asks for something to drink, give him this," said thehouse student, pointing to a large white jar. "If he begins to groan,and the belly feels hot and hard to the touch, you know what to do; getChristophe to help you. If he should happen to grow much excited, andbegin to talk a good deal and even to ramble in his talk, do not bealarmed. It would not be a bad symptom. But send Christophe to theHospice Cochin. Our doctor, my chum, or I will come and apply moxas. Wehad a great consultation this morning while you were asleep. A surgeon,a pupil of Gall's came, and our house surgeon, and the head physicianfrom the Hotel-Dieu. Those gentlemen considered that the symptoms werevery unusual and interesting; the case must be carefully watched, forit throws a light on several obscure and rather important scientificproblems. One of the authorities says that if there is more pressure ofserum on one or other portion of the brain, it should affect his mentalcapacities in such and such directions. So if he should talk, noticevery carefully what kind of ideas his mind seems to run on; whethermemory, or penetration, or the reasoning faculties are exercised;whether sentiments or practical questions fill his thoughts; whether hemakes forecasts or dwells on the past; in fact; you must be preparedto give an accurate report of him. It is quite likely that theextravasation fills the whole brain, in which case he will die in theimbecile state in which he is lying now. You cannot tell anything aboutthese mysterious nervous diseases. Suppose the crash came here," saidBianchon, touching the back of the head, "very strange things have beenknown to happen; the brain sometimes partially recovers, and death isdelayed. Or the congested matter may pass out of the brain altogetherthrough channels which can only be determined by a post-mortemexamination. There is an old man at the Hospital for Incurables, animbecile patient, in his case the effusion has followed the direction ofthe spinal cord; he suffers horrid agonies, but he lives.""Did they enjoy themselves?" It was Father Goriot who spoke. He hadrecognized Eugene."Oh! he thinks of nothing but his daughters," said Bianchon. "Scoresof times last night he said to me, 'They are dancing now! She has herdress.' He called them by their names. He made me cry, the devil takeit, calling with that tone in his voice, for 'Delphine! my littleDelphine! and Nasie!' Upon my word," said the medical student, "it wasenough to make any one burst out crying.""Delphine," said the old man, "she is there, isn't she? I knew she wasthere," and his eyes sought the door."I am going down now to tell Sylvie to get the poultices ready," saidBianchon. "They ought to go on at once."Rastignac was left alone with the old man. He sat at the foot of thebed, and gazed at the face before him, so horribly changed that it wasshocking to see."Noble natures cannot dwell in this world," he said; "Mme de Beauseanthas fled from it, and there he lies dying. What place indeed is there inthe shallow petty frivolous thing called society for noble thoughts andfeelings?"Pictures of yesterday's ball rose up in his memory, in strange contrastto the deathbed before him. Bianchon suddenly appeared."I say, Eugene, I have just seen our head surgeon at the hospital, and Iran all the way back here. If the old man shows any signs of reason, ifhe begins to talk, cover him with a mustard poultice from the neck tothe base of the spine, and send round for us.""Dear Bianchon," exclaimed Eugene."Oh! it is an interesting case from a scientific point of view," saidthe medical student, with all the enthusiasm of a neophyte."So!" said Eugene. "Am I really the only one who cares for the poor oldman for his own sake?""You would not have said so if you had seen me this morning," returnedBianchon, who did not take offence at this speech. "Doctors who haveseen a good deal of practice never see anything but the disease, but, mydear fellow, I can see the patient still."He went. Eugene was left alone with the old man, and with anapprehension of a crisis that set in, in fact, before very long."Ah! dear boy, is that you?" said Father Goriot, recognizing Eugene."Do you feel better?" asked the law student, taking his hand."Yes. My head felt as if it were being screwed up in a vise, but now itis set free again. Did you see my girls? They will be here directly; assoon as they know that I am ill they will hurry here at once; they usedto take such care of me in the Rue de la Jussienne! Great Heavens! ifonly my room was fit for them to come into! There has been a young manhere, who has burned up all my bark fuel.""I can hear Christophe coming upstairs," Eugene answered. "He isbringing up some firewood that that young man has sent you.""Good, but how am I to pay for the wood. I have not a penny left, dearboy. I have given everything, everything. I am a pauper now. Well, atleast the golden gown was grand, was it not? (Ah! what pain this is!)Thanks, Christophe! God will reward you, my boy; I have nothing leftnow."Eugene went over to Christophe and whispered in the man's ear, "I willpay you well, and Sylvie too, for your trouble.""My daughters told you that they were coming, didn't they, Christophe?Go again to them, and I will give you five francs. Tell them that I amnot feeling well, that I should like to kiss them both and see them onceagain before I die. Tell them that, but don't alarm them more than youcan help."Rastignac signed to Christophe to go, and the man went."They will come before long," the old man went on. "I know them so well.My tender-hearted Delphine! If I am going to die, she will feel it somuch! And so will Nasie. I do not want to die; they will cry if I die;and if I die, dear Eugene, I shall not see them any more. It willbe very dreary there where I am going. For a father it is hell to bewithout your children; I have served my apprenticeship already sincethey married. My heaven was in the Rue de la Jussienne. Eugene, do youthink that if I go to heaven I can come back to earth, and be near themin spirit? I have heard some such things said. It is true? It is as ifI could see them at this moment as they used to be when we all livedin the Rue de la Jussienne. They used to come downstairs of a morning.'Good-morning, papa!' they used to say, and I would take them on myknees; we had all sorts of little games of play together, and they hadsuch pretty coaxing ways. We always had breakfast together, too, everymorning, and they had dinner with me--in fact, I was a father then. Ienjoyed my children. They did not think for themselves so long as theylived in the Rue de la Jussienne; they knew nothing of the world; theyloved me with all their hearts. Mon Dieu! why could they not alwaysbe little girls? (Oh! my head! this racking pain in my head!) Ah! ah!forgive me, children, this pain is fearful; it must be agony indeed, foryou have used me to endure pain. Mon Dieu! if only I held their handsin mine, I should not feel it at all.