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Title : standard furniture young parisian storage bench

standard furniture young parisian storage bench

father goriot by honorã© de balzac translated by ellen marriage chapter 1 mme. vauquer (nee de conflans) is an elderlyperson, who for the past forty years has kept a lodging-house in the rue nueve-sainte-genevieve,in the district that lies between the latin quarter and the faubourg saint-marcel. herhouse (known in the neighborhood as the maison vauquer) receives men and women, old and young,and no word has ever been breathed against her respectable establishment; but, at thesame time, it must be said that as a matter of fact no young woman has been under herroof for thirty years, and that if a young

man stays there for any length of time itis a sure sign that his allowance must be of the slenderest. in 1819, however, the timewhen this drama opens, there was an almost penniless young girl among mme. vauquer'sboarders. that word drama has been somewhat discreditedof late; it has been overworked and twisted to strange uses in these days of dolorousliterature; but it must do service again here, not because this story is dramatic in therestricted sense of the word, but because some tears may perhaps be shed intra et extramuros before it is over. will any one without the walls of paris understandit? it is open to doubt. the only audience who could appreciate the results of closeobservation, the careful reproduction of minute

detail and local color, are dwellers betweenthe heights of montrouge and montmartre, in a vale of crumbling stucco watered by streamsof black mud, a vale of sorrows which are real and joys too often hollow; but this audienceis so accustomed to terrible sensations, that only some unimaginable and well-neigh impossiblewoe could produce any lasting impression there. now and again there are tragedies so awfuland so grand by reason of the complication of virtues and vices that bring them about,that egotism and selfishness are forced to pause and are moved to pity; but the impressionthat they receive is like a luscious fruit, soon consumed. civilization, like the carof juggernaut, is scarcely stayed perceptibly in its progress by a heart less easy to breakthan the others that lie in its course; this

also is broken, and civilization continueson her course triumphant. and you, too, will do the like; you who with this book in yourwhite hand will sink back among the cushions of your armchair, and say to yourself, "perhapsthis may amuse me." you will read the story of father goriot's secret woes, and, diningthereafter with an unspoiled appetite, will lay the blame of your insensibility upon thewriter, and accuse him of exaggeration, of writing romances. ah! once for all, this dramais neither a fiction nor a romance! all is true,—so true, that every one can discernthe elements of the tragedy in his own house, perhaps in his own heart. the lodging-house is mme. vauquer's own property.it is still standing in the lower end of the

rue nueve-sainte-genevieve, just where theroad slopes so sharply down to the rue de l'arbalete, that wheeled traffic seldom passesthat way, because it is so stony and steep. this position is sufficient to account forthe silence prevalent in the streets shut in between the dome of the pantheon and thedome of the val-de-grace, two conspicuous public buildings which give a yellowish toneto the landscape and darken the whole district that lies beneath the shadow of their leaden-huedcupolas. in that district the pavements are clean anddry, there is neither mud nor water in the gutters, grass grows in the chinks of thewalls. the most heedless passer-by feels the depressing influences of a place where thesound of wheels creates a sensation; there

is a grim look about the houses, a suggestionof a jail about those high garden walls. a parisian straying into a suburb apparentlycomposed of lodging-houses and public institutions would see poverty and dullness, old age lyingdown to die, and joyous youth condemned to drudgery. it is the ugliest quarter of paris,and, it may be added, the least known. but, before all things, the rue nueve-sainte-genevieveis like a bronze frame for a picture for which the mind cannot be too well prepared by thecontemplation of sad hues and sober images. even so, step by step the daylight decreases,and the cicerone's droning voice grows hollower as the traveler descends into the catacombs.the comparison holds good! who shall say which is more ghastly, the sight of the bleachedskulls or of dried-up human hearts?

the front of the lodging-house is at rightangles to the road, and looks 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 the wall of the house front therelies a channel, a fathom wide, paved with cobble-stones, and beside it runs a graveledwalk bordered by geraniums and oleanders and pomegranates set in great blue and white glazedearthenware pots. access into the graveled walk is afforded by a door, above which thewords maison vauquer may be read, and beneath, in rather smaller letters, "lodgings for bothsexes, etc." during the day a glimpse into the garden iseasily obtained through a wicket to which a bell is attached. on the opposite wall,at the further end of the graveled walk, a

green marble arch was painted once upon atime by a local artist, and in this semblance of a shrine a statue representing cupid isinstalled; a parisian cupid, so blistered and disfigured that he looks like a candidatefor one of the adjacent hospitals, and might suggest an allegory to lovers of symbolism.the half-obliterated inscription on the pedestal beneath determines the date of this work ofart, for it bears witness to the widespread enthusiasm felt for voltaire on his returnto 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 asolid door. the little garden is no wider than the front of the house; it is shut inbetween the wall of the street and the partition

wall of the neighboring house. a mantle ofivy conceals the bricks and attracts the eyes of passers-by to an effect which is picturesquein paris, for each of the walls is covered with trellised vines that yield a scanty dustycrop of fruit, and furnish besides a subject of conversation for mme. vauquer and her lodgers;every year the widow trembles for her vintage. a straight path beneath the walls on eitherside of the garden leads to a 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 de conflans, andregardless of repeated corrections from her lodgers. the central space between the walls is filledwith artichokes and rows of pyramid fruit-trees,

and surrounded by a border of lettuce, pot-herbs,and parsley. under the lime-trees there are a few green-painted garden seats and a woodentable, and hither, during the dog-days, such of the lodgers as are rich enough to indulgein a cup of coffee come to take their pleasure, though it is hot enough to roast eggs evenin the shade. the house itself is three stories high, withoutcounting the attics under the roof. it is built of rough stone, and covered with theyellowish stucco that gives a mean appearance to almost every house in paris. there arefive windows in each story in the front of the house; all the blinds visible throughthe small square panes are drawn up awry, so that the lines are all at cross purposes.at the side of the house there are but two

windows on each floor, and the lowest of allare adorned with a heavy iron grating. behind the house a yard extends for some twentyfeet, a space inhabited by a happy family of pigs, poultry, and rabbits; the wood-shedis situated on the further side, and on the wall between the wood-shed and the kitchenwindow hangs the meat-safe, just above the place where the sink discharges its greasystreams. the cook sweeps all the refuse out through a little door into the rue nueve-sainte-genevieve,and frequently cleanses the yard with copious supplies of water, under pain of pestilence. the house might have been built on purposefor its present uses. access is given by a french window to the first room on the groundfloor, a sitting-room which looks out upon

the street through the two barred windowsalready mentioned. another door opens out of it into the dining-room, which is separatedfrom the kitchen by the well of the staircase, the steps being constructed partly of wood,partly of tiles, which are colored and beeswaxed. nothing can be more depressing than the sightof that sitting-room. the furniture is covered with horse hair woven in alternate dull andglossy stripes. there is a round table in the middle, with a purplish-red marble top,on which there stands, by way of ornament, the inevitable white china tea-service, coveredwith a half-effaced gilt network. the floor is sufficiently uneven, the wainscot risesto elbow height, and the rest of the wall space is decorated with a varnished paper,on which the principal scenes from telemaque

are depicted, the various classical personagesbeing colored. the subject between the two windows is the banquet given by calypso tothe son of ulysses, displayed thereon for the admiration of the boarders, and has furnishedjokes these forty years to the young men who show themselves superior to their positionby making fun of the dinners to which poverty condemns them. the hearth is always so cleanand neat that it is evident that a fire is only kindled there on great occasions; thestone chimney-piece is adorned by a couple of vases filled with faded artificial flowersimprisoned under glass shades, on either side of a bluish marble clock in the very worsttaste. the first room exhales an odor for which thereis no name in the language, and which should

be called the odeur de pension. the damp atmospheresends a chill through you as you breathe it; it has a stuffy, musty, and rancid quality;it permeates your clothing; after-dinner scents seem to be mingled in it with smells fromthe kitchen and scullery and the reek of a hospital. it might be possible to describeit if some one should discover a process by which to distil from the atmosphere all thenauseating elements with which it is charged by the catarrhal exhalations of every individuallodger, young or old. yet, in spite of these stale horrors, the sitting-room is as charmingand as delicately perfumed as a boudoir, when compared with the adjoining dining-room. the paneled walls of that apartment were oncepainted some color, now a matter of conjecture,

for the surface is incrusted with accumulatedlayers of grimy deposit, which cover it with fantastic outlines. a collection of dim-ribbedglass decanters, metal discs with a satin sheen on them, and piles of blue-edged earthenwareplates of touraine ware cover the sticky surfaces of the sideboards that line the room. in acorner stands a box containing a set of numbered pigeon-holes, in which the lodgers' tablenapkins, more or less soiled and stained with wine, are kept. here you see that indestructiblefurniture never met with elsewhere, which finds its way into lodging-houses much asthe wrecks of our civilization drift into hospitals for incurables. you expect in suchplaces as these to find the weather-house whence a capuchin issues on wet days; youlook to find the execrable engravings which

spoil your appetite, framed every one in ablack varnished frame, with a gilt beading round it; you know the sort of tortoise-shellclock-case, inlaid with brass; the green stove, the argand lamps, covered with oil and dust,have met your eyes before. the oilcloth which covers the long table is so greasy that awaggish externe will write his name on the surface, using his thumb-nail as a style.the chairs are broken-down invalids; the wretched little hempen mats slip away from under yourfeet without slipping away for good; and finally, the foot-warmers are miserable wrecks, hingeless,charred, broken away about the holes. it would be impossible to give an idea of the old,rotten, shaky, cranky, worm-eaten, halt, maimed, one-eyed, rickety, and ramshackle conditionof the furniture without an exhaustive description,

which would delay the progress of the storyto an extent that impatient people would not pardon. the red tiles of the floor are fullof depressions brought about by scouring and periodical renewings of color. in short, thereis no illusory grace left to the poverty that reigns here; it is dire, parsimonious, concentrated,threadbare poverty; as yet it has not sunk into 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 seveno'clock in the morning, when mme. vauquer's cat appears, announcing the near approachof his mistress, and jumps upon the sideboards to sniff at the milk in the bowls, each protectedby a plate, while he purrs his morning greeting

to the world. a moment later the widow showsher face; she is tricked out in a net cap attached to a false front set on awry, andshuffles into the room in her slipshod fashion. she is an oldish woman, with a bloated countenance,and a nose like a parrot's beak set in the middle of it; her fat little hands (she isas sleek as a church rat) and her shapeless, slouching figure are in keeping with the roomthat reeks of misfortune, where hope is reduced to speculate for the meanest stakes. mme.vauquer alone can breathe that tainted air without being disheartened by it. her faceis as fresh as a frosty morning in autumn; there are wrinkles about the eyes that varyin their expression from the set smile of a ballet-dancer to the dark, suspicious scowlof a discounter of bills; in short, she is

at once the embodiment and interpretationof her lodging-house, as surely as her lodging-house implies the existence of its mistress. youcan no more imagine the one without the other, than you can think of a jail without a turnkey.the unwholesome corpulence of the little woman is produced by the life she leads, just astyphus fever is bred in the tainted air of a hospital. the very knitted woolen petticoatthat she wears beneath a skirt made of an old gown, with the wadding protruding throughthe rents in the material, is a sort of epitome of the sitting-room, the dining-room, andthe little garden; it discovers the cook, it foreshadows the lodgers—the picture ofthe house is completed by the portrait of its mistress.

mme. vauquer at the age of fifty is like allwomen who "have seen a deal of trouble." she has the glassy eyes and innocent air of atrafficker in flesh and blood, who will wax virtuously indignant to obtain a higher pricefor her services, but who is quite ready to betray a georges or a pichegru, if a georgesor a pichegru were in hiding and still to be betrayed, or for any other expedient thatmay alleviate her lot. still, "she is a good woman at bottom," said the lodgers who believedthat the widow was wholly dependent upon the money that they paid her, and sympathizedwhen they heard her cough and groan like one of themselves. what had m. vauquer been? the lady was neververy explicit on this head. how had she lost

her money? "through trouble," was her answer.he had treated her badly, had left her nothing but her eyes to cry over his cruelty, thehouse she lived in, and the privilege of pitying nobody, because, so she was wont to say, sheherself had been through every possible misfortune. sylvie, the stout cook, hearing her mistress'shuffling footsteps, hastened to serve the lodgers' breakfasts. beside those who livedin the house, mme. vauquer took boarders who came for their meals; but these externes usuallyonly came to dinner, for which they paid thirty francs a month. at the time when this story begins, the lodging-housecontained seven inmates. the best rooms in the house were on the first story, mme. vauquerherself occupying the least important, while

the rest were let to a mme. couture, the widowof a commissary-general in the service of the republic. with her lived victorine taillefer,a schoolgirl, to whom she filled the place of mother. these two ladies paid eighteenhundred francs a year. the two sets of rooms on the second floorwere respectively occupied by an old man named poiret and a man of forty or thereabouts,the wearer of a black wig and dyed whiskers, who gave out that he was a retired merchant,and was addressed as m. vautrin. two of the four rooms on the third floor were also let—oneto an elderly spinster, a mlle. michonneau, and the other to a retired manufacturer ofvermicelli, italian paste and starch, who allowed the others to address him as "fathergoriot." the remaining rooms were allotted

to various birds of passage, to impecuniousstudents, who like "father goriot" and mlle. michonneau, could only muster forty-five francsa month to pay for their board and lodging. mme. vauquer had little desire for lodgersof this sort; they ate too much bread, and she only took them in default of better. at that time one of the rooms was tenantedby a law student, a young man from the neighborhood of angouleme, one of a large family who pinchedand starved themselves to spare twelve hundred francs a year for him. misfortune had accustomedeugene de rastignac, for that was his name, to work. he belonged to the number of youngmen who know as children that their parents' hopes are centered on them, and deliberatelyprepare themselves for a great career, subordinating

their studies from the first to this end,carefully watching the indications of the course of events, calculating the probableturn that affairs will take, that they may be the first to profit by them. but for hisobservant curiosity, and the skill with which he managed to introduce himself into the salonsof paris, this story would not have been colored by the tones of truth which it certainly owesto him, for they are entirely due to his penetrating sagacity and desire to fathom the mysteriesof an appalling condition 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 wherethe linen was hung to dry, and a couple of attics. christophe, the man-of-all-work, sleptin one, and sylvie, the stout cook, in the

other. beside the seven inmates thus enumerated,taking one year with another, some eight law or medical students dined in the house, aswell as two or three regular comers who lived in the neighborhood. there were usually eighteenpeople 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 like a family party.every one came down in dressing-gown and slippers, and the conversation usually turned on anythingthat had happened the evening before; comments on the dress or appearance of the dinner contingentwere exchanged in friendly confidence. these seven lodgers were mme. vauquer's spoiledchildren. among them she distributed, with astronomical precision, the exact proportionof respect and attention due to the varying

amounts they paid for their board. one singleconsideration influenced all these human beings thrown together by chance. the two second-floorlodgers only paid seventy-two francs 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 upon them all, mme. couture being the sole exceptionto the rule. the dreary surroundings were reflected inthe costumes of the inmates of the house; all were alike threadbare. the color of themen's coats were problematical; such shoes, in more fashionable quarters, are only tobe seen lying in the gutter; the cuffs and collars were worn and frayed at the edges;every limp article of clothing looked like

the ghost of its former self. the women'sdresses were faded, old-fashioned, dyed and re-dyed; they wore gloves that were glazedwith hard wear, much-mended lace, dingy ruffles, crumpled muslin fichus. so much for theirclothing; but, for the most part, their frames were solid enough; their constitutions hadweathered the storms of life; their cold, hard faces were worn like coins that havebeen withdrawn from circulation, but there were greedy teeth behind the withered lips.dramas brought to a close or still in progress are foreshadowed by the sight of such actorsas these, not the dramas that are played before the footlights and against a background ofpainted canvas, but dumb dramas of life, frost-bound dramas that sere hearts like fire, dramasthat do not end with the actors' lives.

mlle. michonneau, that elderly young lady,screened her weak eyes from the daylight by a soiled green silk shade with a rim of brass,an object fit to scare away the angel of pity himself. her shawl, with its scanty, draggledfringe, might have covered a skeleton, so meagre and angular was the form beneath it.yet she must have been pretty and shapely once. what corrosive had destroyed the feminineoutlines? 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 had she been merely acourtesan? was she expiating the flaunting triumphs of a youth overcrowded with pleasuresby an old age in which she was shunned by every passer-by? her vacant gaze sent a chillthrough you; her shriveled face seemed like

a menace. her voice was like the shrill, thinnote of the grasshopper sounding from the thicket when winter is at hand. she said thatshe had nursed an old gentleman, ill of catarrh of the bladder, and left to die by his children,who thought that he had nothing left. his bequest to her, a life annuity of a thousandfrancs, was periodically disputed by his heirs, who mingled slander with their persecutions.in spite of the ravages of conflicting passions, her face retained some traces of its formerfairness and fineness of tissue, some vestiges of the physical charms of her youth stillsurvived. m. poiret was a sort of automaton. he mightbe seen any day sailing like a gray shadow along the walks of the jardin des plantes,on his head a shabby cap, a cane with an old

yellow ivory handle in the tips of his thinfingers; the outspread skirts of his threadbare overcoat failed to conceal his meagre figure;his breeches hung loosely on his shrunken limbs; the thin, blue-stockinged legs trembledlike those of a drunken man; there was a notable breach of continuity between the dingy whitewaistcoat and crumpled shirt frills and the cravat twisted about a throat like a turkeygobbler's; altogether, his appearance set people wondering whether this outlandish ghostbelonged to the audacious race of the sons of japhet who flutter about on the boulevarditalien. what devouring kind of toil could have so shriveled him? what devouring passionshad darkened that bulbous countenance, which would have seemed outrageous as a caricature?what had he been? well, perhaps he had been

part of the machinery of justice, a clerkin the office to which the executioner sends in his accounts,—so much for providing blackveils for parricides, so much for sawdust, so much for pulleys and cord for the knife.or he might have been a receiver at the door of a public slaughter-house, or a sub-inspectorof nuisances. indeed, the man appeared to have been one of the beasts of burden in ourgreat social mill; one of those parisian ratons whom their bertrands do not even know by sight;a pivot in the obscure machinery that disposes of misery and things unclean; one of thosemen, in short, at sight of whom we are prompted to remark that, "after all, we cannot do withoutthem." stately paris ignores the existence of thesefaces bleached by moral or physical suffering;

but, then, paris is in truth an ocean thatno line can plumb. you may survey its surface and describe it; but no matter how numerousand painstaking the toilers in this sea, there will always be lonely and unexplored regionsin its depths, caverns unknown, flowers and pearls and monsters of the deep overlookedor forgotten by the divers of literature. the maison vauquer is one of these curiousmonstrosities. two, however, of mme. vauquer's boarders formeda striking contrast to the rest. there was a sickly pallor, such as is often seen inanaemic girls, in mlle. victorine taillefer's face; and her unvarying expression of sadness,like her embarrassed manner and pinched look, was in keeping with the general wretchednessof the establishment in the rue nueve-saint-genevieve,

which forms a background to this picture;but her face was young, there was youthfulness in her voice and elasticity in her movements.this young misfortune was not unlike a shrub, newly planted in an uncongenial soil, whereits leaves have already begun to wither. the outlines of her figure, revealed by her dressof the simplest and cheapest materials, were also youthful. there was the same kind ofcharm about her too slender form, her faintly colored face and light-brown hair, that modernpoets find in mediaeval statuettes; and a sweet expression, a look of christian resignationin 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 toilette is her tinsel. ifthe delightful excitement of a ball had made

the pale face glow with color; if the delightsof a luxurious life had brought the color to the wan cheeks that were slightly hollowedalready; if love had put light into the sad eyes, then victorine might have ranked amongthe fairest; but she lacked the two things which create woman a second time—prettydresses and love-letters. a book might have been made of her story.her father was persuaded that he had sufficient reason for declining to acknowledge her, andallowed her a bare six hundred francs a year; he had further taken measures to disinherithis daughter, and had converted all his real estate into personalty, that he might leaveit undivided to his son. victorine's mother had died broken-hearted in mme. couture'shouse; and the latter, who was a near relation,

had taken charge of the little orphan. unluckily,the widow of the commissary-general to the armies of the republic had nothing in theworld but her jointure and her widow's pension, and some day she might be obliged to leavethe helpless, inexperienced girl to the mercy of the world. the good soul, therefore, tookvictorine 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 solutionof the problem of the young girl's future. the poor child loved the father who refusedto acknowledge her. once every year she tried to see him to deliver her mother's messageof forgiveness, but every year hitherto she had knocked at that door in vain; her fatherwas inexorable. her brother, her only means

of communication, had not come to see herfor four years, and had sent her no assistance; yet she prayed to god to unseal her father'seyes and to soften her brother's heart, and no accusations mingled with her prayers. mme.couture and mme. vauquer exhausted the vocabulary of abuse, and failed to find words that didjustice to the banker's iniquitous conduct; but while they heaped execrations on the millionaire,victorine's words were as gentle as the moan of the wounded dove, and affection found expressioneven in the cry drawn from her by pain. eugene de rastignac was a thoroughly southerntype; he had a fair complexion, blue eyes, black hair. in his figure, manner, and hiswhole bearing it was easy to see that he had either come of a noble family, or that, fromhis earliest childhood, he had been gently

bred. if he was careful of his wardrobe, onlytaking last year's clothes into daily wear, still upon occasion he could issue forth asa young man of fashion. ordinarily he wore a shabby coat and waistcoat, the limp blackcravat, untidily knotted, that students affect, trousers that matched the rest of his costume,and boots that had been resoled. vautrin (the man of forty with the dyed whiskers)marked a transition stage between these two young people and the others. he was the kindof man that calls forth the remark: "he looks a jovial sort!" he had broad shoulders, awell-developed chest, muscular arms, and strong square-fisted hands; the joints of his fingerswere covered with tufts of fiery red hair. his face was furrowed by premature wrinkles;there was a certain hardness about it in spite