--Do you think that they are on theway? Christophe is so stupid; I ought to have gone myself. He will seethem. But you went to the ball yesterday; just tell me how they looked.They did not know that I was ill, did they, or they would not have beendancing, poor little things? Oh! I must not be ill any longer. Theystand too much in need of me; their fortunes are in danger. And suchhusbands as they are bound to! I must get well! (Oh! what pain thisis! what pain this is! ... ah! ah!)--I must get well, you see; for theymust have money, and I know how to set about making some. I will goto Odessa and manufacture starch there. I am an old hand, I will makemillions. (Oh! this is agony!)"Goriot was silent for a moment; it seemed to require his whole strengthto endure the pain."If they were here, I should not complain," he said. "So why should Icomplain now?"He seemed to grow drowsy with exhaustion, and lay quietly for a longtime. Christophe came back; and Rastignac, thinking that Goriot wasasleep, allowed the man to give his story aloud."First of all, sir, I went to Madame la Comtesse," he said; "but sheand her husband were so busy that I couldn't get to speak to her. When Iinsisted that I must see her, M. de Restaud came out to me himself, andwent on like this: 'M. Goriot is dying, is he? Very well, it is thebest thing he can do. I want Mme. de Restaud to transact some importantbusiness, when it is all finished she can go.' The gentleman lookedangry, I thought. I was just going away when Mme. de Restaud came outinto an ante-chamber through a door that I did not notice, and said,'Christophe, tell my father that my husband wants me to discuss somematters with him, and I cannot leave the house, the life or death of mychildren is at stake; but as soon as it is over, I will come.' As forMadame la Baronne, that is another story! I could not speak to hereither, and I did not even see her. Her waiting-woman said, 'Ah yes, butmadame only came back from a ball at a quarter to five this morning; sheis asleep now, and if I wake her before mid-day she will be cross. Assoon as she rings, I will go and tell her that her father is worse. Itwill be time enough then to tell her bad news!' I begged and I prayed,but, there! it was no good. Then I asked for M. le Baron, but he wasout.""To think that neither of his daughters should come!" exclaimedRastignac. "I will write to them both.""Neither of them!" cried the old man, sitting upright in bed. "They arebusy, they are asleep, they will not come! I knew that they would not.Not until you are dying do you know your children.... Oh! my friend, donot marry; do not have children! You give them life; they give you yourdeathblow. You bring them into the world, and they send you out of it.No, they will not come. I have known that these ten years. Sometimes Ihave told myself so, but I did not dare to believe it."The tears gathered and stood without overflowing the red sockets."Ah! if I were rich still, if I had kept my money, if I had not givenall to them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on me and covermy cheeks with their kisses! I should be living in a great mansion; Ishould have grand apartments and servants and a fire in my room; andthey would be about me all in tears, and their husbands and theirchildren. I should have had all that; now--I have nothing. Money bringseverything to you; even your daughters. My money. Oh! where is my money?If I had plenty of money to leave behind me, they would nurse me andtend me; I should hear their voices, I should see their faces. Ah, God!who knows? They both of them have hearts of stone. I loved them toomuch; it was not likely that they should love me. A father ought alwaysto be rich; he ought to keep his children well in hand, like unrulyhorses. I have gone down on my knees to them. Wretches! this is thecrowning act that brings the last ten years to a proper close. If youbut knew how much they made of me just after they were married. (Oh!this is cruel torture!) I had just given them each eight hundredthousand francs; they were bound to be civil to me after that, and theirhusbands too were civil. I used to go to their houses: it was 'My kindfather' here, 'My dear father' there. There was always a place for me attheir tables. I used to dine with their husbands now and then, and theywere very respectful to me. I was still worth something, they thought.How should they know? I had not said anything about my affairs. Itis worth while to be civil to a man who has given his daughters eighthundred thousand francs apiece; and they showed me every attentionthen--but it was all for my money. Grand people are not great. Ifound that out by experience! I went to the theatre with them in theircarriage; I might stay as long as I cared to stay at their eveningparties. In fact, they acknowledged me their father; publicly they ownedthat they were my daughters. But I was always a shrewd one, you see,and nothing was lost upon me. Everything went straight to the mark andpierced my heart. I saw quite well that it was all sham and pretence,but there is no help for such things as these. I felt less at my ease attheir dinner-table than I did downstairs here. I had nothing to say formyself. So these grand folks would ask in my son-in-law's ear, 'Who maythat gentleman be?'--'The father-in-law with the money bags; he is veryrich.'--'The devil, he is!' they would say, and look again at me withthe respect due to my money. Well, if I was in the way sometimes, I paiddearly for my mistakes. And besides, who is perfect? (My head is onesore!) Dear Monsieur Eugene, I am suffering so now, that a man might dieof the pain; but it is nothing to be compared with the pain I enduredwhen Anastasie made me feel, for the first time, that I had saidsomething stupid. She looked at me, and that glance of hers opened allmy veins. I used to want to know everything, to be learned; and onething I did learn thoroughly--I knew that I was not wanted here onearth."The next day I went to Delphine for comfort, and what should I do therebut make some stupid blunder that made her angry with me. I was like onedriven out of his senses. For a week I did not know what to do; I didnot dare to go to see them for fear they should reproach me. And thatwas how they both turned me out of the house."Oh God! Thou knowest all the misery and anguish that I have endured;Thou hast counted all the wounds that have been dealt to me in theseyears that have aged and changed me and whitened my hair and drained mylife; why dost Thou make me to suffer so to-day? Have I not more thanexpiated the sin of loving them too much? They themselves have been theinstruments of vengeance; they have tortured me for my sin of affection."Ah, well! fathers know no better; I loved them so; I went back to themas a gambler goes to the gaming table. This love was my vice, you see,my mistress--they were everything in the world to me. They were alwayswanting something or other, dresses and ornaments, and what not; theirmaids used to tell me what they wanted, and I used to give them thethings for the sake of the welcome that they bought for me. But, atthe same time, they used to give me little lectures on my behavior insociety; they began about it at once. Then they began to feel ashamed ofme. That is what comes of having your children well brought up. I couldnot go to school again at my time of life. (This pain is fearful! MonDieu! These doctors! these doctors! If they would open my head, itwould give me some relief!) Oh, my daughters, my daughters! Anastasie!Delphine! If I could only see them! Send for the police, and make themcome to me! Justice is on my side, the whole world is on my side, I havenatural rights, and the law with me. I protest! The country will go toruin if a father's rights are trampled under foot. That is easy to see.The whole world turns on fatherly love; fatherly love is the foundationof society; it will crumble into ruin when children do not love theirfathers. Oh! if I could only see them, and hear them, no matter whatthey said; if I could simply hear their voices, it would soothe thepain. Delphine! Delphine most of all. But tell them when they come notto look so coldly at me as they do. Oh! my friend, my good MonsieurEugene, you do not know that it is when all the golden light in a glancesuddenly turns to a leaden gray. It has been one long winter here sincethe light in their eyes shone no more for me. I have had nothing butdisappointments to devour. Disappointment has been my daily bread; Ihave lived on humiliation and insults. I have swallowed down all theaffronts for which they sold me my poor stealthy little moments ofjoy; for I love them so! Think of it! a father hiding himself to get aglimpse of his children! I have given all my life to them, and to-daythey will not give me one hour! I am hungering and thirsting for them,my heart is burning in me, but they will not come to bring relief in theagony, for I am dying now, I feel that this is death. Do they not knowwhat it means to trample on a father's corpse? There is a God in heavenwho avenges us fathers whether we will or no."Oh! they will come! Come to me, darlings, and give me one more kiss;one last kiss, the Viaticum for your father, who will pray God for youin heaven. I will tell Him that you have been good children to yourfather, and plead your cause with God! After all, it is not their fault.I tell you they are innocent, my friend. Tell every one that it is nottheir fault, and no one need be distressed on my account. It is all myown fault, I taught them to trample upon me. I loved to have it so.It is no one's affair but mine; man's justice and God's justice havenothing to do in it. God would be unjust if He condemned them foranything they may have done to me. I did not behave to them properly;I was stupid enough to resign my rights. I would have humbled myself inthe dust for them. What could you expect? The most beautiful nature, thenoblest soul, would have been spoiled by such indulgence. I am a wretch,I am justly punished. I, and I only, am to blame for all their sins; Ispoiled them. To-day they are as eager for pleasure as they used to befor sugar-plums. When they were little girls I indulged them in everywhim. They had a carriage of their own when they were fifteen. Theyhave never been crossed. I am guilty, and not they--but I sinned throughlove."My heart would open at the sound of their voices. I can hear them; theyare coming. Yes! yes! they are coming. The law demands that they shouldbe present at their father's deathbed; the law is on my side. It wouldonly cost them the hire of a cab. I would pay that. Write to them, tellthem that I have millions to leave to them! On my word of honor, yes. Iam going to manufacture Italian paste foods at Odessa. I understand thetrade. There are millions to be made in it. Nobody has thought of thescheme as yet. You see, there will be no waste, no damage in transit,as there always is with wheat and flour. Hey! hey! and starch too; thereare millions to be made in the starch trade! You will not be tellinga lie. Millions, tell them; and even if they really come because theycovet the money, I would rather let them deceive me; and I shall seethem in any case. I want my children! I gave them life; they are mine,mine!" and he sat upright. The head thus raised, with its scanty whitehair, seemed to Eugene like a threat; every line that could still speakspoke of menace."There, there, dear father," said Eugene, "lie down again; I will writeto them at once. As soon as Bianchon comes back I will go for themmyself, if they do not come before.""If they do not come?" repeated the old man, sobbing. "Why, I shallbe dead before then; I shall die in a fit of rage, of rage! Anger isgetting the better of me. I can see my whole life at this minute. I havebeen cheated! They do not love me--they have never loved me all theirlives! It is all clear to me. They have not come, and they will notcome. The longer they put off their coming, the less they are likelyto give me this joy. I know them. They have never cared to