of his bland and insinuating manner. his bassvoice was by no means unpleasant, and was in keeping with his boisterous laughter. hewas always obliging, always in good spirits; if anything went wrong with one of the locks,he would soon unscrew it, take it to pieces, file it, oil and clean and set it in order,and put it back in its place again; "i am an old hand at it," he used to say. not onlyso, he knew all about ships, the sea, france, foreign countries, men, business, law, greathouses and prisons,—there was nothing that he did not know. if any one complained rathermore than usual, he would offer his services at once. he had several times lent money tomme. vauquer, or to the boarders; but, somehow, those whom he obliged felt that they wouldsooner face death than fail to repay him;

a certain resolute look, sometimes seen onhis face, inspired fear of him, for all his appearance of easy good-nature. in the wayhe spat there was an imperturbable coolness which seemed to indicate that this was a manwho would not stick at a crime to extricate himself from a false position. his eyes, likethose of a pitiless judge, seemed to go to the very bottom of all questions, to readall natures, all feelings and thoughts. his habit of life was very regular; he usuallywent out after breakfast, returning in time for dinner, and disappeared for the rest ofthe evening, letting himself in about midnight with a latch key, a privilege that mme. vauqueraccorded to no other boarder. but then he was on very good terms with the widow; heused to call her "mamma," and put his arm

round her waist, a piece of flattery perhapsnot appreciated to 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 to encircle her. it was a characteristic trait of his generouslyto pay fifteen francs a month for the cup of coffee with a dash of brandy in it, whichhe took after dinner. less superficial observers than young men engulfed by the whirlpool ofparisian life, or old men, who took no interest in anything that did not directly concernthem, would not have stopped short at the vaguely unsatisfactory impression that vautrinmade upon them. he knew or guessed the concerns of every one about him; but none of them hadbeen able to penetrate his thoughts, or to

discover his occupation. he had deliberatelymade his apparent good-nature, his unfailing readiness to oblige, and his high spiritsinto a barrier between himself and the rest of them, but not seldom he gave glimpses ofappalling depths of character. he seemed to delight in scourging the upper classes ofsociety with the lash of his tongue, to take pleasure in convicting it of inconsistency,in mocking at law and order with some grim jest worthy of juvenal, as if some grudgeagainst the social system rankled in him, as if there were some mystery carefully hiddenaway in his life. mlle. taillefer felt attracted, perhaps unconsciously,by the strength of the one man, and the good looks of the other; her stolen glances andsecret thoughts were divided between them;

but neither of them seemed to take any noticeof her, although some day a chance might alter her position, and she would be a wealthy heiress.for that matter, there was not a soul in the house who took any trouble to investigatethe various chronicles of misfortunes, real or imaginary, related by the rest. each oneregarded the others with indifference, tempered by suspicion; it was a natural result of theirrelative positions. practical assistance not one could give, this they all knew, and theyhad long since exhausted their stock of condolence over previous discussions of their grievances.they were in something the same position as an elderly couple who have nothing left tosay to each other. the routine of existence kept them in contact, but they were partsof a mechanism which wanted oil. there was

not one of them but would have passed a blindman begging in the street, not one that felt moved to pity by a tale of misfortune, notone who did not see in death the solution of the all-absorbing problem of misery whichleft them cold to the most terrible anguish in others. the happiest of these hapless beings was certainlymme. vauquer, who reigned supreme over this hospital supported by voluntary contributions.for her, the little garden, which silence, and cold, and rain, and drought combined tomake as dreary as an asian steppe, was a pleasant shaded nook; the gaunt yellow house, the mustyodors of a back shop had charms for her, and for her alone. those cells belonged to her.she fed those convicts condemned to penal

servitude for life, and her authority wasrecognized among them. where else in paris would they have found wholesome food in sufficientquantity at the prices she charged them, and rooms which they were at liberty to make,if not exactly elegant or comfortable, at any rate clean and healthy? if she had committedsome flagrant act of injustice, the victim would have borne it in silence. such a gathering contained, as might havebeen expected, the elements out of which a complete society might be constructed. and,as in a school, as in the world itself, there was among the eighteen men and women who metround the dinner table a poor creature, despised by all the others, condemned to be the buttof all their jokes. at the beginning of eugene

de rastignac's second twelvemonth, this figuresuddenly started out into bold relief against the background of human forms and faces amongwhich the law student was yet to live for another two years to come. this laughing-stockwas the retired vermicelli-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 regardedhim with a half-malignant contempt? why did they subject the oldest among their numberto a kind of persecution, in which there was mingled some pity, but no respect for hismisfortunes? had he brought it on himself by some eccentricity or absurdity, which isless easily forgiven or forgotten than more

serious defects? the question strikes at theroot of many a social injustice. perhaps it is only human nature to inflict sufferingon anything that will endure suffering, whether by reason of its genuine humility, or indifference,or sheer helplessness. do we not, one and all, like to feel our strength even at theexpense of some one or of something? the poorest sample of humanity, the street arab, willpull the bell handle at every street door in bitter weather, and scramble up to writehis name on the unsullied marble of a monument. chapter 2 in the year 1813, at the age of sixty-nineor thereabouts, "father goriot" had sold his business and retired—to mme. vauquer's boardinghouse. when he first came there he had taken

the rooms now occupied by mme. couture; hehad paid twelve hundred francs a year like a man to whom five louis more or less wasa mere trifle. for him mme. vauquer had made various improvements in the three rooms destinedfor his use, in consideration of a certain sum paid in advance, so it was said, for themiserable furniture, that is to say, for some yellow cotton curtains, a few chairs of stainedwood covered with utrecht velvet, several wretched colored prints in frames, and wallpapers that a little suburban tavern would have disdained. possibly it was the carelessgenerosity with which father goriot allowed himself to be overreached at this period ofhis life (they called him monsieur goriot very respectfully then) that gave mme. vauquerthe meanest opinion of his business abilities;

she looked on him as an imbecile where moneywas concerned. goriot had brought with him a considerablewardrobe, the gorgeous outfit of a retired tradesman who denies himself nothing. mme.vauquer's astonished eyes beheld no less than eighteen cambric-fronted shirts, the splendorof their fineness being enhanced by a pair of pins each bearing a large diamond, andconnected by a short chain, an ornament which adorned the vermicelli-maker's shirt front.he usually wore a coat of corn-flower blue; his rotund and portly person was still furtherset off by a clean white waistcoat, and a gold chain and seals which dangled over thatbroad expanse. when his hostess accused him of being "a bit of a beau," he smiled withthe vanity of a citizen whose foible is gratified.

his cupboards (ormoires, as he called themin the popular dialect) were filled with a quantity of plate that he brought with him.the widow's eyes gleamed as she obligingly helped him to unpack the soup ladles, table-spoons,forks, cruet-stands, tureens, dishes, and breakfast services—all of silver, whichwere duly arranged upon shelves, besides a few more or less handsome pieces of plate,all weighing no inconsiderable number of ounces; he could not bring himself to part with thesegifts that reminded him of past domestic festivals. "this was my wife's present to me on the firstanniversary of our wedding day," he said to mme. vauquer, as he put away a little silverposset dish, with two turtle-doves billing on the cover. "poor dear! she spent on itall the money she had saved before we were

married. do you know, i would sooner scratchthe earth with my nails for a living, madame, than part with that. but i shall be able totake my coffee out of it every morning for the rest of my days, thank the lord! i amnot to be pitied. there's not much fear of my starving for some time to come." finally, mme. vauquer's magpie's eye had discoveredand read certain entries in the list of shareholders in the funds, and, after a rough calculation,was disposed to credit goriot (worthy man) with something like ten thousand francs ayear. from that day forward mme. vauquer (nee de conflans), who, as a matter of fact, hadseen forty-eight summers, though she would only own to thirty-nine of them—mme. vauquerhad her own ideas. though goriot's eyes seemed

to have shrunk in their sockets, though theywere weak and watery, owing to some glandular affection which compelled him to wipe themcontinually, she considered him to be a very gentlemanly and pleasant-looking man. moreover,the widow saw favorable indications of character in the well-developed calves of his legs andin his square-shaped nose, indications still further borne out by the worthy man's full-mooncountenance and look of stupid good-nature. this, in all probability, was a strongly-buildanimal, whose brains mostly consisted in a capacity for affection. his hair, worn inailes de pigeon, and duly powdered every morning by the barber from the ecole polytechnique,described five points on his low forehead, and made an elegant setting to his face. thoughhis manners were somewhat boorish, he was

always as neat as a new pin and he took hissnuff in a lordly way, like a man who knows that his snuff-box is always likely to befilled with maccaboy, so that when mme. vauquer lay down to rest on the day of m. goriot'sinstallation, her heart, like a larded partridge, sweltered before the fire of a burning desireto shake off the shroud of vauquer and rise again as goriot. she would marry again, sellher boarding-house, give her hand to this fine flower of citizenship, become a ladyof consequence in the quarter, and ask for subscriptions for charitable purposes; shewould make little sunday excursions to choisy, soissy, gentilly; she would have a box atthe theatre when she liked, instead of waiting for the author's tickets that one of her boarderssometimes gave her, in july; the whole eldorado

of a little parisian household rose up beforemme. vauquer in her dreams. nobody knew that she herself possessed forty thousand francs,accumulated sou by sou, that was her secret; surely as far as money was concerned she wasa very tolerable match. "and in other respects, i am quite his equal," she said to herself,turning as if to assure herself of the charms of a form that the portly sylvie found mouldedin down feathers every morning. for three months from that day mme. veuvevauquer availed herself of the services of m. goriot's coiffeur, and went to some expenseover her toilette, expense justifiable on the ground that she owed it to herself andher establishment to pay some attention to appearances when such highly-respectable personshonored her house with their presence. she

expended no small amount of ingenuity in asort of weeding process of her lodgers, announcing her intention of receiving henceforward nonebut people who were in every way select. if a stranger presented himself, she let himknow that m. goriot, one of the best known and most highly-respected merchants in paris,had singled out her boarding-house for a residence. she drew up a prospectus headed maison vauquer,in which it was asserted that hers was "one of the oldest and most highly recommendedboarding-houses in the latin quarter." "from the windows of the house," thus ran the prospectus,"there is a charming view of the vallee des gobelins (so there is—from the third floor),and a beautiful garden, extending down to an avenue of lindens at the further end."mention was made of the bracing air of the

place and its quiet situation. it was this prospectus that attracted mme.la comtesse de l'ambermesnil, a widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlementof her husband's affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to her as the wifeof a general who had died "on the field of battle." on this mme. vauquer saw to her table,lighted a fire daily in the sitting-room for nearly six months, and kept the promise ofher prospectus, even going to some expense to do so. and the countess, on her side, addressedmme. vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, the baronne de vaumerlandand the widow of a colonel, the late comte de picquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-housein the marais, where the terms were higher

than at the maison vauquer. both these ladies,moreover, would be very well to do when the people at the war office had come to an endof their formalities. "but government departments are always so dilatory," the lady added. after dinner the two widows went togetherup to mme. vauquer's room, and had a snug little chat over some cordial and variousdelicacies reserved for 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 mattershe had guessed from the very first; in her opinion the vermicelli maker was an excellentman. "ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved manof his age, as sound as my eyesight—a man

who might make a woman happy!" said the widow. the good-natured countess turned to the subjectof mme. vauquer's dress, which was not in harmony with her projects. "you must put yourselfon a war footing," said she. after much serious consideration the two widowswent shopping together—they purchased a hat adorned with ostrich feathers and a capat the palais royal, and the countess took her friend to the magasin de la petite jeannette,where they chose a dress and a scarf. thus equipped for the campaign, the widow lookedexactly like the prize animal hung out for a sign above an a la mode beef shop; but sheherself was so much pleased with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance, thatshe felt that she lay under some obligation

to the countess; and, though by no means open-handed,she begged that lady to accept a hat that cost twenty francs. the fact was that sheneeded the countess' services on the delicate mission of sounding goriot; the countess mustsing her praises in his ears. mme. de l'ambermesnil lent herself very good-naturedly to this manoeuvre,began her operations, and succeeded in obtaining a private interview; but the overtures thatshe made, with a view to securing him for herself, were received with embarrassment,not to say a repulse. she left him, revolted by his coarseness. "my angel," said she to her dear friend, "youwill make nothing of that man yonder. he is absurdly suspicious, and he is a mean curmudgeon,an idiot, a fool; you would never be happy

with him." after what had passed between m. goriot andmme. de l'ambermesnil, the countess would no longer live under the same roof. she leftthe next day, forgot to pay for six months' board, and left behind her wardrobe, cast-offclothing to the value of five francs. eagerly and persistently as mme. vauquer sought herquondam lodger, the comtesse de l'ambermesnil was never heard of again in paris. the widowoften talked of this deplorable business, and regretted her own too confiding disposition.as a matter of fact, she was as suspicious as a cat; but she was like many other people,who cannot trust their own kin and put themselves at the mercy of the next chance comer—anodd but common phenomenon, whose causes may

readily be traced to the depths of the humanheart. perhaps there are people who know that theyhave nothing more to look for from those with whom they live; they have shown the emptinessof their hearts to their housemates, and in their secret selves they are conscious thatthey are severely judged, and that they deserve to be judged severely; but still they feelan unconquerable craving for praises that they do not hear, or they are consumed bya desire to appear to possess, in the eyes of a new audience, the qualities which theyhave not, hoping to win the admiration or affection of strangers at the risk of forfeitingit again some day. or, once more, there are other mercenary natures who never do a kindnessto a friend or a relation simply because these

have a claim upon them, while a service doneto a stranger brings its reward to self-love. such natures feel but little affection forthose who are nearest to them; they keep their kindness for remoter circles of acquaintance,and show most to those who dwell on its utmost limits. mme. vauquer belonged to both theseessentially mean, false, and execrable classes. "if i had been there at the time," vautrinwould say at the end of the story, "i would have shown her up, and that misfortune wouldnot have befallen you. i know that kind of phiz!" like all narrow natures, mme. vauquer waswont to confine her attention to events, and did not go very deeply into the causes thatbrought them about; she likewise preferred

to throw the blame of her own mistakes onother people, so she chose to consider that the honest vermicelli maker was responsiblefor her misfortune. it had opened her eyes, so she said, with regard to him. as soon asshe saw that her blandishments were in vain, and that her outlay on her toilette was moneythrown away, she was not slow to discover the reason of his indifference. it becameplain to her at once that there was some other attraction, to use her own expression. inshort, it was evident that the hope she had so fondly cherished was a baseless delusion,and that she would "never make anything out of that man yonder," in the countess' forciblephrase. the countess seemed to have been a judge of character. mme. vauquer's aversionwas naturally more energetic than her friendship,

for her hatred was not in proportion to herlove, but to her disappointed expectations. the human heart may find here and there aresting-place short of the highest height of affection, but we seldom stop in the steep,downward slope of hatred. still, m. goriot was a lodger, and the widow's wounded self-lovecould not vent itself in an explosion of wrath; like a monk harassed by the prior of his convent,she was forced to stifle her sighs of disappointment, and to gulp down her craving for revenge.little minds find gratification for their feelings, benevolent or otherwise, by a constantexercise of petty ingenuity. the widow employed her woman's malice to devise a system of covertpersecution. she began by a course of retrenchment—various luxuries which had found their way to thetable appeared there no more.

"no more gherkins, no more anchovies; theyhave made a fool of me!" she said to sylvie one morning, and they returned to the oldbill of fare. the thrifty frugality necessary to those whomean to make their way in the 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, the dinnerhe liked best, so mme. vauquer found it very difficult to annoy a boarder whose tasteswere so simple. he was proof against her malice, and in desperation she spoke to him and ofhim slightingly before the other lodgers, who began to amuse themselves at his expense,and so gratified her desire for revenge. towards the end of the first year the widow'ssuspicions had reached such a pitch that she

began to wonder how it was that a retiredmerchant with a secure income of seven or eight thousand livres, the owner of such magnificentplate and jewelry handsome enough for a kept mistress, should be living in her house. whyshould he devote so small a proportion of his money to his expenses? until the firstyear was nearly at an end, goriot had dined out once or twice every week, but these occasionscame less frequently, and at last he was scarcely absent from the dinner-table twice a month.it was hardly expected that mme. vauquer should regard the increased regularity of her boarder'shabits with complacency, when those little excursions of his had been so much to herinterest. she attributed the change not so much to a gradual diminution of fortune asto a spiteful wish to annoy his hostess. it

is one of the most detestable habits of aliliputian mind to credit other people with its own malignant pettiness. unluckily, towards the end of the second year,m. goriot's conduct gave some color to the idle talk about him. he asked mme. vauquerto give him a room on the second floor, and to make a corresponding reduction in her charges.apparently, such strict economy was called for, that he did without a fire all throughthe winter. mme. vauquer asked to be paid in advance, an arrangement to which m. goriotconsented, and thenceforward she spoke of him as "father goriot." what had brought about this decline and fall?conjecture was keen, but investigation was

difficult. father goriot was not communicative;in the sham countess' phrase he was "a curmudgeon." empty-headed people who babble about theirown affairs because they have nothing else to occupy them, naturally conclude that ifpeople say nothing of their doings it is because their doings will not bear being talked about;so the highly respectable merchant became a scoundrel, and the late beau was an oldrogue. opinion fluctuated. sometimes, according to vautrin, who came about this time to livein the maison vauquer, father goriot was a man who went on 'change and dabbled (to usethe sufficiently expressive language of the stock exchange) in stocks and shares afterhe had ruined himself by heavy speculation. sometimes it was held that he was one of thosepetty gamblers who nightly play for small

stakes until they win a few francs. a theorythat he was a detective in the employ of the home office found favor at one time, but vautrinurged that "goriot was not sharp enough for one of that sort." there were yet other solutions;father goriot was a skinflint, a shark of a money-lender, a man who lived by sellinglottery tickets. he was by turns all the most mysterious brood of vice and shame and misery;yet, however vile his life might be, the feeling of repulsion which he aroused in others wasnot so strong that he must be banished from their society—he paid his way. besides,goriot had his uses, every one vented his spleen or sharpened his wit on him; he waspelted with jokes and belabored with hard words. the general consensus of opinion wasin favor of a theory which 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 her eyesight, with whoma woman might be very happy, was a libertine who had strange tastes. these are the factsupon which mme. vauquer's slanders were based. early one morning, some few months after thedeparture of the unlucky countess who had managed to live for six months at the widow'sexpense, mme. vauquer (not yet dressed) heard the rustle of a silk dress and a young woman'slight footstep on the stair; some one was going to goriot's room. he seemed to expectthe visit, for his door stood ajar. the portly sylvie presently came up to tell her mistressthat a girl too pretty to be honest, "dressed like a goddess," and not a speck of mud onher laced cashmere boots, had glided in from

the street like a snake, had found the kitchen,and asked for m. goriot's room. mme. vauquer and the cook, listening, overheard severalwords affectionately spoken during the visit, which lasted for some time. when m. goriotwent downstairs with the lady, the stout sylvie forthwith took her basket and followed thelover-like couple, under pretext of going to do her marketing. "m. goriot must be awfully rich, all the same,madame," she reported on her return, "to keep her in such style. just imagine it! therewas a splendid carriage waiting at the corner of the place de l'estrapade, and she got intoit." while they were at dinner that evening, mme.vauquer went to the window and drew the curtain,

as the sun was shining into goriot's eyes. "you are beloved of fair ladies, m. goriot—thesun seeks you out," she said, alluding to his visitor. "peste! you have good taste;she was very pretty." "that was my daughter," he said, with a kindof pride in his voice, and the rest chose to consider this as the fatuity of an oldman who wishes to save appearances. a month after this visit m. goriot receivedanother. the same daughter who had come to see him that morning came again after dinner,this time in evening dress. the boarders, in deep discussion in the dining-room, caughta glimpse of a lovely, fair-haired woman, slender, graceful, and much too distinguished-lookingto be a daughter of father goriot's.

"two of them!" cried the portly sylvie, whodid not recognize the lady of the first visit. a few days later, and another young lady—atall, 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 comein the morning to see her father, came shortly afterwards in the evening. she wore a balldress, and came in a carriage. "four of them!" commented mme. vauquer andher plump handmaid. sylvie saw not a trace of resemblance between this great lady andthe girl in her simple morning dress who had entered her kitchen on the occasion of herfirst visit.

at that time goriot was paying twelve hundredfrancs a year to his landlady, and mme. vauquer saw nothing out of the common in the factthat a rich man had four or five mistresses; nay, she thought it very knowing of him topass them off as his daughters. she was not at all inclined to draw a hard-and-fast line,or to take umbrage at his sending for them to the maison vauquer; yet, inasmuch as thesevisits explained her 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 length her boarder declinedto nine hundred francs a year, she asked him very insolently what he took her house tobe, after meeting one of these ladies on the stairs. father goriot answered that the ladywas his eldest daughter.

"so you have two or three dozen daughters,have you?" said mme. vauquer sharply. "i have only two," her boarder answered meekly,like a ruined man who is broken in to all the cruel usage of misfortune. towards the end of the third year father goriotreduced his expenses still further; he went up to the third story, and now paid forty-fivefrancs a month. he did without snuff, told his hairdresser that he no longer requiredhis services, and gave up wearing powder. when goriot appeared for the first time inthis condition, an exclamation of astonishment broke from his hostess at the color of hishair—a dingy olive gray. he had grown sadder day by day under the influence of some hiddentrouble; among all the faces round the table,

his was the most woe-begone. there was nolonger any doubt. goriot was an elderly libertine, whose eyes had only been preserved by theskill of the physician from the malign influence of the remedies necessitated by the stateof his health. the disgusting color of his hair was a result of his excesses and of thedrugs which he had taken that he might continue his career. the poor old man's mental andphysical condition afforded some grounds for the absurd rubbish talked about him. whenhis outfit was worn out, he replaced the fine linen by calico at fourteen sous the ell.his diamonds, his gold snuff-box, watch-chain and trinkets, disappeared one by one. he hadleft off wearing the corn-flower blue coat, and was sumptuously arrayed, summer as wellas winter, in a coarse chestnut-brown coat,

a plush waistcoat, and doeskin breeches. hegrew thinner and thinner; his legs were shrunken, his cheeks, once so puffed out by contentedbourgeois prosperity, were covered with wrinkles, and the outlines of the jawbones were distinctlyvisible; there were deep furrows in his forehead. in the fourth year of his residence in therue neuve-sainte-genevieve he was no longer like his former self. the hale vermicellimanufacturer, sixty-two years of age, who had looked scarce forty, the stout, comfortable,prosperous tradesman, with an almost bucolic air, and such a brisk demeanor that it didyou good to look at him; 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-gray color; the red inflamed rims looked as though they had shed tearsof blood. he excited feelings of repulsion in some, and of pity in others. the youngmedical students who came to the house noticed the drooping of his lower lip and the conformationof the facial angle; and, after teasing him for some time to no purpose, they declaredthat cretinism was setting in. one evening after dinner mme. vauquer saidhalf banteringly to him, "so those daughters of yours don't come to see you any more, eh?"meaning to imply her doubts as to his paternity; but father goriot shrank as if his hostesshad touched him with a sword-point. "they come sometimes," he said in a tremulousvoice.

"aha! you still see them sometimes?" criedthe students. "bravo, father goriot!" the old man scarcely seemed to hear the witticismsat his expense that followed on the words; he had relapsed into the dreamy state of mindthat these superficial observers took for senile torpor, due to his lack of intelligence.if they had only known, they might have been deeply interested by the problem of his condition;but few problems were more obscure. it was easy, of course, to find out whether goriothad really been a vermicelli manufacturer; the amount of his fortune was readily discoverable;but the old people, who were most inquisitive as to his concerns, never went beyond thelimits of the quarter, and lived in the lodging-house much as oysters cling to a rock. as for therest, the current of life in paris daily awaited

them, and swept them away with it; so soonas they left the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve, they forgot the existence of the old man,their butt at dinner. for those narrow souls, or for careless youth, the misery in fathergoriot's withered face and its dull apathy were quite incompatible with wealth or anysort of intelligence. as for the creatures whom he called his daughters, all mme. vauquer'sboarders were of her opinion. with the faculty for severe logic sedulously cultivated byelderly women during long evenings of gossip till they can always find an hypothesis tofit all circumstances, she was wont to reason thus: "if father goriot had daughters of his ownas rich as those ladies who came here seemed

to be, he would not be lodging in my house,on the third floor, at forty-five francs a month; and he would not go about dressed likea poor man." no objection could be raised to these inferences.so by the end of the 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 as to the poorold man. he had never had either wife or daughter; excesses had reduced him to this sluggishcondition; he was a sort of human mollusk who should be classed among the capulidoe,so one of the dinner contingent, an employe at the museum, who had a pretty wit of hisown. poiret was an eagle, a gentleman, compared with goriot. poiret would join the talk, argue,answer when he was spoken to; as a matter

of fact, his talk, arguments, and responsescontributed nothing to the conversation, for poiret had a habit of repeating what the otherssaid in different words; still, he did join in the talk; he was alive, and seemed capableof feeling; while father goriot (to quote the museum official again) was invariablyat zero degrees—reaumur. chapter 3 eugene de rastignac had just returned to parisin a state of mind not unknown to young men who are conscious of unusual powers, and tothose whose faculties are so stimulated by a difficult position, that for the time beingthey rise above the ordinary level. rastignac's first year of study for the preliminaryexaminations in law had 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 himself to learn therepertory of every theatre, and to study the ins and outs of the labyrinth of paris. toknow its customs; to learn the language, and become familiar with the amusements of thecapital, he must explore its recesses, good and bad, follow the studies that please himbest, and form some idea of the treasures contained in galleries and museums. at this stage of his career a student growseager and excited about all sorts of follies that seem to him to be of immense importance.he has his hero, his great man, a professor at the college de france, paid to talk downto the level of his audience. he adjusts his

cravat, and strikes various attitudes forthe benefit of the women in the first galleries at the opera-comique. as he passes throughall these successive initiations, and breaks out of his sheath, the horizons of life widenaround him, and at length he grasps the plan of society with the different human strataof which it is composed. if he begins by admiring the procession ofcarriages on sunny afternoons in the champs-elysees, he soon reaches the further stage of envyingtheir owners. unconsciously, eugene had served his apprenticeship before he went back toangouleme for the long vacation after taking his degrees as bachelor of arts and bachelorof law. the illusions of childhood had vanished, so also had the ideas he brought with himfrom 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 andmother, his two brothers and two sisters, with an aged aunt, whose whole fortune consistedin annuities, lived on the little estate of rastignac. the whole property brought in aboutthree thousand francs; and though the amount varied with the season (as must always bethe case in a vine-growing district), they were obliged to spare an unvarying twelvehundred francs out of their income for him. he saw how constantly the poverty, which theyhad generously hidden from him, weighed upon them; he could not help comparing the sisters,who had seemed so beautiful to his boyish eyes, with women in paris, who had realizedthe beauty of his dreams. the uncertain future

of the whole family depended upon him. itdid not escape his eyes that not a crumb was wasted in the house, nor that the wine theydrank was made from the second pressing; a multitude of small things, which it is uselessto speak of in detail here, made him burn to distinguish himself, and his ambition tosucceed increased tenfold. he meant, like all great souls, that his successshould be owing entirely to his merits; but his was pre-eminently a southern temperament,the execution of his plans was sure to be marred by the vertigo that seizes on youthwhen youth sees itself alone in a wide sea, uncertain how to spend its energies, whitherto steer its course, how to adapt its sails to the winds. at first he determined to flinghimself heart and soul into his work, but

he was diverted from this purpose by the needof society and connections; then he saw how great an influence women exert in social life,and suddenly made up his mind to go out into this world to seek a protectress there. surelya clever and high-spirited young man, whose wit and courage were set off to advantageby a graceful figure and the vigorous kind of beauty that readily strikes a woman's imagination,need not despair of finding a protectress. these ideas occurred to him in his countrywalks with his sisters, whom he had once joined so gaily. the girls thought him very muchchanged. his aunt, mme. de marcillac, had been presentedat court, and had moved among the brightest heights of that lofty region. suddenly theyoung man's ambition discerned in those recollections

of hers, which had been like nursery fairytales to her nephews and nieces, the elements of a social success at least as importantas the success which he had achieved at the ecole de droit. he began to ask his aunt aboutthose relations; some of the old ties might still hold good. after much shaking of thebranches of the family tree, the old lady came to the conclusion that of all personswho could be useful to her nephew among the selfish genus of rich relations, the vicomtessede beauseant was the least likely to refuse. to this lady, therefore, she wrote in theold-fashioned style, recommending eugene to her; pointing out to her nephew that if hesucceeded in pleasing mme. de beauseant, the vicomtesse would introduce him to other relations.a few days after his return to paris, therefore,

rastignac sent his aunt's letter to mme. debeauseant. the vicomtesse replied by an invitation to a ball for the following evening. thiswas the position of affairs at the maison vauquer at the end of november 1819. a few days later, after mme. de beauseant'sball, eugene came in at two o'clock in the morning. the persevering student meant tomake up for the lost time by working until daylight. it was the first time that he hadattempted to spend the night in this way in that silent quarter. the spell of a factitiousenergy was upon him; he had beheld the pomp and splendor of the world. he had not dinedat the maison vauquer; the boarders probably would think that he would walk home at daybreakfrom the dance, as he had done sometimes on

former occasions, after a fete at the prado,or a ball at the odeon, splashing his silk stockings thereby, and ruining his pumps. it so happened that christophe took a lookinto the street before drawing the bolts of the door; and rastignac, coming in at thatmoment, could go up to his room without making any noise, followed by christophe, who madea great deal. eugene exchanged his dress suit for a shabby overcoat and slippers, kindleda fire with some blocks of patent fuel, and prepared for his night's work in such a sortthat the faint sounds he made were drowned by christophe's heavy tramp on the stairs. eugene sat absorbed in thought for a few momentsbefore plunging into his law books. he had

just become aware of the fact that the vicomtessede beauseant was one of the queens of fashion, that her house was thought to be the pleasantestin the faubourg saint-germain. and not only so, she was, by right of her fortune, andthe name she bore, one of the most conspicuous figures in that aristocratic world. thanksto the aunt, thanks to mme. de marcillac's letter of introduction, the poor student hadbeen kindly received in that house before he knew the extent of the favor thus shownto him. it was almost like a patent of nobility to be admitted to those gilded salons; hehad appeared in the most exclusive circle in paris, and now all doors were open forhim. eugene had been dazzled at first by the brilliant assembly, and had scarcely exchangeda few words with the vicomtesse; he had been

content to single out a goddess among thisthrong of parisian divinities, one of those women who are sure to attract a young man'sfancy. the comtesse anastasie de restaud was talland gracefully made; she had one of the prettiest figures in paris. imagine a pair of greatdark eyes, a magnificently moulded hand, a shapely foot. there was a fiery energy inher movements; the marquis de ronquerolles had called her "a thoroughbred," "a pure pedigree,"these figures of speech have replaced the "heavenly angel" and ossianic nomenclature;the old mythology of love is extinct, doomed to perish by modern dandyism. but for rastignac,mme. anastasie de restaud was the woman for whom he had sighed. he had contrived to writehis name twice upon the list of partners upon

her fan, and had snatched a few words withher during the first quadrille. "where shall i meet you again, madame?" heasked abruptly, and the tones of his voice were full of the vehement energy that womenlike so well. "oh, everywhere!" said she, "in the bois,at the bouffons, in my own house." with the impetuosity of his adventurous southerntemper, he did all he could to cultivate an acquaintance with this lovely countess, makingthe best of his opportunities in the quadrille and during a waltz that she gave him. whenhe told her that he was a cousin of mme. de beauseant's, the countess, whom he took fora great lady, asked him to call at her house, and after her parting smile, rastignac feltconvinced that he must make this visit. he

was so lucky as to light upon some one whodid not laugh at his ignorance, a fatal defect among the gilded and insolent youth of thatperiod; the coterie of maulincourts, maximes de trailles, de marsays, ronquerolles, ajuda-pintos,and vandenesses who shone there in all the glory of coxcombry among the best-dressedwomen of fashion in paris—lady brandon, the duchesse de langeais, the comtesse dekergarouet, mme. de serizy, the duchesse de carigliano, the comtesse ferraud, mme. delanty, the marquise d'aiglemont, mme. firmiani, the marquise de listomere and the marquised'espard, the duchesse de maufrigneuse and the grandlieus. luckily, therefore, for him,the novice happened upon the marquis de montriveau, the lover of the duchesse de langeais, a generalas simple as a child; from him rastignac learned

that the comtesse lived in the rue du helder. ah, what it is to be young, eager to see theworld, greedily on the watch 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 the vicomtesse de beauseant'shouse in the faubourg saint-germain; to fall on your knees before a comtesse de restaudin 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 and protection therein a feminine heart! to feel ambitious enough to spurn the tight-rope on which you mustwalk with the steady head of an acrobat for whom a fall is impossible, and to find ina charming woman the best of all balancing

poles. he sat there with his thoughts for a while,law on the one hand, and poverty on the other, beholding a radiant vision of a woman riseabove the dull, smouldering fire. who would not have paused and questioned the futureas eugene was doing? who would not have pictured it full of success? his wondering thoughtstook wings; he was transported out of the present into that blissful future; he wassitting by mme. de restaud's side, when a sort of sigh, like the grunt of an overburdenedst. joseph, broke the silence of the night. it vibrated through the student, who tookthe sound for a death groan. he opened his door noiselessly, went out upon the landing,and saw a thin streak of light under father

goriot's door. eugene feared that his neighborhad been taken ill; he went over and looked through the keyhole; the old man was busilyengaged in an occupation so singular and so suspicious that rastignac thought he was onlydoing a piece of necessary service to society to watch the self-styled vermicelli maker'snocturnal industries. the table was upturned, and goriot had doubtlessin some way secured a silver plate and cup to the bar before knotting a thick rope roundthem; he was pulling at this rope with such enormous force that they were being crushedand twisted out of shape; to all appearance he meant to convert the richly wrought metalinto ingots. "peste! what a man!" said rastignac, as hewatched goriot's muscular arms; there was

not a sound in the room while the old man,with the aid of the rope, was kneading the silver like dough. "was he then, indeed, athief, or a receiver of stolen goods, who affected imbecility and decrepitude, and livedlike a beggar that he might carry on his pursuits the more securely?" eugene stood for a momentrevolving these questions, then he looked again through the keyhole. father goriot had unwound his coil of rope;he had covered the table with a blanket, and was now employed in rolling the flattenedmass of silver into a bar, an operation which he performed with marvelous dexterity. "why, he must be as strong as augustus, kingof poland!" said eugene to himself when the

bar was nearly finished. father goriot looked sadly at his handiwork,tears fell from his eyes, he blew out the dip which had served him for a light whilehe manipulated 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 those words, concluded to keep silence; he would not hastily condemn his neighbor.he was just in the doorway of his room when a strange sound from the staircase below reachedhis ears; it might have been made by two men coming up in list slippers. eugene listened;two men there certainly were, he could hear

their breathing. yet there had been no soundof opening the street door, no footsteps in the passage. suddenly, too, he saw a faintgleam of light on the second story; it came from m. vautrin's room. "there are a good many mysteries here fora lodging-house!" he said to himself. he went part of the way downstairs and listenedagain. the rattle of gold reached his ears. in another moment the light was put out, andagain he distinctly heard the breathing of two men, but no sound of a door being openedor shut. the two men went downstairs, the faint sounds growing fainter as they went. "who is there?" cried mme. vauquer out ofher bedroom window.

"i, mme. vauquer," answered vautrin's deepbass voice. "i am coming in." "that is odd! christophe drew the bolts,"said eugene, going back to his room. "you have to sit up at night, it seems, if youreally mean to know all that is going on about you in paris." these incidents turned his thought from hisambitious dreams; he betook himself to his work, but his thought wandered back to fathergoriot's suspicious occupation; mme. de restaud's face swam again and again before his eyeslike a vision of a brilliant future; and at last he lay down and slept with clenched fists.when a young man makes up his mind that he will work all night, the chances are thatseven times out of ten he will sleep till

morning. such vigils do not begin before weare turned twenty. chapter 4 the next morning paris was wrapped in oneof the dense fogs that throw the most punctual people out in their calculations as to thetime; even the most business-like folk fail to keep their appointments in such weather,and ordinary mortals wake up at noon and fancy it is eight o'clock. on this morning it washalf-past nine, and mme. vauquer still lay abed. christophe was late, sylvie was late,but the two sat comfortably taking their coffee as usual. it was sylvie's custom to take thecream off the milk destined for the boarders' breakfast for her own, and to boil the remainderfor some time, so that madame should not discover

this illegal exaction. "sylvie," said christophe, as he dipped apiece of toast into the coffee, "m. vautrin, who is not such a bad sort, all the same,had two people come to see him again last night. if madame says anything, mind you saynothing 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'tlook twice at every penny, there's no one in the house that doesn't try to get backwith the left hand all that they give with the right at new year," said sylvie.

"and, after all," said christophe, "what dothey give you? a miserable five-franc piece. there is father goriot, who has cleaned hisshoes himself these two years past. there is that old beggar poiret, who goes withoutblacking altogether; he would sooner drink it than put it on his boots. then there isthat whipper-snapper of a student, who gives me a couple of francs. two francs will notpay for my brushes, and he sells his old clothes, and gets more for them than they are worth.oh! they're a shabby lot!" "pooh!" said sylvie, sipping her coffee, "ourplaces are the best in the quarter, 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 fewdays ago; he said to me, 'there's a gentleman in your place, isn't there? a tall man thatdyes his whiskers?' i told him, 'no, sir; they aren't dyed. a gay fellow like him hasn'tthe time to do it.' and when i told m. vautrin about it afterwards, he said, 'quite right,my boy. that is the way to answer them. there is nothing more unpleasant than to have yourlittle weaknesses known; it might spoil many a match.'" "well, and for my part," said sylvie, "a mantried to humbug me at the market wanting to know if i had seen him put on his shirt. suchbosh! there," she cried, interrupting herself, "that's a quarter to ten striking at the val-de-grace,and not a soul stirring!"

"pooh! they are all gone out. mme. coutureand the girl went out at eight o'clock to take the wafer at saint-etienne. father goriotstarted off somewhere with a parcel, and the student won't be back from his lecture tillten o'clock. i saw them go while i was sweeping the stairs; father goriot knocked up againstme, and his parcel was as hard as iron. what is the old fellow up to, i wonder? he is asgood as a plaything for the rest of them; they can never let him alone; but he is agood man, all the same, and worth more than all of them put together. he doesn't giveyou much himself, but he sometimes sends you with a message to ladies who fork out famoustips; they are dressed grandly, too." "his daughters, as he calls them, eh? thereare a dozen of them."

"i have never been to more than two—thetwo who came here." "there is madame moving overhead; i shallhave to go, or she will raise a fine racket. just keep an eye on the milk, christophe;don't let the cat 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 like a dormouse! such a thing has never happened before." "it's the fog; it is that thick, you couldcut it with a knife." "but how about breakfast?" "bah! the boarders are possessed, i'm sure.they all cleared out before there was a wink

of daylight." "do speak properly, sylvie," mme. vauquerretorted; "say a blink of daylight." "ah, well, madame, whichever you please. anyhow,you can have breakfast at ten o'clock. la michonnette and poiret have neither of themstirred. there are only those two upstairs, and they are sleeping like the logs they are." "but, sylvie, you put their names togetheras if——" "as if what?" said sylvie, bursting into aguffaw. "the two of them make a pair." "it is a strange thing, isn't it, sylvie,how m. vautrin got in last night after christophe had bolted the door?"

"not at all, madame. christophe heard m. vautrin,and went down and undid the door. and here are you imagining that——?" "give me my bodice, and be quick and get breakfastready. dish up the rest 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 cat knock down a plate that covered a bowl of milk, and begin tolap in all haste. "mistigris!" she cried. the cat fled, but promptly returned to rubagainst 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 lay the table. what has become of him? don't you worry, madame;father goriot shall have it. i will fill it up with water, and he won't know the 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, allthe same." the door bell rang at that moment, and vautrincame through the sitting-room, singing loudly: "'tis the same old story everywhere,a roving heart and a roving glance.. "oh! mamma vauquer! good-morning!" he criedat 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 that what 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 inthe rue dauphine at half-past eight this morning. they buy old spoons and forks and gold lacethere, and goriot sold a piece of silver plate for a good round sum. it had been twistedout of shape very neatly for a man that's not used to the trade." "really? you don't say so?"

"yes. one of my friends is expatriating himself;i had been to see him off on board the royal mail steamer, and was coming back here. iwaited after that to see what father goriot would do; it is a comical affair. he cameback to this quarter of the world, to the rue des gres, and went into a money-lender'shouse; everybody knows him, gobseck, a stuck-up rascal, that would make dominoes out of hisfather's bones, a turk, a heathen, an old jew, a greek; it would be a difficult matterto rob him, for he puts all his coin into the bank." "then what was father goriot doing there?" "doing?" said vautrin. "nothing; he was benton his own undoing. he is a simpleton, 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 afterwardscame down again. "where are you going?" mme. vauquer askedof her servant. "out on an errand for m. goriot." "what may that be?" said vautrin, pouncingon a letter in christophe's hand. "mme. la comtesse anastasie de restaud," he read. "whereare you going with it?" he added, as he gave the letter back to christophe.

"to the rue du helder. i have orders to givethis into her hands myself." "what is there inside it?" said vautrin, holdingthe letter up to the light. "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, and spinning the man round like a thimble;"you will have a famous tip." by this time the table was set. sylvie wasboiling 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 andmlle. 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-etiennedu mont. to-day is 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 herself before the fireand 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 soften your father's heart," said vautrin, as he drew a chair nearerto the orphan girl; "but that is not enough. what you want is a friend who will give themonster a piece of his mind; a barbarian that

has three millions (so they say), and willnot give you a dowry; and a pretty girl needs a dowry nowadays." "poor child!" said mme. vauquer. "never mind,my pet, your wretch of a father is going just the way to bring trouble upon himself." victorine's eyes filled with tears at thewords, and the widow checked herself at a sign from mme. couture. "if we could only see him!" said the commissary-general'swidow; "if i could speak to him myself and give him his wife's last letter! i have neverdared to run the risk of sending it by post; he knew my handwriting——"

"'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 shall see." "oh! sir," said victorine, with a tearfulbut eager glance at vautrin, who showed no sign of being touched by it, "if you knowof any way of communicating with my father, please be sure and tell him that his affectionand my mother's honor are more to me than all the money in the world. if you can inducehim to relent a little towards me, i will pray to god for you. you may be sure of mygratitude——" "the same old story everywhere," sang vautrin,with a satirical intonation. at this juncture,

goriot, mlle. michonneau, and poiret camedownstairs together; possibly the scent of the gravy which sylvie was making to servewith the mutton had announced breakfast. the seven people thus assembled bade each othergood-morning, and took their places at the table; the clock struck ten, and the student'sfootstep was heard outside. "ah! here you are, m. eugene," said sylvie;"every one is breakfasting at home to-day." the student exchanged greetings with the lodgers,and sat down beside goriot. "i have just met with a queer adventure,"he said, as he helped himself abundantly to the mutton, and cut a slice of bread, whichmme. vauquer's eyes gauged as usual. "an adventure?" queried poiret.

"well, and what is there to astonish you inthat, old boy?" vautrin asked of poiret. "m. eugene is cut out for that kind of thing." mlle. taillefer stole a timid glance at theyoung student. "tell us about your adventure!" demanded m.vautrin. "yesterday evening i went to a ball givenby a cousin of mine, the vicomtesse de beauseant. she has a magnificent house; the rooms arehung with silk—in short, it was a splendid affair, and i was as happy as a king—-" "fisher," put in vautrin, interrupting. "what do you mean, sir?" said eugene sharply.