guess mydisappointments, my sorrows, my wants; they never cared to know my life;they will have no presentiment of my death; they do not even know thesecret of my tenderness for them. Yes, I see it all now. I have laid myheart open so often, that they take everything I do for them as a matterof course. They might have asked me for the very eyes out of my head andI would have bidden them to pluck them out. They think that all fathersare like theirs. You should always make your value felt. Their ownchildren will avenge me. Why, for their own sakes they should come tome! Make them understand that they are laying up retribution for theirown deathbeds. All crimes are summed up in this one.... Go to them; justtell them that if they stay away it will be parricide! There is enoughlaid to their charge already without adding that to the list. Cry aloudas I do now, 'Nasie! Delphine! here! Come to your father; the father whohas been so kind to you is lying ill!'--Not a sound; no one comes! Thenam I to die like a dog? This is to be my reward--I am forsaken at thelast. They are wicked, heartless women; curses on them, I loathe them.I shall rise at night from my grave to curse them again; for, after all,my friends, have I done wrong? They are behaving very badly to me, eh?... What am I saying? Did you not tell me just now that Delphine is inthe room? She is more tender-hearted than her sister.... Eugene, you aremy son, you know. You will love her; be a father to her! Her sister isvery unhappy. And there are their fortunes! Ah, God! I am dying, thisanguish is almost more than I can bear! Cut off my head; leave menothing but my heart.""Christophe!" shouted Eugene, alarmed by the way in which the old manmoaned, and by his cries, "go for M. Bianchon, and send a cab here forme.--I am going to fetch them, dear father; I will bring them back toyou.""Make them come! Compel them to come! Call out the Guard, the military,anything and everything, but make them come!" He looked at Eugene, and alast gleam of intelligence shone in his eyes. "Go to the authorities, tothe Public Prosecutor, let them bring them here; come they shall!""But you have cursed them.""Who said that!" said the old man in dull amazement. "You know quitewell that I love them, I adore them! I shall be quite well again if Ican see them.... Go for them, my good neighbor, my dear boy, you arekind-hearted; I wish I could repay you for your kindness, but I havenothing to give you now, save the blessing of a dying man. Ah! if Icould only see Delphine, to tell her to pay my debt to you. If the othercannot come, bring Delphine to me at any rate. Tell her that unless shecomes, you will not love her any more. She is so fond of you that shewill come to me then. Give me something to drink! There is a fire in mybowels. Press something against my forehead! If my daughters would laytheir hands there, I think I should get better. ... Mon Dieu! whowill recover their money for them when I am gone?... I will manufacturevermicelli out in Odessa; I will go to Odessa for their sakes.""Here is something to drink," said Eugene, supporting the dying man onhis left arm, while he held a cup of tisane to Goriot's lips."How you must love your own father and mother!" said the old man, andgrasped the student's hand in both of his. It was a feeble, tremblinggrasp. "I am going to die; I shall die without seeing my daughters; doyou understand? To be always thirsting, and never to drink; thathas been my life for the last ten years.... I have no daughters, mysons-in-law killed them. No, since their marriages they have beendead to me. Fathers should petition the Chambers to pass a lawagainst marriage. If you love your daughters, do not let them marry. Ason-in-law is a rascal who poisons a girl's mind and contaminatesher whole nature. Let us have no more marriages! It robs us of ourdaughters; we are left alone upon our deathbeds, and they are not withus then. They ought to pass a law for dying fathers. This is awful! Itcries for vengeance! They cannot come, because my sons-in-law forbidthem!... Kill them!... Restaud and the Alsatian, kill them both! Theyhave murdered me between them!... Death or my daughters!... Ah! it istoo late, I am dying, and they are not here!... Dying without them!...Nasie! Fifine! Why do you not come to me? Your papa is going----""Dear Father Goriot, calm yourself. There, there, lie quietly and rest;don't worry yourself, don't think.""I shall not see them. Oh! the agony of it!""You shall see them.""Really?" cried the old man, still wandering. "Oh! shall I see them; Ishall see them and hear their voices. I shall die happy. Ah! well, afterall, I do not wish to live; I cannot stand this much longer; thispain that grows worse and worse. But, oh! to see them, to touch theirdresses--ah! nothing but their dresses, that is very little; still, tofeel something that belongs to them. Let me touch their hair with myfingers... their hair..."His head fell back on the pillow, as if a sudden heavy blow had struckhim down, but his hands groped feebly over the quilt, as if to find hisdaughters' hair."My blessing on them..." he said, making an effort, "my blessing..."His voice died away. Just at that moment Bianchon came into the room."I met Christophe," he said; "he is gone for your cab."Then he looked at the patient, and raised the closed eyelids with hisfingers. The two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyes beneathhad grown."He will not get over this, I am sure," said Bianchon. He felt the oldman's pulse, and laid a hand over his heart."The machinery works still; more is the pity, in his state it would bebetter for him to die.""Ah! my word, it would!""What is the matter with you? You are as pale as death.""Dear fellow, the moans and cries that I have just heard.... There isa God! Ah! yes, yes, there is a God, and He has made a better world forus, or this world of ours would be a nightmare. I could have cried likea child; but this is too tragical, and I am sick at heart."We want a lot of things, you know; and where is the money to comefrom?"Rastignac took out his watch."There, be quick and pawn it. I do not want to stop on the way to theRue du Helder; there is not a moment to lose, I am afraid, and I mustwait here till Christophe comes back. I have not a farthing; I shallhave to pay the cabman when I get home again."Rastignac