"i said 'fisher,' because kingfishers seea good deal more fun than kings." "quite true; i would much rather be the littlecareless bird than a king," said poiret the ditto-ist, "because——" "in fact"—the law-student cut him short—"idanced with one of the handsomest women in the room, a charming countess, the most exquisitecreature i have ever seen. there was peach blossom in her hair, and she had the loveliestbouquet of flowers—real flowers, that scented the air——but there! it is no use tryingto describe a woman glowing with the dance. you ought to have seen her! well, and thismorning i met this divine 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 the student. "i expect that she was going to call on old gobseck,a money-lender. if ever you explore a parisian woman's heart, you will find the money-lenderfirst, and the lover afterwards. your countess is called anastasie de restaud, and she livesin the rue du helder." the student stared hard at vautrin. fathergoriot raised his head at the words, and gave the two speakers a glance so full of intelligenceand uneasiness that the lodgers beheld him with astonishment. "then christophe was too late, and she musthave gone to him!" cried goriot, with anguish in his voice.

"it is just as i guessed," said vautrin, leaningover to whisper in mme. vauquer's ear. goriot went on with his breakfast, but seemedunconscious of what he was doing. he had never looked more stupid nor more taken up withhis own thoughts 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. "oldfather goriot there knew it quite well! and why should i not know it too?" "m. goriot?" the student cried. "what is it?" asked the old man. "so she wasvery beautiful, was she, yesterday night?" "who?"

"mme. de restaud." "look at the old wretch," said mme. vauquer,speaking to vautrin; "how his eyes light up!" "then does he really keep her?" said mlle.michonneau, in a whisper to the student. "oh! yes, she was tremendously pretty," eugeneanswered. father goriot watched 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 the younger men had eyesfor any one else. i was the twelfth on her list, and she danced every quadrille. theother women were furious. she must have enjoyed herself, if ever creature did! it is a truesaying that there is no more beautiful sight than a frigate in full sail, a galloping horse,or a woman dancing."

"so the wheel turns," said vautrin; "yesterdaynight at a duchess' ball, this morning in a money-lender's office, on the lowest rungof the ladder—just like a parisienne! if their husbands cannot afford to pay for theirfrantic extravagance, they will sell themselves. or if they cannot do that, they will tearout their mothers' hearts to find something to pay for their splendor. they will turnthe world upside down. just a parisienne through and through!" father goriot's face, which had shone at thestudent's words like the sun on a bright day, clouded over all at once at this cruel speechof vautrin's. "well," said mme. vauquer, "but where is youradventure? did you speak to her? did you ask

her if she wanted to study law?" "she did not see me," said eugene. "but onlythink of meeting one of the prettiest women in paris in the rue des gres at nine o'clock!she could not have reached home after the ball till two o'clock this morning. wasn'tit queer? there is no place like paris for this sort of adventures." "pshaw! much funnier things than that happenhere!" exclaimed vautrin. mlle. taillefer had scarcely heeded the talk,she was so absorbed by the thought of the new attempt that she was about to make. mme.couture made a sign that it was time to go upstairs and dress; the two ladies went out,and father goriot followed their example.

"well, did you see?" said mme. vauquer, addressingvautrin and the rest of the circle. "he is ruining himself for those women, that is plain." "nothing will ever make me believe that thatbeautiful comtesse de restaud is anything to father goriot," cried the student. "well, and if you don't," broke in vautrin,"we are not set on convincing you. you are too young to know paris thoroughly yet; lateron you will find out that there are what we call men with a passion——" mlle. michonneau gave vautrin a quick glanceat these words. they seemed to be like the sound of a trumpet to a trooper's horse. "aha!"said vautrin, stopping in his speech to give

her a searching glance, "so we have had ourlittle experiences, have we?" the old maid lowered her eyes like a nun whosees a statue. "well," he went on, "when folk of that kindget a notion into their heads, they cannot drop it. they must drink the water from someparticular spring—it is stagnant as often as not; but they will sell their wives andfamilies, they will sell their own souls to the devil to get it. for some this springis play, or the stock-exchange, or music, or a collection of pictures or insects; forothers it is some woman who can give them the dainties they like. you might offer theselast all the women on earth—they would turn up their noses; they will have the only onewho can gratify their passion. it often happens

that the woman does not care for them at all,and treats them cruelly; they buy their morsels of satisfaction very dear; but no matter,the fools are never tired of it; they will take their last blanket to the pawnbroker'sto give their last five-franc piece to her. father goriot here is one of that sort. heis discreet, so the countess exploits him—just the way of the gay world. the poor old fellowthinks of her and of nothing else. in all other respects you see he is a stupid animal;but get him on that subject, and his eyes sparkle like diamonds. that secret is notdifficult to guess. he took some plate himself this morning to the melting-pot, and i sawhim at daddy gobseck's in the rue des gres. and now, mark what follows—he came backhere, and gave a letter for the comtesse de

restaud to that noodle of a christophe, whoshowed us the address; there was a receipted bill inside it. it is clear that it was anurgent matter if the countess also went herself to the old money lender. father goriot hasfinanced her handsomely. there is no need to tack a tale together; the thing is self-evident.so that shows you, sir student, that all the time your countess was smiling, dancing, flirting,swaying her peach-flower crowned head, with her gown gathered into her hand, her slipperswere pinching her, as they say; she was thinking of her protested bills, or her lover's protestedbills." "you have made me wild to know the truth,"cried eugene; "i will go to call on mme. de restaud to-morrow."

"yes," echoed poiret; "you must go and callon mme. de restaud." "and perhaps you will find father goriot there,who will take payment for the assistance he politely rendered." eugene looked disgusted. "why, then, thisparis of yours is a slough." "and an uncommonly queer slough, too," repliedvautrin. "the mud splashes you as you drive through it in your carriage—you are a respectableperson; you go afoot and are splashed—you are a scoundrel. you are so unlucky as towalk off with something or other belonging to somebody else, and they exhibit you asa curiosity in the place du palais-de-justice; you steal a million, and you are pointed outin every salon as a model of virtue. and you

pay thirty millions for the police and thecourts of justice, for the maintenance of law and order! a pretty slate of things itis!" "what," cried mme. vauquer, "has father goriotreally melted down his silver posset-dish?" "there were two turtle-doves on the lid, werethere not?" asked eugene. "yes, that there were." "then, was he fond of it?" said eugene. "hecried while he was breaking up the cup and plate. i happened to see him by accident." "it was dear to him as his own life," answeredthe widow. "there! you see how infatuated the old fellowis!" cried vautrin. "the woman yonder can

coax the soul out of him." the student went up to his room. vautrin wentout, and a few moments later mme. couture and victorine drove away in a cab which sylviehad called for them. poiret gave his arm to mlle. michonneau, and they went together tospend the two sunniest hours of the day in the jardin des plantes. "well, those two are as good as married,"was the portly sylvie's comment. "they are going out together to-day for the first time.they are such a couple of dry sticks that if they happen to strike against each otherthey 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." chapter 5 at four o'clock that evening, when goriotcame in, he saw, by the light of two smoky lamps, that victorine's eyes were red. mme.vauquer was listening to the history of the visit made that morning to m. taillefer; ithad been made in vain. taillefer was tired of the annual application made by his daughterand her elderly friend; he gave them a personal interview in order to arrive at an understandingwith them. "my dear lady," said mme. couture, addressingmme. vauquer, "just imagine 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 a passion, thatwe might spare ourselves the trouble of going there; that the young lady (he would not callher his daughter) was injuring her cause by importuning him (importuning! once a year,the wretch!); that as 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 thepoor child burst out crying. the little thing threw herself at her father's feet and spokeup bravely; she said that she only persevered in her visits for her mother's sake; thatshe would obey him without a murmur, but that she begged him to read her poor dead mother'sfarewell letter. she took it up and gave it to him, saying the most beautiful things inthe world, most beautifully expressed; i do

not know where she learned them; god musthave put them into her head, for the poor child was inspired to speak so nicely thatit made me cry like a fool to hear her talk. and what do you think the monster was doingall the time? cutting his nails! he took the letter that poor mme. taillefer had soakedwith tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece. 'that is all right,' he said. he held outhis hands to raise his daughter, but she 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!" saidfather goriot. "and then they both went out of the room,"mme. couture went on, without heeding the

worthy vermicelli maker's exclamation; "fatherand son bowed to me, and asked me to excuse them on account of urgent business! that isthe history of our call. well, he has seen his daughter at any rate. how he can refuseto acknowledge her i cannot think, for they are as alike as two peas." the boarders dropped in one after another,interchanging greetings and empty jokes that certain classes of parisians regard as humorousand witty. dulness is their prevailing ingredient, and the whole point consists in mispronouncinga word or a gesture. this kind of argot is always changing. the essence of the jest consistsin some catchword suggested by a political event, an incident in the police courts, astreet song, or a bit of burlesque at some

theatre, and forgotten in a month. anythingand everything serves to keep up a game of battledore and shuttlecock with words andideas. the diorama, a recent invention, which carried an optical illusion a degree furtherthan panoramas, had given rise to a mania among art students for ending every word withrama. the maison vauquer had caught the infection from a young artist among the boarders. "well, monsieur-r-r poiret," said the employefrom the museum, "how is your health-orama?" then, without waiting for an answer, he turnedto mme. couture and victorine with a "ladies, you seem melancholy." "is dinner ready?" cried horace bianchon,a medical student, and a friend of rastignac's;

"my stomach is sinking usque ad talones." "there is an uncommon frozerama outside,"said vautrin. "make room there, father goriot! confound it, your foot covers the whole frontof the 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 fromthe museum; "frozerama is right 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 of contraries," cried bianchon,

seizing eugene by the throat, and almost throttlinghim. "hallo there! hallo!" mlle. michonneau came noiselessly in, bowedto the rest of the party, and took her place beside the three women without saying a word. "that old bat always makes me shudder," saidbianchon in a low voice, indicating mlle. michonneau to vautrin. "i have studied gall'ssystem, 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 myword, that ghastly old maid looks just like

one of the long worms that will gnaw a beamthrough, give them time enough." "that is the way, young man," returned heof the forty years and the dyed 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 christophe came 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," saidvautrin. "did any of you notice the fog this morning?"asked the official. "it was a frantic fog," said bianchon, "afog unparalleled, doleful, melancholy, sea-green, asthmatical—a goriot of a fog!" "a goriorama," said the art student, "becauseyou couldn't see a thing in it." "hey! milord gaoriotte, they air talking aboutyoo-o-ou!" father goriot, seated at the lower end ofthe table, close to the door through which the servant entered, raised his face; he hadsmelt at a scrap of bread that lay under his table napkin, an old trick acquired in hiscommercial capacity, that still showed itself

at times. "well," madame vauquer cried in sharp tones,that rang above the rattle of spoons and plates and the sound of other voices, "and is thereanything the matter with the bread?" "nothing whatever, madame," he answered; "onthe contrary, it is made of the 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. "you have grown so economical, you will find out how to live on the smellof cooking at last."

"take out a patent for it, then," cried themuseum official; "you would make a handsome fortune." "never mind him," said the artist; "he doesthat sort of thing to delude us 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 firefrom every part of the room, and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious becausepoor father goriot stared at the others with a puzzled look, like a foreigner trying tocatch the meaning of words in a language which he does not understand.

"corn?..." he said, turning to vautrin, hisnext neighbor. "corn on your foot, old man!" said vautrin,and he drove father goriot's cap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown. the poor old man thus suddenly attacked wasfor a moment too bewildered to do anything. christophe carried off his plate, thinkingthat he had finished his soup, so that when goriot had pushed back his cap from his eyeshis spoon encountered the table. every one burst out laughing. "you are a disagreeablejoker, sir," said the old man, "and if you take any further liberties with me——" "well, what then, old boy?" vautrin interrupted.

"well, then, you shall pay dearly for it someday——" "down below, eh?" said the artist, "in thelittle dark corner where they put naughty boys." "well, mademoiselle," vautrin said, turningto victorine, "you are eating nothing. so papa was refractory, was he?" "a monster!" said mme. couture. "mademoiselle might make application for alimentpending her suit; she is not eating anything. eh! eh! just see how father goriot is staringat mlle. victorine." the old man had forgotten his dinner, he wasso absorbed in gazing at the poor girl; the

sorrow in her face was unmistakable,—theslighted love of a child whose father would not recognize her. "we are mistaken about father goriot, my dearboy," said eugene in a low voice. "he is not an idiot, nor wanting in energy. try yourgall system on him, and let me know what you think. i saw him crush a silver dish lastnight as if it had been made of wax; there seems to be something extraordinary goingon in his mind just now, to judge by his face. his life is so mysterious that it must beworth studying. oh! you may laugh, bianchon; i am not joking." "the man is a subject, is he?" said bianchon;"all right! i will dissect him, if he will

give me the chance." "no; feel his bumps." "hm!—his stupidity might perhaps be contagious." chapter 6 the next day rastignac dressed himself veryelegantly, and about three o'clock in the afternoon went to call on mme. de restaud.on the way thither he indulged in the wild intoxicating dreams which fill a young headso full of delicious excitement. young men at his age take no account of obstacles norof dangers; they see success in every direction; imagination has free play, and turns theirlives into a romance; they are saddened or

discouraged by the collapse of one of thevisionary schemes that have no existence save in their heated fancy. if youth were not ignorantand timid, civilization would be impossible. eugene took unheard-of pains to keep himselfin 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 reparteesin the course of an imaginary conversation, and prepared certain neat speeches a la talleyrand,conjuring up a series of small events which should prepare the way for the declarationon which he had based his future; and during these musings the law student was bespatteredwith mud, and by the time he reached the palais royal he was obliged to have his boots blackedand his trousers brushed.

"if i were rich," he said, as he changed thefive-franc piece he had brought with him in case anything might happen, "i would takea cab, then i could think at my ease." at last he reached the rue du helder, andasked for the comtesse de restaud. he bore the contemptuous glances of the servants,who had seen him 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 at once, for he hadfelt his inferiority as soon as he entered the court, where a smart cab was waiting.all the delights of life in paris seemed to be implied by this visible and manifest signof luxury and extravagance. a fine horse, in magnificent harness, was pawing the ground,and all at once the law student felt out of

humor with himself. every compartment in hisbrain which he had thought to find so full of wit was bolted fast; he grew positivelystupid. he sent up his name to the countess, and waited in the ante-chamber, standing onone foot before a window that looked out upon the court; mechanically he leaned his elbowagainst the sash, and stared before him. the time seemed long; he would have left the housebut for the southern tenacity of purpose which works miracles when it is single-minded. "madame is in her boudoir, and cannot seeany one at present, sir," said the servant. "she gave me no answer; but if you will gointo the dining-room, there is some one already there."

rastignac was impressed with a sense of theformidable power of the lackey who can accuse or condemn his masters by a word; he coollyopened the door by which the man had just entered the ante-chamber, meaning, no doubt,to show these insolent flunkeys that he was familiar with the house; but he found thathe had thoughtlessly precipitated himself into a small room full of dressers, wherelamps were standing, and hot-water pipes, on which towels were being dried; a dark passageand a back staircase lay beyond it. stifled laughter from the ante-chamber added to hisconfusion. "this way to the drawing-room, sir," saidthe servant, with the exaggerated respect which seemed to be one more jest at his expense.

eugene turned so quickly that he stumbledagainst a bath. by good luck, he managed to keep his hat on his head, and saved it fromimmersion in the water; but just as he turned, a door opened at the further end of the darkpassage, dimly lighted by a small lamp. rastignac heard voices and the sound of a kiss; oneof the speakers was mme. de restaud, the other was father goriot. eugene followed the servantthrough the dining-room into the drawing-room; he went to a window that looked out into thecourtyard, and stood there for a while. he meant to know whether this goriot was reallythe goriot that he knew. his heart beat unwontedly fast; he remembered vautrin's hideous insinuations.a well-dressed young man suddenly emerged from the room almost as eugene entered it,saying impatiently to the servant who stood

at the door: "i am going, maurice. tell madamela comtesse that i waited more than half an hour for her." whereupon this insolent being, who, doubtless,had a right to be insolent, sang an italian trill, and went towards the window where eugenewas standing, moved thereto quite as much by a desire to see the student's face as bya wish to look out into the courtyard. "but m. le comte had better wait a momentlonger; madame is disengaged," said maurice, as he returned to the ante-chamber. just at that moment father goriot appearedclose to the gate; he had emerged from a door at the foot of the back staircase. the worthysoul was preparing to open his umbrella regardless

of the fact that the great gate had openedto admit a tilbury, in which a young man with a ribbon at his button-hole was seated. fathergoriot had scarcely time to start back and save himself. the horse took fright at theumbrella, swerved, and dashed forward towards the flight of steps. the young man lookedround in annoyance, saw father goriot, and greeted him as he went out with constrainedcourtesy, such as people usually show to a money-lender so long as they require his services,or the sort of respect they feel it necessary to show for some one whose reputation hasbeen blown upon, so that they blush to acknowledge his acquaintance. father goriot gave him alittle friendly nod and a good-natured smile. all this happened with lightning speed. eugenewas so deeply interested that he forgot that

he was not alone till he suddenly heard thecountess' voice. "oh! maxime, were you going away?" she saidreproachfully, with a shade of pique in her manner. the countess had not seen the incidentnor the entrance of the tilbury. rastignac turned abruptly and saw her standing beforehim, coquettishly dressed in a loose white cashmere gown with knots of rose-colored ribbonhere and there; her hair was carelessly coiled about her head, as is the wont of parisianwomen in the morning; there was a soft fragrance about her—doubtless she was fresh from abath;—her graceful form seemed more flexible, her beauty more luxuriant. her eyes glistened.a young man can see everything at a glance; he feels the radiant influence of woman asa plant discerns and absorbs its nutriment

from the air; he did not need to touch herhands to feel their cool freshness. he saw faint rose tints through the cashmere of thedressing gown; it had fallen slightly open, giving glimpses of a bare throat, on whichthe student's eyes rested. the countess had no need of the adventitious aid of corsets;her girdle defined the outlines of her slender waist; her throat was a challenge to love;her feet, thrust into slippers, were daintily small. as maxime took her hand and kissedit, eugene became aware of maxime's existence, and the countess saw eugene. "oh! is that you m. de rastignac? i am veryglad to see you," she said, but there was something in her manner that a shrewd observerwould have taken as a hint to depart.

maxime, as the countess anastasie had calledthe young man with the haughty insolence of bearing, looked from eugene to the lady, andfrom the lady to eugene; it was sufficiently evident that he wished to be rid of the latter.an exact and faithful rendering of the glance might be given in the words: "look here, mydear; i hope you intend to send this little whipper-snapper about his business." the countess consulted the young man's facewith an intent submissiveness that betrays all the secrets of a woman's heart, and rastignacall at once began to hate him violently. to begin with, the sight of the fair carefullyarranged curls on the other's comely head had convinced him that his own crop was hideous;maxime's boots, moreover, were elegant and

spotless, while his own, in spite of all hiscare, bore some traces of his recent walk; and, finally, maxime's overcoat fitted theoutline of his figure gracefully, he looked like a pretty woman, while eugene was wearinga black coat at half-past two. the quick-witted child of the charente felt the disadvantageat which he was placed beside this tall, slender dandy, with the clear gaze and the pale face,one of those men who would ruin orphan children without scruple. mme. de restaud fled intothe next room without waiting for eugene to speak; shaking out the skirts of her dressing-gownin her flight, so that she looked like a white butterfly, and maxime hurried after her. eugene,in a fury, followed maxime and the countess, and the three stood once more face to faceby the hearth in the large drawing-room. the

law student felt quite sure that the odiousmaxime found him in the way, and even at the risk of displeasing mme. de restaud, he meantto annoy the dandy. it had struck him all at once that he had seen the young man beforeat mme. de beauseant's ball; he guessed the relation between maxime and mme. de restaud;and with the youthful audacity that commits prodigious blunders or achieves signal success,he said to himself, "this is my rival; i mean to cut him out." rash resolve! he did not know that m. le comtemaxime de trailles would wait till he was insulted, so as to fire first and kill hisman. eugene was a sportsman and a good shot, but he had not yet hit the bulls's eye twentytimes out of twenty-two. the young count dropped

into a low chair by the hearth, took up thetongs, and made up the fire so violently and so sulkily, that anastasie's fair face suddenlyclouded over. she turned to eugene, with a cool, questioning glance that asked plainly,"why do you not go?" a glance which well-bred people regard as a cue to make their exit. eugene assumed an amiable expression. "madame," he began, "i hastened to call uponyou——" he stopped short. the door opened, and theowner of the tilbury suddenly appeared. he had left his hat outside, and did not greetthe countess; he looked meditatively at rastignac, and held out his hand to maxime with a cordial"good morning," that astonished eugene not

a little. the young provincial did not understandthe amenities of a triple alliance. "m. de restaud," said the countess, introducingher husband to the law student. eugene bowed profoundly. "this gentleman," she continued, presentingeugene 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 last ball." related to mme. la vicomtesse de beauseantthrough the marcillacs! these words, on which the countess threw ever so slight an emphasis,by reason of the pride that the mistress of a house takes in showing that she only receivespeople of distinction as visitors in her house,

produced a magical effect. the count's stiffmanner relaxed at once as he returned the student's bow. "delighted to have an opportunity of makingyour acquaintance," he said. maxime de trailles himself gave eugene anuneasy glance, and suddenly dropped his insolent manner. the mighty name had all the powerof a fairy's wand; those closed compartments in the southern brain flew open again; rastignac'scarefully drilled faculties returned. it was as if a sudden light had pierced the obscurityof this upper world of paris, and he began to see, though everything was indistinct asyet. mme. vauquer's lodging-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 lawstudent. "my great-uncle, the chevalier de rastignac, married the heiress of the marcillacfamily. they had only one daughter, who married the marechal de clarimbault, mme. de beauseant'sgrandfather on the mother's side. we are the younger branch of the family, and the youngerbranch is all the poorer because my great-uncle, the vice-admiral, lost all that he had inthe king's service. the government during the revolution refused to admit our claimswhen the compagnie des indes was liquidated." "was not your great-uncle in command of thevengeur before 1789?" "yes."

"then he would be acquainted with my grandfather,who commanded the warwick." maxime looked at mme. de restaud and shruggedhis shoulders, as who should say, "if he is going to discuss nautical matters with thatfellow, it is all over with us." anastasie understood the glance that m. de traillesgave her. with a woman's admirable tact, she began to smile and said: "come with me, maxime; i have something tosay to you. we will leave you two gentlemen to sail in company on board the warwick andthe vengeur." she rose to her feet and signed to maximeto follow her, mirth and mischief in her whole attitude, and the two went in the directionof the boudoir. the morganatic couple (to

use a convenient german expression which hasno exact equivalent) had reached the door, when the count interrupted himself in histalk with eugene. "anastasie!" he cried pettishly, "just staya moment, dear; you know very well that——" "i am coming back in a minute," she interrupted;"i have a commission for maxime to execute, and i want to tell him about it." she came back almost immediately. she hadnoticed the inflection in her husband's voice, and knew that it would not be safe to retireto the boudoir; like all women who are compelled to study their husbands' characters in orderto have their own way, and whose business it is to know exactly how far they can gowithout endangering a good understanding,

she was very careful to avoid petty collisionsin domestic life. it was eugene who had brought about this untoward incident; so the countesslooked at maxime and indicated the law student with an air of exasperation. m. de traillesaddressed the count, the countess, and eugene with the pointed remark, "you are busy, ido not want to interrupt you; good-day," and he went. "just wait a moment, maxime!" the count calledafter him. "come and dine with us," said the countess,leaving eugene and her husband together once more. she followed maxime into the littledrawing-room, where they sat together sufficiently long to feel sure that rastignac had takenhis leave.

the law student heard their laughter, andtheir voices, and the pauses in their talk; he grew malicious, exerted his conversationalpowers for m. de restaud, flattered him, and drew him into discussions, to the end thathe might see the countess again and discover the nature of her relations with father goriot.this countess with a husband and a lover, for maxime clearly was her lover, was a mystery.what was the secret tie that bound her to the old tradesman? this mystery he meant topenetrate, hoping by its means to gain a sovereign ascendency over this fair typical parisian. "anastasie!" the count called again to hiswife. "poor maxime!" she said, addressing the youngman. "come, we must resign ourselves. this

evening——" "i hope, nasie," he said in her ear, "thatyou will give orders not to admit that youngster, whose eyes light up like live coals when helooks at you. he will make you a declaration, and compromise you, and then you will compelme to kill him." "are you mad, maxime?" she said. "a younglad of a student is, on the contrary, a capital lightning-conductor; is not that so? of course,i mean to make restaud furiously jealous of him." maxime burst out laughing, and went out, followedby the countess, who stood at the window to watch him into his carriage; he shook hiswhip, and made his horse prance. she only

returned when the great gate had been closedafter him. "what do you think, dear?" cried the count,her husband, "this gentleman's family estate is not far from verteuil, on the charente;his great-uncle and my grandfather were acquainted." "delighted to find that we have acquaintancesin common," said the countess, with a preoccupied manner. "more than you think," said eugene, in a lowvoice. "what do you mean?" she asked quickly. "why, only just now," said the student, "isaw a gentleman go out at the gate, father goriot, my next door neighbor in the housewhere i am lodging."

at the sound of this name, and the prefixthat embellished it, the count, who was stirring the fire, let the tongs fall as though theyhad burned 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 sightof her husband's vexation, then she reddened; clearly she was embarrassed, her answer wasmade in a tone that she tried to make natural, and with an air of assumed carelessness: "you could not know any one who is dearerto us both..." she broke off, glanced at the piano as ifsome fancy had crossed her mind, and asked, "are you fond of music, m. de rastignac?"

"exceedingly," answered eugene, flushing,and disconcerted by a dim suspicion that he had somehow been guilty of a clumsy pieceof folly. "do you sing?" she cried, going to the piano,and, sitting down before it, 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 greatmeans 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 wandwhen he uttered goriot's name, but the effect

seemed to be entirely opposite to that producedby the formula "related to mme. de beauseant." his position was not unlike that of some visitorpermitted as a favor to inspect a private collection of curiosities, when by inadvertencehe comes into collision with a glass case full of sculptured figures, and three or fourheads, imperfectly secured, fall at the shock. he wished the earth would open and swallowhim. mme. de restaud's expression was reserved and chilly, her eyes had grown indifferent,and sedulously avoided meeting those of the unlucky student of law. "madame," he said, "you wish to talk withm. de restaud; permit me to wish you good-day——" the countess interrupted him by a gesture,saying hastily, "whenever you come to see

us, both m. de restaud and i shall be delightedto see you." eugene made a profound bow and took his leave,followed by m. de restaud, who insisted, in spite of his remonstrances, on accompanyinghim into the hall. "neither your mistress nor i are at home tothat gentleman when he calls," the count said to maurice. as eugene set foot on the steps, he saw thatit was raining. "come," said he to himself, "somehow i havejust made a mess of it, i do not know how. and now i am going to spoil my hat and coatinto the bargain. i ought to stop in my corner, grind away at law, and never look to be anythingbut a boorish country magistrate. how can

i go into society, when to manage properlyyou want a lot of cabs, varnished boots, gold watch chains, and all sorts of things; youhave to wear white doeskin gloves that cost six francs in the morning, and primrose kidgloves every evening? a fig for that old humbug of a goriot!" when he reached the street door, the driverof a hackney coach, who had probably just deposited a wedding party at their door, andasked nothing better than a chance of making a little money for himself without his employer'sknowledge, saw that eugene had no umbrella, remarked his black coat, white waistcoat,yellow gloves, and varnished boots, and stopped and looked at him inquiringly. eugene, inthe blind desperation that drives a young

man to plunge deeper and deeper into an abyss,as if he might hope to find a fortunate issue in its lowest depths, nodded in reply to thedriver's signal, and stepped into the cab; a few stray petals of orange blossom and scrapsof wire bore witness to its recent occupation by a wedding party. "where am i to drive, sir?" demanded the man,who, by this time, had taken off his white gloves. "confound it!" eugene said to himself, "iam in for it now, and at least i will not spend cab-hire for nothing!—drive to thehotel beauseant," he said aloud. "which?" asked the man, a portentous wordthat reduced eugene to confusion. this young

man of fashion, species incerta, did not knowthat there were two hotels beauseant; he was not aware how rich he was in relations whodid not care about him. "the vicomte de beauseant, rue——" "de grenelle," interrupted the driver, witha jerk of his head. "you see, there are the hotels of the marquis and comte de beauseantin the rue saint-dominique," he added, drawing up the step. "i know all about that," said eugene, severely.—"everybodyis laughing at me to-day, it seems!" he said to himself, as he deposited his hat on theopposite seat. "this escapade will cost me a king's ransom, but, at any rate, i shallcall on my so-called cousin in a thoroughly

aristocratic fashion. goriot has cost me tenfrancs already, the old scoundrel. my word! i will tell mme. de beauseant about my adventure;perhaps it may amuse her. doubtless she will know the secret of the criminal relation betweenthat handsome woman and the old rat without a tail. it would be better to find favor inmy cousin's eyes than to come in contact with that shameless woman, who seems to me to havevery expensive tastes. surely the beautiful vicomtesse's personal interest would turnthe scale for me, when the mere mention of her name produces such an effect. let us lookhigher. if you set yourself to carry the heights of heaven, you must face god." the innumerable thoughts that surged throughhis brain might be summed up in these phrases.

he grew calmer, and recovered something ofhis assurance as he watched the falling rain. he told himself that though he was about tosquander two of the precious five-franc pieces that remained to him, the money was well laidout in preserving his coat, boots, and hat; and his cabman's cry of "gate, if you please,"almost put him in spirits. a swiss, in scarlet and gold, appeared, the great door groanedon its hinges, and rastignac, with sweet satisfaction, beheld his equipage pass under the archwayand stop before the flight of steps beneath the awning. the driver, in a blue-and-redgreatcoat, dismounted and let down the step. as eugene stepped out of the cab, he heardsmothered laughter from the peristyle. three or four lackeys were making merry over thefestal appearance of the vehicle. in another

moment the law student was enlightened asto the cause of their hilarity; he felt the full force of the contrast between his equipageand one of the smartest broughams in paris; a coachman, with powdered hair, seemed tofind it difficult to hold a pair of spirited horses, who stood chafing the bit. in mme.de restaud's courtyard, in the chaussee d'antin, he had seen the neat turnout of a young manof six-and-twenty; in the faubourg saint-germain he found the luxurious equipage of a man ofrank; 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 womenin paris who were not already appropriated,

and that the capture of one of these queenswould be likely to cost something more than bloodshed. "confound it all! i expect my cousinalso has her maxime." he went up the steps, feeling that he wasa blighted being. the glass door was opened for him; the servants were as solemn as jackassesunder the curry comb. so far, eugene had only been in the ballroom on the ground floor ofthe hotel beauseant; the fete had followed so closely on the invitation, that he hadnot had time to call on his cousin, and had therefore never seen mme. de beauseant's apartments;he was about to behold 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 had

provided him with a standard of comparison. at half-past four the vicomtesse de beauseantwas visible. five minutes earlier she would not have received her cousin, but eugene knewnothing of the recognized routine of various houses in paris. he was conducted up the wide,white-painted, crimson-carpeted staircase, between the gilded balusters and masses offlowering plants, to mme. de beauseant's apartments. 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. chapter 7 for three years past her name had been spokenof in connection with that of one of the most

wealthy and distinguished portuguese nobles,the marquis d'ajuda-pinto. it was one of those innocent liaisons which possess so much charmfor the two thus attached to each other that they find the presence of a third person intolerable.the vicomte de beauseant, therefore, had himself set an example to the rest of the world byrespecting, with as good a grace as might be, this morganatic union. any one who cameto call on the vicomtesse in the early days of this friendship was sure to find the marquisd'ajuda-pinto there. as, under the circumstances, mme. de beauseant could not very well shuther door against these visitors, she gave them such a cold reception, and showed somuch interest in the study of the ceiling, that no one could fail to understand how muchhe bored her; and when it became known in

paris that mme. de beauseant was bored bycallers between two and four o'clock, she was left in perfect solitude during that interval.she went to the bouffons or to the opera with m. de beauseant and m. d'ajuda-pinto; andm. de beauseant, like a well-bred man of the world, always left his wife and the portugueseas soon as he had installed them. 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 who as yet knew nothingof the arrangement, and that was mme. de beauseant. some of her friends had hinted at the possibility,and she had laughed at them, believing that envy had prompted those ladies to try to makemischief. and now, though the bans were about to be published, and although the handsomeportuguese had come that day to break the

news to the vicomtesse, he had not found courageas yet to say one word about his treachery. how was it? nothing is doubtless more difficultthan the notification of an ultimatum of this kind. there are men who feel more at theirease when they stand up before another man who threatens their lives with sword or pistolthan in the presence of a woman who, after two hours of lamentations and reproaches,falls into a dead swoon and requires salts. at this moment, therefore, m. d'ajuda-pintowas on thorns, and anxious to take his leave. he told himself that in some way or otherthe news would reach mme. de beauseant; he would write, it would be much better to doit by letter, and not to utter the words that should stab her to the heart.

so when the servant announced m. eugene derastignac, the marquis d'ajuda-pinto trembled with joy. to be sure, a loving woman showseven more ingenuity in inventing doubts of her lover than in varying the monotony ofhis happiness; and when she is about to be forsaken, she instinctively interprets everygesture as rapidly as virgil's courser detected the presence of his companion by snuffingthe breeze. it was impossible, therefore, that mme. de beauseant should not detect thatinvoluntary thrill of satisfaction; slight though it was, it was appalling in its artlessness. eugene had yet to learn that no one in parisshould present himself in any house without first making himself acquainted with the wholehistory of its owner, and of its owner's wife

and family, so that he may avoid making anyof the terrible blunders which in poland draw forth the picturesque exclamation, "harnessfive bullocks to your cart!" probably because you will need them all to pull you out ofthe quagmire into which a false step has plunged you. if, down to the present day, our languagehas no name for these conversational disasters, it is probably because they are believed tobe impossible, the publicity given in paris to every scandal is so prodigious. after theawkward incident at mme. de restaud's, no one but eugene could have reappeared in hischaracter of bullock-driver in mme. de beauseant's drawing-room. but if mme. de restaud and m.de trailles had found him horribly in the way, m. d'ajuda hailed his coming with relief.

"good-bye," said the portuguese, hurryingto the door, as eugene made his entrance into a dainty little pink-and-gray drawing-room,where luxury seemed nothing more than good taste. "until this evening," said mme. de beauseant,turning her head to give the marquis a glance. "we are going to the bouffons, are we not?" "i cannot go," he said, with his fingers onthe door handle. mme. de beauseant rose and beckoned to himto return. she did not pay the slightest attention to eugene, who stood there dazzled by thesparkling marvels around him; he began to think that this was some story out of thearabian nights made real, and did not know

where to hide himself, when the woman beforehim seemed to be unconscious of his existence. the vicomtesse had raised the forefinger ofher right hand, and gracefully signed to the marquis to seat himself beside her. the marquisfelt the imperious sway of passion in her gesture; he came back towards her. eugenewatched him, not without a feeling of envy. "that is the owner of the brougham!" he saidto himself. "but is it necessary to have a pair of spirited horses, servants in livery,and torrents of gold to draw a glance from a woman here in paris?" the demon of luxury gnawed at his heart, greedburned in his veins, his throat 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 the aims he hadin view helped to benumb his faculties. "why not?" the vicomtesse was saying, as shesmiled 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 to add 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 tome," he answered, dissembling his feelings in a glance which would have reassured anyother woman. he took the vicomtesse's hand, kissed it,and went. eugene ran his fingers through his hair, andconstrained 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, and watched m. d'ajudastep into his carriage; she listened to the order that he gave, and heard the swiss repeatit to the coachman: "to m. de rochefide's house."

those words, and the way in which m. d'ajudaflung himself back in the carriage, were like a lightning flash and a thunderbolt for her;she walked back again with a deadly fear gnawing at her heart. the most terrible catastrophesonly happen among the heights. the vicomtesse went to her own room, sat down at a table,and took up a sheet of dainty notepaper. "when, instead of dining with the englishambassador," she wrote, "you go to the rochefides, youowe me an explanation, which i am waiting to hear." she retraced several of the letters, for herhand was trembling so that they were indistinct; then she signed the note with an initial cfor "claire de bourgogne," and rang the bell.

"jacques," she said to the servant, who appearedimmediately, "take this note to m. de rochefide's house at half-past seven and ask for the marquisd'ajuda. if m. d'ajuda is there, leave the note without waiting for an answer; if heis not there, bring the note back to me." "madame la vicomtess, there is a visitor inthe drawing-room." "ah! yes, of course," she said, opening thedoor. eugene was beginning to feel very uncomfortable,but at last the vicomtesse appeared; she spoke to him, and the tremulous tones of her voicevibrated through his heart. "pardon me, monsieur," she said; "i had aletter to write. now i am quite at liberty." she scarcely knew what she was saying, foreven as she spoke she thought, "ah! he means

to marry mlle. de rochefide? but is he stillfree? this evening the marriage shall be broken off, or else... but before to-morrow i shallknow." "cousin..." the student replied. "eh?" said the countess, with an insolentglance that sent a cold shudder through eugene; he understood what that "eh?" meant; he hadlearned a great deal in three hours, and his wits were on the alert. he reddened: "madame..." he began; he hesitated a moment,and then went on. "pardon me; i am in such need of protection that the nearest scrapof relationship could do me no harm." mme. de beauseant smiled but there was sadnessin her smile; even now she felt forebodings

of the coming pain, the air she breathed washeavy with the storm that was about to burst. "if you knew how my family are situated,"he went on, "you would love to play the part of a beneficent fairy godmother who graciouslyclears the obstacles from the path of her protege." "well, cousin," she said, laughing, "and howcan i be of service to you?" "but do i know even that? i am distantly relatedto you, and this obscure and remote relationship is even now a perfect godsend to me. you haveconfused my ideas; i cannot remember the things that i meant to say to you. i know no oneelse here in paris.... ah! if i could only ask you to counsel me, ask you to look uponme as a poor child who would fain cling to

the hem of your dress, who would lay downhis 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 tears that came to her eyes; "you would love sincerely." "oh!" he cried, flinging up his head. the audacity of the student's answer interestedthe vicomtesse in him. the southern brain was beginning to scheme for the first time.between mme. de restaud's blue boudoir and mme. de beauseant's rose-colored drawing-roomhe had made a three years' advance in a kind

of law which is not a recognized study inparis, although it is a sort of higher jurisprudence, and, when well understood, is a highroad tosuccess of every kind. "ah! that is what i meant to say!" said eugene."i met mme. de restaud at 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 blunderswill set every one against me, if you do not give me your counsel. i believe that in parisit is very difficult to meet with a young, beautiful, and wealthy woman of fashion whowould be willing to teach me, what you women can explain so well—life. i shall find am. de trailles everywhere. so i have come

to you to ask you to give me a key to a puzzle,to entreat you to tell me what sort of blunder i made this morning. i mentioned an old man——" "madame la duchess de langeais," jacques cutthe student short; eugene gave expression to his intense annoyance by a gesture. "if you mean to succeed," said the vicomtessein a low voice, "in the first place you must not be so demonstrative." "ah! good morning, dear," she continued, andrising and crossing the room, she grasped the duchess' hands as affectionately as ifthey had been sisters; the duchess responded in the prettiest and most gracious way.

"two intimate friends!" said rastignac tohimself. "henceforward i shall have two protectresses; those two women are great friends, no doubt,and this newcomer will doubtless interest herself in her friend's cousin." "to what happy inspiration do i owe this pieceof good fortune, dear antoinette?" asked mme. de beauseant. "well, i saw m. d'ajuda-pinto at m. de rochefide'sdoor, so i thought that if i came i should find you alone." mme. de beauseant's mouth did not tighten,her color did not rise, her expression did not alter, or rather, her brow seemed to clearas the duchess uttered those deadly words.

"if i had known that you were engaged——"the speaker added, glancing at eugene. "this gentleman is m. eugene de rastignac,one of my cousins," said the vicomtesse. "have you any news of general de montriveau?" shecontinued. "serizy told me yesterday that he never goes anywhere now; has he been tosee you to-day?" it was believed that the duchess was desperatelyin love with m. de montriveau, and that he was a faithless lover; she felt the questionin her very heart, and her face flushed as she answered: "he was at the elysee yesterday." "in attendance?"

"claire," returned the duchess, and hatredoverflowed in the glances she threw at mme. de beauseant; "of course you know that m.d'ajuda-pinto is going to marry mlle. de rochefide; the bans will be published to-morrow." this thrust was too cruel; the vicomtesse'sface grew white, but she answered, laughing, "one of those rumors that fools amuse themselveswith. what should induce m. d'ajuda to take one of the noblest names in portugal to therochefides? the rochefides were only ennobled yesterday." "but bertha will have two hundred thousandlivres a year, they say." "m. d'ajuda is too wealthy to marry for money."

"but, my dear, mlle. de rochefide is a charminggirl." "indeed?" "and, as a matter of fact, he is dining withthem to-day; the thing is settled. it is very surprising to me that you should know so littleabout it." mme. de beauseant turned to rastignac. "whatwas the blunder that you made, monsieur?" she asked. "the poor boy is only just launchedinto the world, antoinette, so that he understands nothing of all this that we are speaking of.be merciful to him, and let us finish our talk to-morrow. everything will be announcedto-morrow, you know, and your kind informal communication can be accompanied by officialconfirmation."

the duchess gave eugene one of those insolentglances that measure a man from head to foot, and leave him crushed and annihilated. "madame, i have unwittingly plunged a daggerinto mme. de restaud's heart; unwittingly—therein lies my offence," said the student of law,whose keen brain had served him sufficiently well, for he had detected the biting epigramsthat lurked beneath this friendly talk. "you continue to receive, possibly you fear, thosewho know the amount of pain 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 how to make use ofhis opportunities, and every one despises mme. de beauseant gave the student a glance,one of those glances in which a great soul

can mingle dignity and gratitude. it was likebalm to the law student, who was still smarting under the duchess' insolent scrutiny; shehad looked at him as an auctioneer might look at some article to appraise its value. "imagine, too, that i had just made some progresswith the comte de restaud; for i should tell you, madame," he went on, turning to the duchesswith a mixture of humility and malice in his manner, "that as yet i am only a poor devilof a student, very much alone in the world, and very poor——" "you should not tell us that, m. de rastignac.we women never care about anything that no one else will take."