rushed down the stairs, and drove off to the Rue du Helder.The awful scene through which he had just passed quickened hisimagination, and he grew fiercely indignant. He reached Mme. deRestaud's house only to be told by the servant that his mistress couldsee no one."But I have brought a message from her father, who is dying," Rastignactold the man."The Count has given us the strictest orders, sir----""If it is M. de Restaud who has given the orders, tell him that hisfather-in-law is dying, and that I am here, and must speak with him atonce."The man went out.Eugene waited for a long while. "Perhaps her father is dying at thismoment," he thought.Then the man came back, and Eugene followed him to the littledrawing-room. M. de Restaud was standing before the fireless grate, anddid not ask his visitor to seat himself."Monsieur le Comte," said Rastignac, "M. Goriot, your father-in-law, islying at the point of death in a squalid den in the Latin Quarter.He has not a penny to pay for firewood; he is expected to die at anymoment, and keeps calling for his daughter----""I feel very little affection for M. Goriot, sir, as you probably areaware," the Count answered coolly. "His character has been compromisedin connection with Mme. de Restaud; he is the author of the misfortunesthat have embittered my life and troubled my peace of mind. It is amatter of perfect indifference to me if he lives or dies. Now you knowmy feelings with regard to him. Public opinion may blame me, but Icare nothing for public opinion. Just now I have other and muchmore important matters to think about than the things that fools andchatterers may say about me. As for Mme. de Restaud, she cannot leavethe house; she is in no condition to do so. And, besides, I shall notallow her to leave it. Tell her father that as soon as she has done herduty by her husband and child she shall go to see him. If she has anylove for her father, she can be free to go to him, if she chooses, in afew seconds; it lies entirely with her----""Monsieur le Comte, it is no business of mine to criticise your conduct;you can do as you please with your wife, but may I count upon yourkeeping your word with me? Well, then, promise me to tell her that herfather has not twenty-four hours to live; that he looks in vain for her,and has cursed her already as he lies on his deathbed,--that is all Iask.""You can tell her yourself," the Count answered, impressed by the thrillof indignation in Eugene's voice.The Count led the way to the room where his wife usually sat. She wasdrowned in tears, and lay crouching in the depths of an armchair, asif she were tired of life and longed to die. It was piteous to see her.Before venturing to look at Rastignac, she glanced at her husband inevident and abject terror that spoke of complete prostration of bodyand mind; she seemed crushed by a tyranny both mental and physical. TheCount jerked his head towards her; she construed this as a permission tospeak."I heard all that you said, monsieur. Tell my father that if he knew allhe would forgive me.... I did not think there was such torture in theworld as this; it is more than I can endure, monsieur!--But I will notgive way as long as I live," she said, turning to her husband. "I am amother.--Tell my father that I have never sinned against him in spite ofappearances!" she cried aloud in her despair.Eugene bowed to the husband and wife; he guessed the meaning of thescene, and that this was a terrible crisis in the Countess' life. M. deRestaud's manner had told him that his errand was a fruitless one; hesaw that Anastasie had no longer any liberty of action. He came awaymazed and bewildered, and hurried to Mme. de Nucingen. Delphine was inbed."Poor dear Eugene, I am ill," she said. "I caught cold after the ball,and I am afraid of pneumonia. I am waiting for the doctor to come.""If you were at death's door," Eugene broke in, "you must be carriedsomehow to your father. He is calling for you. If you could hear thefaintest of those cries, you would not feel ill any longer.""Eugene, I dare say my father is not quite so ill as you say; but Icannot bear to do anything that you do not approve, so I will do justas you wish. As for him, he would die of grief I know if I went out tosee him and brought on a dangerous illness. Well, I will go as soon asI have seen the doctor.--Ah!" she cried out, "you are not wearing yourwatch, how is that?"Eugene reddened."Eugene, Eugene! if you have sold it already or lost it.... Oh! it wouldbe very wrong of you!"The student bent over Delphine and said in her ear, "Do you want toknow? Very well, then, you shall know. Your father has nothing left topay for the shroud that they will lay him in this evening. Your watchhas been pawned, for I had nothing either."Delphine sprang out of bed, ran to her desk, and took out her purse. Shegave it to Eugene, and rang the bell, crying:"I will go, I will go at once, Eugene. Leave me, I will dress. Why,I should be an unnatural daughter! Go back; I will be there beforeyou.--Therese," she called to the waiting-woman, "ask M. de Nucingen tocome upstairs at once and speak to me."Eugene was almost happy when he reached the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve;he was so glad to bring the news to the dying man that one of hisdaughters was coming. He fumbled in Delphine's purse for money, so as todismiss the cab at once; and discovered that the young, beautiful, andwealthy woman of fashion had only seventy francs in her private purse.He climbed the stairs and found Bianchon supporting Goriot, while thehouse surgeon from the hospital was applying moxas to the patient'sback--under the direction of the physician, it was the last expedient ofscience, and it was tried in vain."Can you feel them?" asked the physician. But Goriot had caught sight ofRastignac, and answered, "They are coming, are they not?""There is hope yet," said the surgeon; "he can speak.""Yes," said Eugene, "Delphine is coming.""Oh! that is nothing!" said Bianchon; "he has been talking about hisdaughters all the time. He calls for them as a man impaled calls forwater, they say----""We may as well give up," said the physician, addressing the surgeon."Nothing more can be done now; the case is hopeless."Bianchon and the house surgeon stretched the dying man out again on hisloathsome bed."But the sheets ought to be