"bah!" said eugene. "i am only two-and-twenty,and i must make up my mind to the drawbacks of my time of life. besides, i am confessingmy sins, and it would be impossible to kneel in a more charming confessional; you commityour sins in one drawing-room, and receive absolution for them in another." the duchess' expression grew colder, she didnot like the flippant tone of these remarks, and showed that she considered them to bein bad taste by turning to the vicomtesse with—"this gentleman has only just come——" mme. de beauseant began to laugh outrightat her cousin and at the duchess both. "he has only just come to paris, dear, andis in search of some one who will give him

lessons in good taste." "mme. la duchesse," said eugene, "is it notnatural to wish to be initiated 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," said the duchess. "of that i had no idea, madame," answeredthe law student, "so i rashly came between them. in fact, i got on very well with thelady'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 he went out by aback staircase, a man who had given the countess

a kiss at the end of a passage." "who was it?" both women asked together. "an old man who lives at the rate of two louisa month in the faubourg saint-marceau, where i, a poor student, lodge likewise. he is atruly unfortunate creature, everybody laughs at him—we all call him 'father goriot.'" "why, child that you are," cried the vicomtesse,"mme. de restaud was a mlle. goriot!" "the daughter of a vermicelli manufacturer,"the duchess added; "and when the little creature went to court, the daughter of a pastry-cookwas presented on the same day. do you remember, claire? the king began to laugh, and madesome joke in latin about flour. people—what

was it?—people——" "ejusdem farinoe," said eugene. "yes, that was it," said the duchess. "oh! is that her father?" the law studentcontinued, aghast. "yes, certainly; the old man had two daughters;he dotes on them, so to speak, though they will scarcely acknowledge him." "didn't the second daughter marry a bankerwith a german name?" the vicomtesse asked, turning to mme. de langeais, "a baron de nucingen?and her name is delphine, is it not? isn't she a fair-haired woman who has a side-boxat the opera? she comes sometimes to the bouffons,

and laughs loudly to attract attention." the duchess smiled and said: "i wonder at you, dear. why do you take somuch interest in people of that kind? one must have been as madly in love as restaudwas, to be infatuated with mlle. anastasie and her flour sacks. oh! he will not findher a good bargain! she is in m. de trailles' hands, and he will ruin her." "and they do not acknowledge their father!"eugene repeated. "oh! well, yes, their father, the father,a father," replied the vicomtesse, "a kind father who gave them each five or six hundredthousand francs, it is said, to secure their

happiness by marrying them well; while heonly kept eight or ten thousand livres a year for himself, thinking that his daughters wouldalways be his daughters, thinking that in them he would live his life twice over again,that in their houses he should find two homes, where he would be loved and looked up to,and made much of. and in two years' time both his sons-in-law had turned him out of theirhouses as if he were one of the lowest outcasts." tears came into eugene's eyes. he was stillunder the spell of youthful beliefs, he had just left home, pure and sacred feelings hadbeen stirred within him, and this was his first day on the battlefield of civilizationin paris. genuine feeling is so infectious that for a moment the three looked at eachother 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 forit? tell me, dear, have you ever really thought what a son-in-law is? a son-in-law is theman for whom we bring up, you and i, a dear little one, bound to us very closely in innumerableways; for seventeen years she will be the joy of her family, its 'white soul,' as lamartinesays, and suddenly she will become its scourge. when he comes and takes her from us, his lovefrom the very beginning is like an axe laid to the root of all the old affection in ourdarling's heart, and all the ties that bound her to her family are severed. but yesterdayour little daughter thought of no one but her mother and father, as we had no thoughtthat was not for her; by to-morrow she will

have become a hostile stranger. the tragedyis always going on under our eyes. on the one hand you see a father who has sacrificedhimself to his son, and his daughter-in-law shows him the last degree of insolence. onthe other hand, it is the son-in-law who turns his wife's mother out of the house. i sometimeshear it said that there is nothing dramatic about society in these days; but the dramaof the son-in-law is appalling, to say nothing of our marriages, which have come to be verypoor farces. i can explain how it all came about in the old vermicelli maker's case.i think i recollect that foriot——" "goriot, madame." "yes, that moriot was once president of hissection during the revolution. he was in the

secret of the famous scarcity of grain, andlaid the foundation of his fortune in those days by selling flour for ten times its cost.he had as much flour as he wanted. my grandmother's steward sold him immense quantities. no doubtnoriot shared the plunder with the committee of public salvation, as that sort of personalways did. i recollect the steward telling my grandmother that she might live at grandvilliersin complete security, because her corn was as good as a certificate of civism. well,then, this loriot, who sold corn to those butchers, has never had but one passion, theysay—he idolizes his daughters. he settled one of them under restaud's roof, and graftedthe other into the nucingen family tree, the baron de nucingen being a rich banker whohad turned royalist. you can quite understand

that so long as bonaparte was emperor, thetwo sons-in-law could manage to put up with the old ninety-three; but after the restorationof the bourbons, m. de restaud felt bored by the old man's society, and the banker wasstill more tired of it. his daughters were still fond of him; they wanted 'to keep thegoat and the cabbage,' so they used to see joriot whenever there was no one there, underpretence of affection. 'come to-day, papa, we shall have you all to ourselves, and thatwill be much nicer!' and all that sort of thing. as for me, dear, i believe that lovehas second-sight: poor ninety-three; his heart must have bled. he saw that his daughterswere ashamed of him, that if they loved their husbands his visits must make mischief. sohe immolated himself. he made the sacrifice

because he was a father; he went into voluntaryexile. his daughters were satisfied, so he thought that he had done the best thing hecould; but it was a family crime, and father and daughters were accomplices. you see thissort of thing everywhere. what could this old doriot have been but a splash of mud inhis daughters' drawing-rooms? he would only have been in the way, and bored other people,besides being bored 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 growstiresome, he will go; he will descend to the basest trickery to leave her. it is the samewith all love and friendship. our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealthat once, you are bankrupt. 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 hadgiven them all he had. for twenty years he had given his whole heart to them; then, oneday, he gave them all his fortune too. the lemon was squeezed; the girls left the restin the gutter." "the world is very base," said the vicomtesse,plucking at the threads of her shawl. she did not raise her head as she spoke; the wordsthat mme. de langeais had meant for her in the course of her story had cut her to thequick. "base? oh, no," answered the duchess; "theworld goes its own way, that is all. if i speak in this way, it is only to show thati am not duped by 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 beauseanton the forehead as she said: "you look very charming to-day, dear. i have never seen sucha lovely color in your cheeks before." then she went out with a slight inclinationof the head to the cousin. "father goriot is sublime!" said eugene tohimself, as he remembered how he had watched his neighbor work the silver vessel into ashapeless mass that night. mme. de beauseant did not hear him; she wasabsorbed in her own thoughts. for several minutes the silence remained unbroken tillthe law student became almost paralyzed with

embarrassment, and was equally afraid to goor stay or speak a word. "the world is basely ungrateful and ill-natured,"said the vicomtesse at 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 a dagger while calling onyou to admire the handle. epigrams and sarcasms already! ah! i will defend myself!" she raised her head like the great lady thatshe was, and lightnings flashed from her proud eyes. "ah!" she said, as she saw eugene, "are youthere?" "still," he said piteously.

"well, then, m. de rastignac, deal with theworld as it deserves. you are determined to succeed? i will help you. you shall soundthe depths of corruption in woman; you shall measure the extent of man's pitiful vanity.deeply as i am versed in such learning, there were pages in the book of life that i hadnot read. now i know all. the more cold-blooded your calculations, the further you will go.strike ruthlessly; you will be feared. men and women for you must be nothing more thanpost-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, unlessa woman interests herself in you; and she must be young and wealthy, and a woman ofthe world. yet, if you have a heart, lock

it carefully away like a treasure; do notlet any one suspect it, or you will be lost; you would cease to be the executioner, youwould take the victim's place. and if ever you should love, never let your secret escapeyou! trust no one until you are very sure of the heart to which you open your heart.learn to mistrust every one; take every precaution for the sake of the love which does not existas yet. listen, miguel"—the name slipped from her so naturally that she did not noticeher mistake—"there is something still more appalling than the ingratitude of daughterswho have cast off their old father and wish that he were dead, and that is a rivalry betweentwo sisters. restaud comes 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 consumed with envy, and ready to die of spleen. thereis gulf set between the sisters—indeed, they are sisters no longer—the two womenwho refuse to acknowledge their father do not acknowledge each other. so mme. de nucingenwould lap up all the mud that lies between the rue saint-lazare and the rue de grenelleto gain admittance to my salon. she fancied that she should gain her end through de marsay;she has made herself de marsay's slave, and she bores him. de marsay cares very littleabout her. if you will introduce her to me, you will be her darling, her benjamin; shewill 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

of my great crushes, but i will never receiveher here in the morning. i will 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 mentioning father goriot'sname. yes, my good friend, you may call at her house twenty times, and every time outof the twenty you will find that she is not at home. the servants have their orders, andwill not admit you. very well, then, now let father goriot gain the right of entry intoher sister's house for you. the beautiful mme. de nucingen will give the signal fora battle. as soon as she singles you out, other women will begin to lose their headsabout you, and her enemies and rivals and intimate friends will all try to take youfrom her. there are women who will fall in

love with a man because another woman haschosen him; like the city madams, poor things, who copy our millinery, and hope thereby toacquire our manners. you will have a success, and in paris success is everything; it isthe key of power. if the women credit you with wit and talent, the men will follow suitso long as you do not undeceive them yourself. there will be nothing you may not aspire to;you will go everywhere, and you will find out what the world is—an assemblage of foolsand knaves. but you must be neither the one nor the other. i am giving you my name likeariadne's clue of thread to take with you into the labyrinth; make no unworthy use ofit," she said, with a queenly glance 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 whowould gladly set a match to a train for you——" "well?" she asked. he tapped his heart, smiled in answer to hiscousin's smile, and went. it was five o'clock, and eugene was hungry;he was afraid lest he should not be in time for dinner, a misgiving which made him feelthat it was pleasant to be borne so quickly across paris. this sensation of physical comfortleft his mind free to grapple with the thoughts that assailed him. a mortification usuallysends a young man of his age into a furious rage; he shakes his fist at society, and vowsvengeance when his belief in himself is shaken.

just then rastignac was overwhelmed by thewords, "you have shut the countess' door against you." "i shall call!" he said to himself, "and ifmme. de beauseant is right, if i never find her at home—i... well, mme. de restaud shallmeet me in every salon in paris. i will learn to fence and have some pistol practice, andkill that maxime of hers!" "and money?" cried an inward monitor. "howabout money, where is that to come from?" and all at once the wealth displayed in thecountess de restaud's drawing-room rose before his eyes. that was the luxury which goriot'sdaughter had loved too well, the gilding, the ostentatious splendor, the unintelligentluxury of the parvenu, the riotous extravagance

of a courtesan. then the attractive visionsuddenly went under an eclipse as he remembered the stately grandeur of the hotel de beauseant.as his fancy wandered among these lofty regions in the great world of paris, innumerable darkthoughts gathered in his heart; his ideas widened, and his conscience grew more elastic.he saw the world as it 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!" hesaid to himself. arrived in the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve,he rushed up to his room for ten francs wherewith to satisfy the demands of the cabman, andwent in to dinner. he glanced round the squalid

room, saw the eighteen poverty-stricken creaturesabout to feed like cattle in their stalls, and the sight filled him with loathing. thetransition was too sudden, and the contrast was so violent that it could not but act asa powerful stimulant; his ambition developed and grew beyond all social bounds. on theone hand, he beheld a vision of social life in its most charming and refined forms, ofquick-pulsed youth, of fair, impassioned faces invested with all the charm of poetry, framedin a marvelous setting of luxury or art; and, on the other hand, he saw a sombre picture,the miry verge beyond these faces, in which passion was extinct and nothing was left ofthe drama but the cords and pulleys and bare mechanism. mme. de beauseant's counsels, thewords uttered in anger by the forsaken lady,

her petulant offer, came to his mind, andpoverty 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 stilla child! those two lines are asymptotes, and will never meet. "you are very dull, my lord marquis," saidvautrin, with one of the shrewd glances that seem to read the innermost secrets of anothermind. "i am not in the humor to stand jokes frompeople who call me 'my lord marquis,'" answered eugene. "a marquis here in paris, if he isnot the veriest sham, ought to have a hundred thousand livres a year at least; and a lodgerin 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!" thenhe answered: "you are in a bad humor; perhaps your visitto the beautiful comtesse de restaud was not a success." "she has shut her door against me becausei told her that her father dined at our table," cried rastignac. glances were exchanged all round the room;father goriot looked down. "you have sent some snuff into my eye," hesaid to his neighbor, turning a little aside

to rub his hand over his face. "any one who molests father goriot will havehenceforward to reckon with me," said eugene, looking at the old man's neighbor; "he isworth all the rest of us put together.—i am not speaking of the ladies," he added,turning in the direction of mlle. taillefer. eugene's remarks produced a sensation, andhis tone silenced the dinner-table. vautrin alone spoke. "if you are going to championfather goriot, and set up for his responsible editor into the bargain, you had need be acrack 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 oweno account of myself to any one, especially as i do not try to find out what other peopledo of a night." vautrin looked askance at rastignac. "if you do not mean to be deceived by thepuppets, my boy, you must go behind and see the whole show, and not peep through holesin the curtain. that is enough," he added, seeing that eugene was about to fly into apassion. "we can have a little talk whenever you like." there was a general feeling of gloom and constraint.father goriot was so deeply dejected by the

student's remark that he did not notice thechange in the disposition of his fellow-lodgers, nor know that he had met with a champion capableof putting an end to the persecution. "then, m. goriot sitting there is the fatherof a countess," said mme. vauquer in a low voice. "and of a baroness," answered rastignac. "that is about all he is capable of," saidbianchon to rastignac; "i have taken a look at his head; there is only one bump—thebump of paternity; he must be an eternal father." eugene was too intent on his thoughts to laughat bianchon's joke. he determined to profit by mme. de beauseant's counsels, and was askinghimself how he could obtain the necessary

money. he grew grave. the wide savannas ofthe world stretched before his eyes; all things lay before him, nothing was his. dinner cameto an end, the others went, and he was left in the dining-room. "so you have seen my daughter?" goriot spoketremulously, and the sound of his voice broke in upon eugene's dreams. the young man tookthe elder's hand, and looked at him with something like kindness in his eyes. "you are a good and noble man," he said. "wewill have some talk about your daughters by and by." he rose without waiting for goriot's answer,and went to his room. there he wrote the following

letter to his mother:— "my dear mother,—can you nourish your childfrom your breast again? i am in a position to make a rapidfortune, but i want twelve hundred francs—i must have them atall costs. say nothing about this to my father; perhaps he mightmake objections, and unless i have the money, i may be led to putan end to myself, and so escape the clutches of despair. i willtell you everything when i see you. i will not begin to try to describemy present situation; it would take volumes to put thewhole story clearly

and fully. i have not been gambling, my kindmother, i owe no one a penny; but if you would preserve the lifethat you gave me, you must send me the sum i mention. as a matterof fact, i go to see the vicomtesse de beauseant; she is usingher influence for me; i am obliged to go into society, and i havenot a penny to lay out on clean gloves. i can manage to exist onbread and water, or go without food, if need be, but i cannot dowithout the tools with which they cultivate the vineyards in thiscountry. i must resolutely make up my mind at once to makemy way, or stick in the

mire for the rest of my days. i know thatall your hopes are set on me, and i want to realize them quickly.sell some of your old jewelry, my kind mother; i will give you otherjewels very soon. i know enough of our affairs at home to knowall that such a sacrifice means, and you must not think thati would lightly ask you to make it; i should be a monster if icould. you must think of my entreaty as a cry forced from me byimperative necessity. our whole future lies in the subsidy withwhich i must begin my first campaign, for life in paris is one continualbattle. if you

cannot otherwise procure the whole of themoney, and are forced to sell our aunt's lace, tell her that i willsend her some still handsomer," and so forth. he wrote to ask each of his sisters for theirsavings—would they despoil themselves for him, and keep the sacrifice a secret fromthe family? to his request he knew that they would not fail to respond gladly, and he addedto it an appeal to their delicacy by touching the chord of honor that vibrates so loudlyin young and high-strung natures. yet when he had written the letters, he couldnot help feeling misgivings in spite of his youthful ambition; his heart beat fast, andhe trembled. he knew the spotless nobleness

of the lives buried away in the lonely manorhouse; he knew what trouble and what joy his request would cause his sisters, and how happythey would be as they talked at the bottom of the orchard of that dear brother of theirsin paris. visions rose before his eyes; a sudden strong light revealed his sisters secretlycounting over their little store, devising some girlish stratagem by which the moneycould be sent to him incognito, essaying, for the first time in their lives, a pieceof deceit that reached the sublime in its unselfishness. "a sister's heart is a diamond for purity,a deep sea of tenderness!" he said to himself. he felt ashamed of those letters.

what power there must be in the petitionsput up by such hearts; how pure the fervor that bears their souls to heaven in prayer!what exquisite joy they would find in self-sacrifice! what a pang for his mother's heart if shecould not send him all that he asked for! and this noble affection, these sacrificesmade at such terrible cost, were to serve as the ladder by which he meant to climb todelphine 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 mingledwith his emotion. father goriot saw him through the half-open door. "what is the matter, sir?" he asked from thethreshold.

"ah! my good neighbor, i am as much a sonand brother as you are a father. you do well to fear for the comtesse anastasie; thereis one m. maxime de trailles, who will be her ruin." father goriot withdrew, stammering some words,but eugene failed to catch their meaning. the next morning rastignac went out to posthis letters. up to the last moment he wavered and doubted, but he ended by flinging theminto the box. "i shall succeed!" he said to himself. so says the gambler; so says thegreat captain; but the three words that have been the salvation of some few, have beenthe ruin of many more. chapter 8

a few days after this eugene called at mme.de restaud's house; she was not at home. three times he tried the experiment, and three timeshe found her doors closed against him, though he was careful to choose an hour when m. detrailles was not there. the vicomtesse was right. the student studied no longer. he put in anappearance at lectures simply to answer to his name, and after thus attesting his presence,departed forthwith. he had been through a reasoning process familiar to most students.he had seen the advisability of deferring his studies to the last moment before goingup for his examinations; he made up his mind to cram his second and third years' work intothe third year, when he meant to begin to

work in earnest, and to complete his studiesin law with one great effort. in the meantime he had fifteen months in which to navigatethe ocean of paris, to spread the nets and set the lines that would bring him a protectressand a fortune. twice during that week he saw mme. de beauseant; he did not go to her houseuntil he had seen the marquis d'ajuda drive away. victory for yet a few more days was with thegreat lady, the most poetic figure in the faubourg saint-germain; and the marriage ofthe marquis d'ajuda-pinto with mlle. de rochefide was postponed. the dread of losing her happinessfilled those days with a fever of joy unknown before, but the end was only so much the nearer.the marquis d'ajuda and the rochefides agreed

that this quarrel and reconciliation was avery fortunate thing; mme. de beauseant (so they hoped) would gradually become reconciledto the idea of the marriage, and in the end would be brought to sacrifice d'ajuda's morningvisits to the exigencies of a man's career, exigencies which she must have foreseen. inspite of the most solemn promises, daily renewed, m. d'ajuda was playing a part, and the vicomtessewas eager to be deceived. "instead of taking a leap heroically from the window, she isfalling headlong down the staircase," said her most intimate friend, the duchesse delangeais. yet this after-glow of happiness lasted long enough for the vicomtesse to beof service to her young cousin. she had a half-superstitious affection for him. eugenehad shown her sympathy and devotion at a crisis

when a woman sees no pity, no real comfortin any eyes; when if a man is ready with soothing flatteries, it is because he has an interestedmotive. rastignac made up his mind that he must learnthe whole of goriot's previous history; he would come to his bearings before attemptingto board the maison de nucingen. the results of his inquiries may be given briefly as follows:— in the days before the revolution, jean-joachimgoriot was simply a workman in the employ of a vermicelli maker. he was a skilful, thriftyworkman, sufficiently enterprising to buy his master's business when the latter fella chance victim to the disturbances of 1789. goriot established himself in the rue de lajussienne, close to the corn exchange. his

plain good sense led him to accept the positionof president of the section, so as to secure for his business the protection of those inpower at that dangerous epoch. this prudent step had led to success; the foundations ofhis fortune were laid in the time of the scarcity (real or artificial), when the price of grainof all kinds rose enormously in paris. people used to fight for bread at the bakers' doors;while other persons went to the grocers' shops and bought italian paste foods without brawlingover it. it was during this year that goriot made the money, which, at a later time, wasto give him all the advantage of the great capitalist over the small buyer; he had, moreover,the usual luck of average ability; his mediocrity was the salvation of him. he excited no one'senvy, it was not even suspected that he was

rich till the peril of being rich was over,and all his intelligence was concentrated, not on political, but on commercial speculations.goriot was an authority second to none on all questions relating to corn, flour, and"middlings"; and the production, storage, and quality of grain. he could estimate theyield of the harvest, and foresee market prices; he bought his cereals in sicily, and importedrussian wheat. any one who had heard him hold forth on the regulations that control theimportation and exportation of grain, who had seen his grasp of the subject, his clearinsight into the principles involved, his appreciation of weak points in the way thatthe system worked, would have thought that here was the stuff of which a minister ismade. patient, active, and persevering, energetic

and prompt in action, he surveyed his businesshorizon with an eagle eye. nothing there took him by surprise; he foresaw all things, knewall that was happening, and kept his own counsel; he was a diplomatist in his quick comprehensionof a situation; and in the routine of business he was as patient and plodding as a soldieron the march. but beyond this business horizon he could not see. he used to spend his hoursof leisure on the threshold of his shop, leaning against the framework of the door. take himfrom his 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 at the play, a parisian dolibom in short, against whose stupidity other mindsare powerless.

natures of this kind are nearly all alike;in almost all of them you will find some hidden depth of sublime affection. two all-absorbingaffections filled the vermicelli maker's heart to the exclusion of every other feeling; intothem he seemed to put all the forces of his nature, as he put the whole power of his braininto the corn trade. he had regarded his wife, the only daughter of a rich farmer of la brie,with a devout admiration; his love for her had been boundless. goriot had felt the charmof a lovely and sensitive nature, which, in its delicate strength, was the very oppositeof his own. is there any instinct more deeply implanted in the heart of man than the prideof protection, a protection which is constantly exerted for a fragile and defenceless creature?join love thereto, the warmth of gratitude

that all generous souls feel for the sourceof their pleasures, and you have the explanation of many strange incongruities in human nature. after seven years of unclouded happiness,goriot lost his wife. it was very unfortunate for him. she was beginning to gain an ascendencyover him in other ways; possibly she might have brought that barren soil under cultivation,she might have widened his ideas and given other directions to his thoughts. but whenshe was dead, the instinct of fatherhood developed in him till it almost became a mania. allthe affection balked by death seemed to turn to his daughters, and he found full satisfactionfor his heart in loving them. more or less brilliant proposals were made to him fromtime to time; wealthy merchants or farmers

with daughters vied with each other in offeringinducements to him to marry again; but he determined to remain a widower. his father-in-law,the only man for whom he felt a decided friendship, gave out that goriot had made a vow to befaithful to his wife's memory. the frequenters of the corn exchange, who could not comprehendthis sublime piece of folly, joked about it among themselves, and found a ridiculous nicknamefor him. one of them ventured (after a glass over a bargain) to call him by it, and a blowfrom the vermicelli maker's fist sent him headlong into a gutter in the rue oblin. hecould think of nothing else when his children were concerned; his love for them made himfidgety and anxious; and this was so well known, that one day a competitor, who wishedto get rid of him to secure the field to himself,

told goriot that delphine had just been knockeddown by a cab. the vermicelli maker turned ghastly pale, left the exchange at once, anddid not return for several days afterwards; he was ill in consequence of the shock andthe subsequent relief on discovering that it was a false alarm. this time, however,the offender did not escape with a bruised shoulder; at a critical moment in the man'saffairs, goriot drove him into bankruptcy, and forced him to disappear from the cornexchange. as might have been expected, the two girlswere spoiled. with an income of sixty thousand francs, goriot scarcely spent twelve hundredon himself, and found all his happiness in satisfying the whims of the two girls. thebest masters were engaged, that anastasie

and delphine might be endowed with all theaccomplishments which distinguish a good education. they had a chaperon—luckily for them, shewas a woman who had good sense and good taste;—they learned to ride; they had a carriage for theiruse; they lived as the mistress of a rich old lord might live; they had only to expressa wish, their father would hasten to give them their most extravagant desires, and askednothing of them in return but a kiss. goriot had raised the two girls to the level of theangels; and, quite naturally, he himself was left beneath them. poor man! he loved themeven for the pain that they gave him. when the girls were old enough to be married,they were left free to choose for themselves. each had half her father's fortune as herdowry; and when the comte de restaud came

to woo anastasie for her beauty, her socialaspirations led her to leave her father's house for a more exalted sphere. delphinewished for money; she married nucingen, a banker of german extraction, who became abaron of the holy roman empire. goriot remained a vermicelli maker as before. his daughtersand his sons-in-law began to demur; they did not like to see him still engaged in trade,though his whole life was bound up with his business. for five years he stood out againsttheir entreaties, then he yielded, and consented to retire on the amount realized by the saleof his business and the savings of the last few years. it was this capital that mme. vauquer,in the early days of his residence with her, had calculated would bring in eight or tenthousand livres in a year. he had taken refuge

in her lodging-house, driven there by despairwhen he knew that his daughters were compelled by their husbands not only to refuse to receivehim as an inmate in their houses, but even to see him no more except in private. this was all the information which rastignacgained from a m. muret who had purchased goriot's business, information which confirmed theduchesse de langeais' suppositions, and herewith the preliminary explanation of this obscurebut terrible parisian tragedy comes to an end. towards the end of the first week in decemberrastignac received two letters—one from his mother, and one from his eldest sister.his heart beat fast, half with happiness,

half with fear, at the sight of the familiarhandwriting. those two little scraps of paper contained life or death for his hopes. butwhile he felt a shiver of dread as he remembered their dire poverty at home, he knew theirlove for him so well that he could not help fearing that he was draining their very life-blood.his mother's letter ran as follows:— "my dear child,—i am sending you the moneythat you asked for. make a good use of it. even to save your lifei could not raise so large a sum a second time without your father'sknowledge, and there would be trouble about it. we shouldbe obliged to mortgage the land. it is impossible to judge of themerits of schemes of

which i am ignorant; but what sort of schemescan they be, that you should fear to tell me about them? volumesof explanation would not have been needed; we mothers canunderstand at a word, and that word would have spared me the anguishof uncertainty. i do not know how to hide the painful impressionthat your letter has made upon me, my dear son. what can youhave felt when you were moved to send this chill of dread throughmy heart? it must have been very painful to you to write theletter that gave me so much pain as i read it. to what courses areyou committed? you are

going to appear to be something that you arenot, and your whole life and success depends upon this? you areabout to see a society into which you cannot enter without rushinginto expense that you cannot afford, without losing precious timethat is needed for your studies. ah! my dear eugene, believeyour mother, crooked ways cannot lead to great ends. patience andendurance are the two qualities most needed in your position. iam not scolding you; i do not want any tinge of bitterness to spoilour offering. i am only talking like a mother whose trust inyou is as great as her

foresight for you. you know the steps thatyou must take, and i, for my part, know the purity of heart, andhow good your intentions are; so i can say to you withouta doubt, 'go forward, beloved!' if i tremble, it is because i ama mother, but my prayers and blessings will be with you atevery step. be very careful, dear boy. you must have a man's prudence,for it lies with you to shape the destinies of five otherswho are dear to you, and must look to you. yes, our fortunesdepend upon you, and your success is ours. we all pray to god tobe with you in all

that you do. your aunt marcillac has beenmost generous beyond words in this matter; she saw at once howit was, even down to your gloves. 'but i have a weakness for theeldest!' she said gaily. you must love your aunt very much,dear eugene. i shall wait till you have succeeded before tellingyou all that she has done for you, or her money would burn yourfingers. you, who are young, do not know what it is to part withsomething that is a piece of your past! but what would we notsacrifice for your sakes? your aunt says that i am to send youa kiss on the forehead

from her, and that kiss is to bring you luckagain and again, she says. she would have written you herself,the dear kind-hearted woman, but she is troubled with the gout inher fingers just now. your father is very well. the vintage of 1819has turned out better than we expected. good-bye, dear boy;i will say nothing about your sisters, because laure is writingto you, and i must let her have the pleasure of giving you allthe home news. heaven send that you may succeed! oh! yes, dear eugene,you must succeed. i have come, through you, to a knowledge ofa pain so sharp that i

do not think i could endure it a second time.i have come to know what it is to be poor, and to long for moneyfor my children's sake. there, good-bye! do not leave us forlong without news of you; and here, at the last, take a kiss fromyour mother." by the time eugene had finished the letterhe was in tears. he thought of father goriot crushing his silver keepsake into a shapelessmass before he sold it to meet his daughter's bill of exchange. "your mother has broken up her jewels foryou," he said to himself; "your aunt shed tears over those relics of hers before shesold them for your sake. what right have you

to heap execrations on anastasie? you havefollowed her example; you have selfishly sacrificed others to your own future, and she sacrificesher father to her lover; and of you two, which is the worse?" he was ready to renounce his attempts; hecould not bear to take that money. the fires of remorse burned in his heart, and gave himintolerable pain, the generous secret remorse which men seldom take into account when theysit in judgment upon their fellow-men; but perhaps the angels in heaven, beholding it,pardon the criminal whom our justice condemns. rastignac opened his sister's letter; itssimplicity and kindness revived his heart. "your letter came just at the right time,dear brother. agathe and

i had thought of so many different ways ofspending our money, that we did not know what to buy with it;and now you have come in, and, like the servant who upset all thewatches that belonged to the king of spain, you have restored harmony;for, really and truly, we did not know which of all the thingswe wanted we wanted most, and we were always quarreling aboutit, never thinking, dear eugene, of a way of spending our money whichwould satisfy us completely. agathe jumped for you. indeed,we have been like two mad things all day, 'to such a prodigiousdegree' (as aunt would

say), that mother said, with her severe expression,'whatever can be the matter with you, mesdemoiselles?' ithink if we had been scolded a little, we should have been stillbetter pleased. a woman ought to be very glad to suffer forone she loves! i, however, in my inmost soul, was doleful andcross in the midst of all my joy. i shall make a bad wife, i amafraid, i am too fond of spending. i had bought two sashes and a nicelittle stiletto for piercing eyelet-holes in my stays, triflesthat i really did not want, so that i have less than that slow-coachagathe, who is so

economical, and hoards her money like a magpie.she had two hundred francs! and i have only one hundredand fifty! i am nicely punished; i could throw my sash down the well;it will be painful to me to wear it now. poor dear, i have robbedyou. and agathe was so nice about it. she said, 'let us send thethree hundred and fifty francs in our two names!' but i couldnot help telling you everything just as it happened. "do you know how we managed to keep your commandments?we took our glittering hoard, we went out for a walk,and when once fairly on

the highway we ran all the way to ruffec,where we handed over the coin, without more ado, to m. grimbert ofthe messageries royales. we came back again like swallows on the wing.'don't you think that happiness has made us lighter?' agathesaid. we said all sorts of things, which i shall not tell you,monsieur le parisien, because they were all about you. oh, we loveyou dearly, dear brother; it was all summed up in those fewwords. as for keeping the secret, little masqueraders like us arecapable of anything (according to our aunt), even of holding ourtongues. our mother

has been on a mysterious journey to angouleme,and the aunt went with her, not without solemn councils, fromwhich we were shut out, and m. le baron likewise. they are silentas to the weighty political considerations that prompted theirmission, and conjectures are rife in the state of rastignac.the infantas are embroidering a muslin robe with open-worksprigs for her majesty the queen; the work progresses in the mostprofound secrecy. there be but two more breadths to finish. a decreehas gone forth that no wall shall be built on the side of verteuil,but that a hedge

shall be planted instead thereof. our subjectsmay sustain some disappointment of fruit and espaliers, butstrangers will enjoy a fair prospect. should the heir-presumptivelack pocket-handkerchiefs, be it known unto himthat the dowager lady of marcillac, exploring the recesses of herdrawers and boxes (known respectively as pompeii and herculaneum),having brought to light a fair piece of cambric whereof shewotted not, the princesses agathe and laure place at their brother'sdisposal their thread, their needles, and hands somewhat of the reddest.the two young

princes, don henri and don gabriel, retaintheir fatal habits of stuffing themselves with grape-jelly, of teasingtheir sisters, of taking their pleasure by going a-bird-nesting,and of cutting switches for themselves from the osier-beds,maugre the laws of the realm. moreover, they list not to learnnaught, wherefore the papal nuncio (called of the commonalty, m.le cure) threateneth them with excommunication, since that theyneglect the sacred canons of grammatical construction for theconstruction of other canon, deadly engines made of the stems ofelder.

"farewell, dear brother, never did lettercarry so many wishes for your success, so much love fully satisfied.you will have a great deal to tell us when you come home! you willtell me everything, won't you? i am the oldest. from somethingthe aunt let fall, we think you must have had some success. "something was said of a lady, but nothingmore was said... "of course not, in our family! oh, by-the-by,eugene, would you rather that we made that piece of cambricinto shirts for you instead of pocket-handkerchiefs? if you wantsome really nice

shirts at once, we ought to lose no time inbeginning upon them; and if the fashion is different now in paris,send us one for a pattern; we want more particularly to knowabout the cuffs. good- bye! good-bye! take my kiss on the left sideof your forehead, on the temple that belongs to me, and to no oneelse in the world. i am leaving the other side of the sheet foragathe, who has solemnly promised not to read a word thati have written; but, all the same, i mean to sit by her side whileshe writes, so as to be quite sure that she keeps her word.—yourloving sister,

"laure de rastignac." "yes!" said eugene to himself. "yes! successat all costs now! riches could not repay such devotion as this. i wish i could give themevery sort of happiness! fifteen hundred and fifty francs," he went on after a pause. "everyshot must go to the mark! laure is right. trust a woman! i have only calico shirts.where some one else's welfare is concerned, a young girl becomes as ingenious as a thief.guileless where she herself is in question, and full of foresight for me,—she is likea heavenly angel forgiving the strange incomprehensible sins of earth." the world lay before him. his tailor had beensummoned and sounded, and had finally surrendered.

when rastignac met m. de trailles, he hadseen at once how great a part the tailor plays in a young man's career; a tailor is eithera deadly enemy or a staunch friend, with an invoice for a bond of friendship; betweenthese two extremes there is, alack! no middle term. in this representative of his crafteugene discovered a man who understood that his was a sort of paternal function for youngmen at their entrance into life, who regarded himself as a stepping-stone between a youngman's present and future. and rastignac in gratitude made the man's fortune by an epigramof a kind in which he excelled at a later period of his life. "i have twice known a pair of trousers turnedout by him make a match of twenty thousand

livres a year!" chapter 9 fifteen hundred francs, and as many suitsof clothes as he chose to order! at that moment the poor child of the south felt no more doubtsof any kind. the young man went down to breakfast with the indefinable air which the consciousnessof the possession of money gives to youth. no sooner are the coins slipped into a student'spocket than his wealth, in imagination at least, is piled into a fantastic column, whichaffords him a moral support. he begins to hold up his head as he walks; he is consciousthat he has a means of bringing his powers to bear on a given point; he looks you straightin the face; his gestures are quick and decided;

only yesterday he was diffident and shy, anyone might have pushed 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 of his ambition, and hisambition soars at random; he is light-hearted, generous, and enthusiastic; in short, thefledgling bird has discovered that he has wings. a poor student snatches at every chancepleasure much as a dog runs all sorts of risks to steal a bone, cracking it and sucking themarrow as he flies from pursuit; but a young man who can rattle a few runaway gold coinsin his pocket can take his pleasure deliberately, can taste the whole of the sweets of securepossession; he soars far above earth; he has forgotten what the word poverty means; allparis is his. those are days when the whole

world shines radiant with light, when everythingglows and sparkles before the eyes of youth, days that bring joyous energy that is neverbrought into harness, days of debts and of painful fears that go hand in hand with everydelight. those who do not know the left bank of the seine between the rue saint-jacquesand the rue des saints-peres know nothing of life. "ah! if the women of paris but knew," saidrastignac, as he devoured mme. vauquer's stewed pears (at five for a penny), "they would comehere in search of a lover." just then a porter from the messageries royalesappeared at the door of the room; they had previously heard the bell ring as the wicketopened to admit him. the man asked for m.

eugene de rastignac, holding out two bagsfor him to take, and a form of receipt for his signature. vautrin's keen glance cut eugenelike a lash. "now you will be able to pay for those fencinglessons and go to the shooting gallery," he said. "your ship has come in," said mme. vauquer,eyeing the bags. mlle. michonneau did not dare to look at themoney, for fear her eyes should 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 have your fling, go into society, and fish for heiresses, and dancewith countesses 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 werefacing an antagonist. rastignac, meaning to give the porter a tip, felt in his pocketsand found nothing. vautrin flung down a franc piece on the table. "your credit is good," he remarked, eyeingthe student, and rastignac was forced to thank him, though, since the sharp encounter ofwits at dinner that day, after eugene came in from calling on mme. de beauseant, he hadmade up his mind that vautrin was insufferable.

for a week, in fact, they had both kept silencein each other's presence, and watched each other. the student tried in vain to accountto himself for this attitude. an idea, of course, gains in force by theenergy with which it is expressed; it strikes where the brain sends it, by a law as mathematicallyexact as the law that determines the course of a shell from a mortar. the amount of impressionit makes is not to be determined so exactly. sometimes, in an impressible nature, the ideaworks havoc, but there are, no less, natures so robustly protected, that this sort of projectilefalls flat and harmless on skulls of triple brass, as cannon-shot against solid masonry;then there are flaccid and spongy-fibred natures into which ideas from without sink like spentbullets into the earthworks of a redoubt.

rastignac's head was something of the powder-magazineorder; the least shock sufficed to bring about an explosion. he was too quick, too young,not to be readily accessible to ideas; and open to that subtle influence of thought andfeeling in others which causes so many strange phenomena that make an impression upon usof which we are all unconscious at the time. nothing escaped his mental vision; he waslynx-eyed; in him the mental powers of perception, which seem like duplicates of the senses,had the mysterious power of 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 qualitiesand defects had rapidly developed with his

character. intercourse with the world andthe endeavor to satisfy his growing desires had brought out his defects. but rastignaccame from the south side of the loire, and had the good qualities of his countrymen.he had the impetuous courage of the south, that rushes to the attack of a difficulty,as well as the southern impatience of delay or suspense. these traits are held to be defectsin the north; they made the fortune of murat, but they likewise cut short his career. themoral would appear to be that when the dash and boldness of the south side of the loiremeets, in a southern temperament, with the guile of the north, the character is complete,and such a man will gain (and keep) the crown of sweden.

rastignac, therefore, could not stand thefire from vautrin's batteries for long without discovering whether this was a friend or afoe. he felt as if this strange being was reading his inmost soul, and dissecting hisfeelings, while vautrin himself was so close and secretive that he seemed to have somethingof the profound and unmoved serenity of a sphinx, seeing and hearing all things andsaying nothing. eugene, conscious of that money in his pocket, grew rebellious. "be so good as to wait a moment," he saidto vautrin, as the latter rose, after slowly emptying his coffee-cup, sip by sip. "what for?" inquired the older man, as heput on his large-brimmed hat and took up the

sword-cane that he was wont to twirl likea man who will face three or four footpads without flinching. "i will repay you in a minute," returned eugene.he unsealed one of the bags as he spoke, counted out a hundred and forty francs, and pushedthem towards mme. vauquer. "short reckonings make good friends" he added, turning to thewidow; "that clears our accounts till the end of the year. can you give me change fora five-franc piece?" "good friends make short reckonings," echoedpoiret, with a glance at vautrin. "here is your franc," said rastignac, holdingout the coin to the sphinx in the black wig. "any one might think that you were afraidto owe me a trifle," exclaimed this latter,

with a searching glance that seemed to readthe young man's inmost thoughts; there was a satirical and cynical smile on vautrin'sface such as eugene had seen scores of times already; every time he saw it, it exasperatedhim almost beyond endurance. "well... so i am," he answered. he held boththe bags in his hand, and had risen to go up to his room. vautrin made as if he were going out throughthe sitting-room, and the student turned to go through the second door that opened intothe square lobby at the foot of the staircase. "do you know, monsieur le marquis de rastignacorama,that what you were saying just now was not exactly polite?" vautrin remarked, as he rattledhis sword-cane across the panels of the sitting-room

door, and came up to the student. rastignac looked coolly at vautrin, drew himto the foot of the staircase, and shut the dining-room door. they were standing in thelittle square lobby between the kitchen and the dining-room; the place was lighted byan iron-barred fanlight above a door that gave access into the garden. sylvie came outof her kitchen, and eugene chose that moment to say: "monsieur vautrin, i am not a marquis, andmy name is not rastignacorama." "they will fight," said mlle. michonneau,in an indifferent tone. "fight!" echoed poiret.

"not they," replied mme. vauquer, lovinglyfingering her pile of coins. "but there they are under the lime-trees,"cried mlle. victorine, who had risen so that she might see out into the garden. "poor youngman! he was in the right, after all." "we must go upstairs, my pet," said mme. couture;"it is no business of ours." at the door, however, mme. couture and victorinefound their progress barred 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 there they are, out among the artichokes." vautrin came in while she was speaking. "mammavauquer," he said smiling, "don't frighten

yourself at all. i am only going to try mypistols under the lime-trees." "oh! monsieur," cried victorine, claspingher hands as she spoke, "why do you want to kill m. eugene?" vautrin stepped back a pace or two, and gazedat victorine. "oh! this is something fresh!" he exclaimedin a bantering tone, that brought the color into the poor girl's face. "that young fellowyonder is very nice, isn't he?" he went on. "you have given me a notion, my pretty child;i will make you both happy." mme. couture laid her hand on the arm of herward, and drew the girl away, as she said in her ear:

"why, victorine, i cannot imagine what hascome over you this morning." "i don't want any shots fired in my garden,"said mme. vauquer. "you will frighten the neighborhood and bring the police up hereall in a moment." "come, keep cool, mamma vauquer," answeredvautrin. "there, there; it's all right; we will go to the shooting-gallery." he went back to rastignac, laying his handfamiliarly on the young man's arm. "when i have given you ocular demonstrationof the fact that i can put a bullet through the ace on a card five times running at thirty-fivepaces," he said, "that won't take away your appetite, i suppose? you look to me to beinclined to be a trifle quarrelsome this morning,

and as if you would rush on your death likea blockhead." "do you draw back?" asked eugene. "don't try to raise my temperature," answeredvautrin, "it is not cold this morning. let us go and sit over there," he added, pointingto the green-painted garden seats; "no one can overhear us. i want a little talk withyou. you are not a bad sort of youngster, and i have no quarrel with you. i like you,take trump—(confound it!)—take vautrin's word for it. what makes me like you? i willtell 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," he continued, pointingto the round table.