changed," added the physician. "Even ifthere is no hope left, something is due to human nature. I shall comeback again, Bianchon," he said, turning to the medical student. "If hecomplains again, rub some laudanum over the diaphragm."He went, and the house surgeon went with him."Come, Eugene, pluck up heart, my boy," said Bianchon, as soon as theywere alone; "we must set about changing his sheets, and put him into aclean shirt. Go and tell Sylvie to bring some sheets and come and helpus to make the bed."Eugene went downstairs, and found Mme. Vauquer engaged in setting thetable; Sylvie was helping her. Eugene had scarcely opened his mouthbefore the widow walked up to him with the acidulous sweet smile of acautious shopkeeper who is anxious neither to lose money nor to offend acustomer."My dear Monsieur Eugene," she said, when he had spoken, "you know quiteas well as I do that Father Goriot has not a brass farthing left. If yougive out clean linen for a man who is just going to turn up his eyes,you are not likely to see your sheets again, for one is sure to bewanted to wrap him in. Now, you owe me a hundred and forty-four francsas it is, add forty francs for the pair of sheets, and then there areseveral little things, besides the candle that Sylvie will give you;altogether it will all mount up to at least two hundred francs, which ismore than a poor widow like me can afford to lose. Lord! now, MonsieurEugene, look at it fairly. I have lost quite enough in these five dayssince this run of ill-luck set in for me. I would rather than ten crownsthat the old gentlemen had moved out as you said. It sets the otherlodgers against the house. It would not take much to make me send him tothe workhouse. In short, just put yourself in my place. I have to thinkof my establishment first, for I have my own living to make."Eugene hurried up to Goriot's room."Bianchon," he cried, "the money for the watch?""There it is on the table, or the three hundred and sixty odd francsthat are left of it. I paid up all the old scores out of it before theylet me have the things. The pawn ticket lies there under the money."Rastignac hurried downstairs."Here, madame" he said in disgust, "let us square accounts. M. Goriotwill not stay much longer in your house, nor shall I----""Yes, he will go out feet foremost, poor old gentleman," she said,counting the francs with a half-facetious, half-lugubrious expression."Let us get this over," said Rastignac."Sylvie, look out some sheets, and go upstairs to help the gentlemen.""You won't forget Sylvie," said Mme. Vauquer in Eugene's ear; "she hasbeen sitting up these two nights."As soon as Eugene's back was turned, the old woman hurried after herhandmaid."Take the sheets that have had the sides turned into the middle, number7. Lord! they are plenty good enough for a corpse," she said in Sylvie'sear.Eugene, by this time, was part of the way upstairs, and did not overhearthe elderly economist."Quick," said Bianchon, "let us change his shirt. Hold him upright."Eugene went to the head of the bed and supported the dying man, whileBianchon drew off his shirt; and then Goriot made a movement as if hetried to clutch something to his breast, uttering a low inarticulatemoaning the while, like some dumb animal in mortal pain."Ah! yes!" cried Bianchon. "It is the little locket and the chainmade of hair that he wants; we took it off a while ago when we put theblisters on him. Poor fellow! he must have it again. There it lies onthe chimney-piece."Eugene went to the chimney-piece and found the little plait of fadedgolden hair--Mme. Goriot's hair, no doubt. He read the name on thelittle round locket, ANASTASIE on the one side, DELPHINE on the other.It was the symbol of his own heart that the father always wore on hisbreast. The curls of hair inside the locket were so fine and soft thatis was plain they had been taken from two childish heads. When the oldman felt the locket once more, his chest heaved with a long deep sighof satisfaction, like a groan. It was something terrible to see, for itseemed as if the last quiver of the nerves were laid bare to their eyes,the last communication of sense to the mysterious point within whenceour sympathies come and whither they go. A delirious joy lighted up thedistorted face. The terrific and vivid force of the feeling that hadsurvived the power of thought made such an impression on the students,that the dying man felt their hot tears falling on him, and gave ashrill cry of delight."Nasie! Fifine!""There is life in him yet," said Bianchon."What does he go on living for?" said Sylvie."To suffer," answered Rastignac.Bianchon made a sign to his friend to follow his example, knelt down andpressed his arms under the sick man, and Rastignac on the other side didthe same, so that Sylvie, standing in readiness, might draw the sheetfrom beneath and replace it with the one that she had brought. Thosetears, no doubt, had misled Goriot; for he gathered up all his remainingstrength in a last effort, stretched out his hands, groped for thestudents' heads, and as his fingers caught convulsively at their hair,they heard a faint whisper:"Ah! my angels!"Two words, two inarticulate murmurs, shaped into words by the soul whichfled forth with them as they left his lips."Poor dear!" cried Sylvie, melted by that exclamation; the expression ofthe great love raised for the last time to a sublime height by that mostghastly and involuntary of lies.The father's last breath must have been a sigh of joy, and in that sighhis whole life was summed up; he was cheated even at the last. They laidFather Goriot upon his wretched bed with reverent hands. Thenceforwardthere was no expression on his face, only the painful traces of thestruggle between life and death that was going on in the machine; forthat kind of cerebral consciousness that distinguishes between pleasureand pain in a human being was extinguished; it was only a question oftime--and the mechanism itself would be destroyed."He will lie like this for several hours, and die so quietly at last,that we shall not know when he goes; there will be no rattle in thethroat. The brain must be completely suffused."As he spoke there was a footstep on the staircase, and a young womanhastened up, panting for breath."She has come too late," said Rastignac.But it was not Delphine; it was Therese, her waiting-woman, who stood inthe doorway."Monsieur Eugene," she said, "monsieur and madame have had a terriblescene about some money that Madame (poor thing!) wanted for her father.She fainted, and the doctor came, and she had to be bled, callingout all the while, 'My father is dying; I want to see papa!' It washeartbreaking to hear her----""That will do, Therese. If she came now, it would be trouble thrownaway. M. Goriot cannot recognize any one now.""Poor, dear gentleman, is he as bad at that?" said Therese."You don't want me now, I must go and look after my dinner; it ishalf-past four," remarked Sylvie. The next instant she all but collidedwith Mme. de Restaud on the landing outside.There was something awful and appalling in the sudden apparition ofthe Countess. She saw the bed of death by the dim light of the singlecandle, and her tears flowed at the sight of her father's passivefeatures, from which the life had almost ebbed. Bianchon with thoughtfultact left the room."I could not escape soon enough," she said to Rastignac.The student bowed sadly in reply. Mme. de Restaud took her father's handand kissed it."Forgive me, father! You used to say that my voice would call you backfrom the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless your penitentdaughter. Do you hear me? Oh! this is fearful! No one on earth will everbless me henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you in allthe world. My own children will hate me. Take me with you, father; Iwill love you, I will take care of you. He does not hear me ... I ammad..."She fell on her knees, and gazed wildly at the human wreck before her."My cup of misery is full," she said, turning her eyes upon Eugene."M. de Trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, and I havefound out that he was deceiving me. My husband will never forgive me,and I have left my fortune in his hands. I have lost all my illusions.Alas! I have forsaken the one heart that loved me (she pointed to herfather as she spoke), and for whom? I have held his kindness cheap,and slighted his affection; many and many a time I have given him pain,ungrateful wretch that I am!""He knew it," said Rastignac.Just then Goriot's eyelids unclosed; it was only a muscular contraction,but the Countess' sudden start of reviving hope was no less dreadfulthan the dying eyes."Is it possible that he can hear me?" cried the Countess. "No," sheanswered herself, and sat down beside the bed. As Mme. de Restaud seemedto wish to sit by her father, Eugene went down to take a little food.The boarders were already assembled."Well," remarked the painter, as he joined them, "it seems that there isto be a death-orama upstairs.""Charles, I think you might find something less painful to joke about,"said Eugene."So we may not laugh here?" returned the painter. "What harm does it do?Bianchon said that the old man was quite insensible.""Well, then," said the employe from the Museum, "he will die as he haslived.""My father is dead!" shrieked the Countess.The terrible cry brought Sylvie, Rastignac, and Bianchon; Mme.de Restaud had fainted away. When she recovered they carried herdownstairs, and put her into the cab that stood waiting at the door.Eugene sent Therese with her, and bade the maid take the Countess toMme. de Nucingen.Bianchon came down to them."Yes, he is dead," he said."Come, sit down to dinner, gentlemen," said Mme. Vauquer, "or the soupwill be cold."The two students sat down together."What is the next thing to be done?" Eugene asked of Bianchon."I have closed his eyes and composed his limbs," said Bianchon. "Whenthe certificate has been officially registered at the Mayor's office,we will sew him in his winding sheet and bury him somewhere. What do youthink we ought to do?""He will not smell at his bread like this any more," said the painter,mimicking the old man's little trick."Oh, hang it all!" cried the tutor, "let Father Goriot drop, and let ushave something else for a change. He is a standing dish, and we have hadhim with every sauce this hour or more. It is one of the privileges ofthe good city of Paris that anybody may be born, or live, or die therewithout attracting any attention whatsoever. Let us profit by theadvantages of civilization. There are fifty or sixty deaths every day;if you have a mind to do it, you can sit down at any time and wail overwhole hecatombs of dead in Paris. Father Goriot has gone off the hooks,has he? So much the better for him. If you venerate his memory, keep itto yourselves, and let the rest of us feed in peace.""Oh, to be sure," said the widow, "it is all the better for him that heis dead. It looks as though he had had trouble enough, poor soul, whilehe was alive."And this was all the funeral oration delivered over him who had been forEugene the type and embodiment of Fatherhood.The fifteen lodgers began to talk as usual. When Bianchon and Eugene hadsatisfied their hunger, the rattle of spoons and forks, the boisterousconversation, the expressions on the faces that bespoke various degreesof want of feeling, gluttony, or indifference, everything about themmade them shiver with loathing. They went out to find a priest to watchthat night with the dead. It was necessary to measure their last piouscares by the scanty sum of money that remained. Before nine o'clock thatevening the body was laid out on the bare sacking of the bedstead inthe desolate room; a lighted candle stood on either side, and the priestwatched at the foot. Rastignac made inquiries of this latter as to theexpenses of the funeral, and wrote to the Baron de Nucingen and theComte de Restaud, entreating both gentlemen to authorize their man ofbusiness to defray the charges of laying their father-in-law in thegrave. He sent Christophe with the letters; then he went to bed, tiredout, and slept.Next day Bianchon and Rastignac were obliged to take the certificateto the registrar themselves, and by twelve o'clock the formalities werecompleted. Two hours went by, no word came from the Count nor from theBaron; nobody appeared to act for them, and Rastignac had already beenobliged to pay the priest. Sylvie asked ten francs for sewing the oldman in his winding-sheet and making him ready for the grave, and Eugeneand Bianchon calculated that they had scarcely sufficient to pay for thefuneral, if nothing was forthcoming from the dead man's family. So itwas the medical student who laid him in a pauper's coffin, despatchedfrom Bianchon's hospital, whence he obtained it at a cheaper rate."Let us play those wretches a trick," said he. "Go to the cemetery, buya grave for five years at Pere-Lachaise, and arrange with the Church andthe undertaker to have a third-class funeral. If the daughters andtheir husbands decline to repay you, you can carve this on theheadstone--'Here lies M. Goriot, father of the Comtesse de Restaud andthe Baronne de Nucingen, interred at the expense of two students.'"Eugene took part of his friend's advice, but only after he had gonein person first to M. and Mme. de Nucingen, and then to M. and Mme. deRestaud--a fruitless errand. He went no further than the doorstep ineither house. The servants had received strict orders to admit no one."Monsieur and Madame can see no visitors. They have just lost theirfather, and are in deep grief over their loss."Eugene's Parisian experience told him that it was idle to press thepoint. Something clutched strangely at his heart when he saw that it wasimpossible to reach Delphine."Sell some of your ornaments," he wrote hastily in the porter's room,"so that your father may be decently laid in his last resting-place."He sealed the note, and begged the porter to give it to Therese for hermistress; but the man took it to the Baron de Nucingen, who flung thenote into the fire. Eugene, having finished his errands, returned to thelodging-house about three o'clock. In spite of himself, the tears cameinto his eyes. The coffin, in its scanty covering of black cloth,was standing there on the pavement before the gate, on two chairs.A withered sprig of hyssop was soaking in the holy water bowl ofsilver-plated copper; there was not a soul in the street, not apasser-by had stopped to sprinkle the coffin; there was not even anattempt at a black drapery over the wicket. It was a pauper who laythere; no one made a pretence of mourning for him; he had neitherfriends nor kindred--there was no one to follow him to the grave.Bianchon's duties compelled him to be at the hospital, but he had lefta few lines for Eugene, telling his friend about the arrangements hehad made for the burial service. The house student's note told Rastignacthat a mass was beyond their means, that the ordinary office for thedead was cheaper, and must suffice, and that he had sent word tothe undertaker by Christophe. Eugene had scarcely finished readingBianchon's scrawl, when he looked up and saw the little circulargold locket that contained the hair of Goriot's two daughters in Mme.Vauquer's hands."How dared you take it?" he asked."Good Lord! is that to be buried along with him?" retorted Sylvie. "Itis gold.""Of course it shall!" Eugene answered indignantly; "he shall at anyrate take one thing that may represent his daughters into the grave withhim."When the hearse came, Eugene had the coffin carried into the houseagain, unscrewed the lid, and reverently laid on the old man's breastthe token that recalled the days when Delphine and Anastasie wereinnocent little maidens, before they began "to think for themselves," ashe had moaned out in his agony.Rastignac and Christophe and the two undertaker's men were the onlyfollowers of the funeral. The Church of Saint-Etienne du Mont was only alittle distance from the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. When the coffinhad been deposited in a low, dark, little chapel, the law student lookedround in vain for Goriot's two daughters or their husbands. Christophewas his only fellow-mourner; Christophe, who appeared to think it washis duty to attend the funeral of the man who had put him in the wayof such handsome tips. As they waited there in the chapel for the twopriests, the chorister, and the beadle, Rastignac grasped Christophe'shand. He could not utter a word just then."Yes, Monsieur Eugene," said Christophe, "he was a good and worthy man,who never said one word louder than another; he never did any one anyharm, and gave nobody any trouble."The two priests, the chorister, and the beadle came, and said and didas much as could be expected for seventy francs in an age when religioncannot afford to say prayers for nothing.The ecclesiatics chanted a psalm, the Libera nos and the Deprofundis. The whole service lasted about twenty minutes. There was butone mourning coach, which the priest and chorister agreed to share withEugene and Christophe."There is no one else to follow us," remarked the priest, "so we may aswell go quickly, and so save time; it is half-past five."But just as the coffin was put in the hearse, two empty carriages, withthe armorial bearings of the Comte de Restaud and the Baron de Nucingen,arrived and followed in the procession to Pere-Lachaise. At six o'clockGoriot's coffin was lowered into the grave, his daughters' servantsstanding round the while. The ecclesiastic recited the short prayer thatthe students could afford to pay for, and then both priest and lackeysdisappeared at once. The two grave diggers flung in several spadefuls ofearth, and then stopped and asked Rastignac for their fee. Eugenefelt in vain in his pocket, and was obliged to borrow five francs ofChristophe. This thing, so trifling in itself, gave Rastignac a terriblepang of distress. It was growing dusk, the damp twilight fretted hisnerves; he gazed down into the grave and the tears he shed were drawnfrom him by the sacred emotion, a single-hearted sorrow. When such tearsfall on earth, their radiance reaches heaven. And with that tear thatfell on Father Goriot's grave, Eugene Rastignac's youth ended. He foldedhis arms and gazed at the clouded sky; and Christophe, after a glance athim, turned and went--Rastignac was left alone.He went a few paces further, to the highest point of the cemetery, andlooked out over Paris and the windings of the Seine; the lamps werebeginning to shine on either side of the river. His eyes turned almosteagerly to the space between the column of the Place Vendome and thecupola of the Invalides; there lay the shining world that he had wishedto reach. He glanced over that humming hive, seeming to draw a foretasteof its honey, and said magniloquently:"Henceforth there is war between us."And by way of throwing down the glove to Society, Rastignac went to dinewith Mme. de Nucingen.
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