rastignac deposited his money on the table,and sat down. he was consumed with curiosity, which the sudden change in the manner of theman before him had excited to the highest pitch. here was a strange being who, a momentago, had talked of killing him, and now posed as his protector. "you would like to know who i really am, whati was, and what i do now," vautrin went on. "you want to know too much, youngster. come!come! keep cool! you will hear more astonishing things than that. i have had my misfortunes.just hear me out first, and you shall have your turn afterwards. here is my past in threewords. who am i? vautrin. what do i do? just what i please. let us change the subject.you want to know my character. 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 with me; they may bruisemy shins, and i shall not tell them to 'mind what they are about'; but, nom d'une pipe,the devil himself is not an uglier customer than i can be if people annoy me, or if idon't happen to 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 itis absolutely necessary to do so, i do my best to kill him properly. i am what you callan artist. i have read benvenuto cellini's memoirs, such as you see me; and, what ismore, in italian: a fine-spirited fellow he was! from him i learned to follow the exampleset us by providence, who strikes us down

at random, and to admire the beautiful wheneverand wherever it is found. and, setting other questions aside, is it not a glorious partto play, when you pit yourself against mankind, and the luck is on your side? i have thoughta good deal about the constitution of your present social dis-order. a duel is downrightchildish, my boy! utter nonsense and folly! when one of two living men must be got outof the way, none but an idiot would leave chance to decide which it is to be; and ina duel it is a toss-up—heads or tails—and there you are! now i, for instance, can hitthe ace in the middle of a card five times running, send one bullet after another throughthe same hole, and at thirty-five paces, moreover! with that little accomplishment you mightthink yourself certain of killing your man,

mightn't you. well, i have fired, at twentypaces, and missed, and the rogue who had never handled a pistol in his life—look here!"—(heunbuttoned his waistcoat and exposed his chest, covered, like a bear's back, with a shaggyfell; the student gave a startled shudder)—"he was a raw lad, but he made his mark on me,"the extraordinary man went on, drawing rastignac's fingers over a deep scar on his breast. "butthat happened when i myself was a mere boy; i was one-and-twenty then (your age), andi had some beliefs left—in a woman's love, and in a pack of rubbish that you will beover head and ears 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, where would you be? youwould have to clear out of this, go to switzerland,

draw on papa's purse—and he has none toomuch in it as it is. i mean to open your eyes to your real position, that is what i am goingto do: but i shall do it from the point of view of a man who, after studying the worldvery closely, sees that there are but two alternatives—stupid obedience or revolt.i obey nobody; is that clear? now, do you know how much you will want at the pace youare going? a million; and promptly, too, or that little head of ours will be swaying toand fro in the drag-nets at saint-cloud, while we are gone to find out whether or no thereis 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 vautrinnow! at the mention of the million you look like a young girl when somebody has said,'i will come for you this evening!' and she betakes herself to her toilette as a cat licksits whiskers over a saucer of milk. all right. come, now, let us go into the question, youngman; all between ourselves, you know. we have a papa and mamma down yonder, a great-aunt,two sisters (aged eighteen and seventeen), two young brothers (one fifteen, and the otherten), that is about the roll-call of the crew. the aunt brings up the two sisters; the curecomes and teaches the boys latin. boiled chestnuts are oftener on the table than white bread.papa makes a suit of clothes last a long while; if mamma has a different dress winter andsummer, it is about as much as she has; the

sisters manage as best they can. i know allabout it; i have lived in the south. "that is how things are at home. they sendyou twelve hundred francs a year, and the whole property only brings in three thousandfrancs all told. we have a cook and a manservant; papa is a baron, and we must keep up appearances.then we have our ambitions; we are connected with the beauseants, and we go afoot throughthe streets; we want to be rich, and we have not a penny; we eat mme. vauquer's messes,and we like grand dinners in the faubourg saint-germain; we sleep on a truckle-bed,and dream of a mansion! i do not blame you for wanting these things. what sort of mendo the women run after? men of ambition. men of ambition have stronger frames, their bloodis richer in iron, their hearts are warmer

than those of ordinary men. women feel thatwhen their power is greatest, 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 power that may be their owndestruction. i am going to make an inventory of your desires in order to put the questionat issue before you. here it is:— "we are as hungry as a wolf, and those newly-cutteeth of ours are sharp; 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 the wiser for it,but that cannot be helped. so far so good. we mean to make an advocate of ourselves witha prospect of one day being made president of a court of assize, when we shall send poordevils, our betters, to the galleys with a

t.f.[*] on their shoulders, so that the richmay be convinced that they can sleep in peace. there is no fun in that; and you are a longwhile coming to it; for, to begin with, there are two years of nauseous drudgery in paris,we see all the lollipops that we long for out of our reach. it is tiresome to want thingsand 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 of a lion and are readyto get into a score of scrapes every day of your life. this is the ghastliest form oftorture known in this inferno of god's making, and you will give in to it. or suppose thatyou are a good boy, drink nothing stronger than milk, and bemoan your hard lot; you,with your generous nature, will endure hardships

that would drive a dog mad, and make a start,after long waiting, as deputy to some rascal or other in a hole of a place where the governmentwill fling you a thousand 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 heart to the guillotine,that is your work! many thanks! if you have no influence, you may rot in your provincialtribunal. at thirty you will be a justice with twelve hundred francs a year (if youhave not flung off the gown for good before then). by the time you are forty you may lookto marry a miller's daughter, an heiress with some six thousand livres a year. much obliged!if you have influence, you may possibly be a public prosecutor by the time you are thirty;with a salary of a thousand crowns, you could

look to marry the mayor's daughter. some pettypiece of political trickery, such as mistaking villele for manuel in a bulletin (the namesrhyme, and that quiets your conscience), and you will probably be a procureur general bythe time you are forty, with a chance of becoming a deputy. please to observe, my dear boy,that our conscience will have been a little damaged in the process, and that we shallendure twenty years of drudgery and hidden poverty, and that our sisters are wearingdian's livery. i have the honor to call your attention to another fact: to wit, that thereare but twenty procureurs generaux at a time in all france, while there are some twentythousand of you young men who aspire to that elevated position; that there are some mountebanksamong you who would sell their family to screw

their fortunes a peg higher. if this sortof thing sickens you, try another course. the baron de rastignac thinks of becomingan 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; you must have a library oflaw books, live in chambers, go into society, go down on your knees to ask a solicitor forbriefs, lick the dust off the floor of the palais de justice. if this kind of businessled to anything, i should not say no; but just give me the names of five advocates herein paris who by the time that they are fifty are making fifty thousand francs a year! bah!i would sooner turn pirate on the high seas than have my soul shrivel up inside me likethat. how will you 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 around your neck;for if you marry for money, what becomes of our exalted notions of honor and so forth?you might as well fly in the face of social conventions at once. is it nothing to crawllike a serpent before your wife, to lick her mother's feet, to descend to dirty actionsthat would sicken swine—faugh!—never mind if you at least make your fortune. but youwill be as doleful as a dripstone if you marry for money. it is better to wrestle with menthan to wrangle at home with your wife. you are at the crossway of the roads of life,my boy; choose your way. [*] travaux forces, forced labour.

"but you have chosen already. you have goneto see your cousin of beauseant, and you have had an inkling of luxury; you have been tomme. de restaud's house, and in father goriot's daughter you have seen a glimpse of the parisiennefor the first time. that day you came back with a word written on your forehead. i knewit, i could read it—'success!' yes, success at any price. 'bravo,' said i to myself, 'hereis the sort of fellow for me.' you wanted money. where was it all to come from? youhave drained your sisters' little hoard (all brothers sponge more or less on their sisters).those fifteen hundred francs of yours (got together, god knows how! in a country wherethere are more chestnuts than five-franc pieces) will slip away like soldiers after pillage.and, then, what will you do? shall you begin

to work? work, or what you understand by workat this moment, means, for a man of poiret's calibre, an old age in mamma vauquer's lodging-house.there are fifty thousand 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 buta unit in that aggregate. you can guess, therefore, what efforts you must make, how desperatethe struggle is. there are not fifty thousand good positions for you; you must fight anddevour one another 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 your way through thesemasses of men like a cannon ball, or steal among them like a plague. honesty is nothingto the purpose. men bow before the power of

genius; they hate it, and try to slander it,because genius does 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 ontheir knees and worship it. corruption is a great power in the world, and talent isscarce. so corruption is the weapon of superfluous mediocrity; you will be made to feel the pointof it everywhere. you will see women who spend more than ten thousand francs a year on dress,while their husband's salary (his whole income) is six thousand francs. you will see officialsbuying estates on twelve thousand francs a year. you will see women who sell themselvesbody and soul to drive in a carriage belonging to the son of a peer of france, who has aright to drive in the middle rank at longchamp.

you have seen that poor simpleton of a goriotobliged to meet a bill with his daughter's name at the back of it, though her husbandhas fifty thousand francs a year. i defy you to walk a couple of yards anywhere in pariswithout stumbling on some infernal complication. i'll bet my head to a head of that salad thatyou will stir up a hornet's nest by taking a fancy to the first young, rich, and prettywoman you meet. they are all dodging the law, all at loggerheads with their husbands. ifi were to begin to tell you all that vanity or necessity (virtue is not often mixed upin it, you may be sure), all that vanity and necessity drive them to do for lovers, finery,housekeeping, or children, i should never come to an end. so an honest man is the commonenemy.

"but do you know what an honest man is? here,in paris, an honest man is the man who keeps his own counsel, and will not divide the plunder.i am not speaking now of those poor bond-slaves who do the work of the world without a rewardfor their toil—god almighty's outcasts, i call them. among them, i grant you, is virtuein all the flower of its stupidity, but poverty is no less their portion. at this moment,i think i see the long faces those good folk would pull if god played a practical jokeon them and stayed away at the last judgment. "well, then, if you mean to make a fortunequickly, you must either be rich to begin with, or make people believe that you arerich. it is no use 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 whorise very rapidly, people are sure to call them thieves. you can draw your own conclusions.such is life. it is no cleaner 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 is in getting themclean again, and therein lies the whole morality of our epoch. if i take this tone in speakingof the world to you, i have the right to do so; i know it well. do you think that i amblaming it? far from it; the world has always been as it is now. moralists' strictures willnever change it. mankind are not perfect, but one age is more or less hypocritical thananother, and then simpletons say that its morality is high or low. i do not think thatthe rich are any worse than the poor; man

is much the same, high or low, or whereverhe is. in a million 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, if you are clevererthan your fellows, make straight to your end, and hold your head high. but you must layyour account with envy and slander and mediocrity, and every man's hand will be against you.napoleon met with a minister of war, aubry by name, who all but sent him to the colonies. "feel your pulse. think whether you can getup morning after morning, strengthened in yesterday's purpose. in that case i will makeyou an offer that no one would decline. listen attentively. you see, i have an idea of myown. my idea is to live a patriarchal life

on a vast estate, say a hundred thousand acres,somewhere in the southern states of america. i mean to be a planter, to have slaves, tomake a few snug millions by selling my cattle, timber, and tobacco; i want to live an absolutemonarch, and to do just as i please; to lead such a life as no one here in these squaliddens of lath and plaster ever imagines. i am a great poet; i do not write my poems,i feel them, and act them. at this moment i have fifty thousand francs, which mightpossibly buy forty negroes. i want two hundred thousand francs, because i want to have twohundred negroes to carry out my notions of the patriarachal life properly. negroes, yousee, are like a sort of family ready grown, and there are no inquisitive public prosecutorsout there to interfere with you. that investment

in ebony ought to mean three or four millionfrancs in ten years' time. if i am successful, no one will ask me who i am. i shall be mr.four millions, an american citizen. i shall be fifty years old by then, and sound andhearty still; i shall enjoy life after my own fashion. in two words, if i find you anheiress with a million, will you give me two hundred thousand francs? twenty per cent commission,eh? is that too much? your little wife will be very much in love with you. once married,you will show signs of uneasiness and remorse; for a couple of weeks you will be depressed.then, some night after sundry grimacings, comes the confession, between two kisses,'two hundred thousand francs of debts, my darling!' this sort of farce is played everyday in paris, and by young men of the highest

fashion. when a young wife has given her heart,she will not refuse her purse. perhaps you are thinking that you will lose the moneyfor good? not you. you will make two hundred thousand francs again by some stroke of business.with your capital and your brains you should be able to accumulate as large a fortune asyou could wish. ergo, in six months you will have made your own fortune, and our old friendvautrin's, and made an amiable woman very happy, to say nothing of your people at home,who must blow on their fingers to warm them, in the winter, for lack of firewood. you neednot be surprised at my proposal, nor at the demand i make. forty-seven out of every sixtygreat matches here in paris are made after just such a bargain as this. the chamber ofnotaries compels my gentleman to——"

"what must i do?" said rastignac, eagerlyinterrupting vautrin's speech. "next to nothing," returned the other, witha slight involuntary movement, the suppressed exultation of the angler when he feels a biteat the end of his line. "follow me carefully! the heart of a girl whose life is wretchedand unhappy is a sponge that will thirstily absorb love; a dry sponge that swells at thefirst drop of sentiment. if you pay court to a young girl whose existence is a compoundof loneliness, despair, and poverty, and who has no suspicion that she will come into afortune, good lord! it is quint and quatorze at piquet; it is knowing the numbers of thelottery before-hand; it is speculating in the funds when you have news from a sure source;it is building up a marriage on an indestructible

foundation. the girl may come in for millions,and she will fling them, as if they were so many pebbles, at your feet. 'take it, my beloved!take it, alfred, adolphe, eugene!' or whoever it was that showed his sense by sacrificinghimself for her. and as for sacrificing himself, this is how i understand it. you sell a coatthat is getting shabby, so that you can take her to the cadran bleu, treat her to mushroomson toast, and then go to the ambigu-comique in the evening; you pawn your watch to buyher a shawl. i need not remind you of the fiddle-faddle sentimentality that goes downso well with all women; 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 as if you were perfectlyacquainted with the argot of the heart. paris,

you see, is like a forest in the new world,where you have to deal with a score of varieties of savages—illinois and hurons, who liveon the proceed of their social hunting. you are a hunter of millions; you set your snares;you use lures and nets; there are many ways of hunting. some hunt heiresses, others alegacy; some fish for souls, yet others sell their clients, bound hand and foot. everyone who comes back from the chase with his game-bag well filled meets with a warm welcomein good society. in justice to this hospitable part of the world, it must be said that youhave to do with the most easy and good-natured of great cities. if the proud aristocraciesof the rest of europe refuse admittance among their ranks to a disreputable millionaire,paris stretches out a hand to him, goes to

his banquets, eats his dinners, and hobnobswith his infamy." "but where is such a girl to be found?" askedeugene. "under your eyes; she is yours already." "mlle. victorine?" "precisely." "and what was that you said?" "she is in love with you already, your littlebaronne de rastignac!" "she has not a penny," eugene continued, muchmystified. "ah! now we are coming to it! just anotherword or two, and it will all be clear enough.

her father, taillefer, is an old scoundrel;it is said that he murdered one of his friends at the time of the revolution. he is one ofyour comedians that sets up to have opinions of his own. he is a banker—senior partnerin the house of frederic taillefer and company. he has one son, and means to leave all hehas to the boy, to the prejudice of victorine. for my part, i don't like to see injusticeof this sort. i am like don quixote, i have a fancy for defending the weak against thestrong. if it should please god to take that youth away from him, taillefer would haveonly his daughter left; he would want to leave his money to some one or other; an absurdnotion, but it is only human nature, and he is not likely to have any more children, asi know. victorine is gentle and amiable; she

will soon twist her father round her fingers,and set his head spinning like a german top by plying him with sentiment! she will betoo much touched by your devotion to forget you; you will marry her. i mean to play providencefor you, and providence is to do my will. i have a friend whom i have attached closelyto myself, a colonel in the army of the loire, who has just been transferred into the garderoyale. he has taken my advice and turned ultra-royalist; he is not one of those foolswho never change their opinions. of all pieces of advice, my cherub, i would give you this—don'tstick to your opinions any more than to your words. if any one asks you for them, let himhave them—at a price. a man who prides himself on going in a straight line through life isan idiot who believes in infallibility. there

are no such things as principles; there areonly events, and there are no laws but those of expediency: a man of talent accepts eventsand the circumstances in which he finds himself, and turns everything to his own ends. if lawsand principles were fixed and invariable, nations would not change them as readily aswe change our shirts. the individual is not obliged to be more particular than the nation.a man whose services to france have been of the very slightest is a fetich looked on withsuperstitious awe because he has always seen everything in red; but he is good, at themost, to be put into the museum of arts and crafts, among the automatic machines, andlabeled la fayette; while the prince at whom everybody flings a stone, the man who despiseshumanity so much that he spits as many oaths

as he is asked for in the face of humanity,saved france from being torn in pieces at the congress of vienna; and they who shouldhave given him laurels fling mud at him. oh! i know something of affairs, i can tell you;i have the secrets of many men! enough. when i find three minds in agreement as to theapplication of a principle, i shall have a fixed and immovable opinion—i shall haveto wait a long while first. in the tribunals you will not find three judges of the sameopinion on a single point of law. to return to the man i was telling you of. he wouldcrucify jesus christ again, if i bade him. at a word from his old chum vautrin he willpick a quarrel with a scamp that will not send so much as five francs to his sister,poor girl, and" (here vautrin rose to his

feet and stood like a fencing-master aboutto lunge)—"turn him off into the dark!" he added. "how frightful!" said eugene. "you do notreally 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 that i am a scoundrel, a rascal, a rogue, a bandit; but do not call me a blackleg nora spy! there, out with it, fire away! i forgive you; it is quite natural at your age. i waslike that myself once. only remember this, you will do worse things yourself some day.you will flirt with some pretty woman and take her money. you have thought of that,of course," said vautrin, "for how are you

to succeed unless love is laid under contribution?there are no two ways about virtue, my dear student; it either is, or it is not. talkof doing penance for your sins! it is a nice system of business, when you pay for yourcrime by an act of contrition! you seduce a woman that you may set your foot on suchand such a rung of the social ladder; you sow dissension among the children of a family;you descend, in short, to every base action that can be committed at home or abroad, togain your own ends for your own pleasure or your profit; and can you imagine that theseare acts of faith, hope, or charity? how is it that a dandy, who in a night has robbeda boy of half his fortune, gets only a couple of months in prison; while a poor devil whosteals a banknote for a thousand francs, with

aggravating circumstances, is condemned topenal servitude? those are your laws. not a single provision but lands you in some absurdity.that man with yellow gloves and a golden tongue commits many a murder; he sheds no blood,but he drains his victim's veins as surely; a desperado forces open a door with a crowbar,dark deeds both of them! you yourself will do every one of those things that i suggestto you to-day, bar the bloodshed. do you believe that there is any absolute standard in thisworld? despise mankind and find out the meshes that you can slip through in the net of thecode. the secret of a great success for which you are at a loss to account is a crime thathas never been found out, because it was properly executed."

"silence, sir! i will not hear any more; youmake me doubt myself. at this moment my sentiments are all my science." "just as you please, my fine fellow; i didthink you were so weak-minded," said vautrin, "i shall say no more about it. one last word,however," and he looked hard at the student—"you have my secret," he said. "a young man who refuses your offer knowsthat he must forget it." "quite right, quite right; i am glad to hearyou say so. somebody else might not be so scrupulous, you see. keep in mind what i wantto do for you. i will give you a fortnight. the offer is still open."

"what a head of iron the man has!" said eugeneto himself, as he watched vautrin walk unconcernedly away with his cane under his arm. "yet mme.de beauseant said as much more gracefully; he has only stated the case in cruder language.he would tear my heart with claws of steel. what made me think of going to mme. de nucingen?he guessed my motives before i knew them myself. to sum it up, that outlaw has told me moreabout virtue than all i have learned from men and books. if virtue admits of no compromises,i have certainly robbed my sisters," he said, throwing down the bags on the table. he sat down again and fell, unconscious ofhis surroundings, into deep thought. "to be faithful to an ideal of virtue! a heroicmartyrdom! pshaw! every one believes in virtue,

but who is virtuous? nations have made anidol of liberty, but what nation on the face of the earth is free? my youth is still likea blue and cloudless sky. if i set myself to obtain wealth or power, does it mean thati must make up my mind to lie, and fawn, and cringe, and swagger, and flatter, and dissemble?to consent to be the servant 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. i will work day and night; i will owe my fortuneto nothing but my own exertions. it may be the slowest of all roads to success, but ishall lay my head on the pillow at night untroubled by evil thoughts. is there a greater thingthan this—to look back over your life and

know that it is stainless as a lily? i andmy life are like a young man and his betrothed. vautrin has put before me all that comes afterten years of marriage. the devil! my head is swimming. i do not want to think at all;the heart is a sure guide." chapter 10 eugene was roused from his musings by thevoice of the stout sylvie, who announced that the tailor had come, and eugene thereforemade his appearance before the man with the two money bags, and was not ill pleased thatit should be so. when he had tried on his dress suit, he put on his new morning costume,which completely metamorphosed him. "i am quite equal to m. de trailles," he saidto himself. "in short, i look like a gentleman."

"you asked me, sir, if i knew the houses wheremme. de nucingen goes," father goriot's voice spoke from the doorway of eugene's room. "very well then, she is going to the marechalecarigliano's ball on monday. if you can manage to be there, i shall hear from you whethermy two girls enjoyed themselves, and how they were dressed, and all about it in fact." "how did you find that out, my good goriot?"said eugene, putting a chair by the fire for his visitor. "her maid told me. i hear all about theirdoings from therese and constance," he added gleefully.

the old man looked like a lover who is stillyoung enough to be made happy by the discovery of some little stratagem which brings himinformation of his lady-love without her knowledge. "you will see them both!" he said, givingartless expression to a pang of jealousy. "i do not know," answered eugene. "i willgo to mme. de beauseant and ask her for an introduction to the marechale." eugene felt a thrill of pleasure at the thoughtof appearing before the vicomtesse, dressed as henceforward he always meant to be. the"abysses of the human heart," in the moralists' phrase, are only insidious thoughts, involuntarypromptings of personal interest. the instinct of enjoyment turns the scale; those rapidchanges of purpose which have furnished the

text for so much rhetoric are calculationsprompted by the hope of pleasure. rastignac beholding himself well dressed and impeccableas to gloves and boots, forgot his virtuous resolutions. youth, moreover, when bent uponwrongdoing does not dare to behold himself in the mirror of consciousness; mature agehas seen itself; and therein lies the whole difference between these two phases of life. a friendship between eugene and his neighbor,father goriot, had been growing up for several days past. this secret friendship and theantipathy that the student had begun to entertain for vautrin arose from the same psychologicalcauses. the bold philosopher who shall investigate the effects of mental action upon the physicalworld will doubtless find more than one proof

of the material nature of our sentiments inother animals. what physiognomist is as quick to discern character as a dog is to discoverfrom a stranger's face whether this is a friend or no? those by-words—"atoms," "affinities"—arefacts surviving in modern languages for the confusion of philosophic wiseacres who amusethemselves by winnowing the chaff of language to find its grammatical roots. we feel thatwe are loved. our sentiments make themselves felt in everything, even at a great distance.a letter is a living soul, and so faithful an echo of the voice that speaks in it, thatfiner natures look upon a letter as one of love's most precious treasures. father goriot'saffection was of the instinctive order, a canine affection raised to a sublime pitch;he had scented compassion in the air, and

the kindly respect and youthful sympathy inthe student's heart. 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 wasnot because he counted on the old man to introduce him to her house, for he hoped that his ownaudacity might stand him in good stead. all that father goriot had said as yet about hisdaughters had referred to the remarks that the student had made so freely in public onthat day of the two visits. "how could you think that mme. de restaudbore you a grudge for mentioning my name?" he had said on the day following that sceneat dinner. "my daughters are very fond of me; i am a happy father; but my sons-in-lawhave behaved badly to me, and rather than

make trouble between my darlings and theirhusbands, i choose to see my daughters secretly. fathers who can see their daughters at anytime have no idea of all the pleasure that all this mystery gives me; i cannot alwayssee mine when i wish, do you understand? so when it is fine i walk out in the champs-elysees,after finding out from their waiting-maids whether my daughters mean to go out. i waitnear the entrance; my heart beats fast when the carriages begin to come; i admire themin their dresses, and as they pass they give me a little smile, and it seems as if everythingwas 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; the fresh air has done them good and brought color into theircheeks; all about me people say, 'what a beautiful

woman that is!' and it does my heart goodto hear them. "are they not my own flesh and blood? i lovethe very horses that draw them; i envy the little lap-dog on their knees. their happinessis my life. every one loves after his own fashion, and mine does no one any harm; whyshould people trouble their heads about me? i am happy in my own way. is there any lawagainst going to see my girls in the evening when they are going out to a ball? and whata disappointment it is when i get there too late, and am told that 'madame has gone out!'once i waited till three o'clock in the morning for nasie; i had not seen her for two wholedays. i was so pleased, that it was almost too much for me! please do not speak of meunless it is to say how good my daughters

are to me. they are always wanting to heappresents upon me, but i will not have it. 'just keep your money,' i tell them. 'whatshould i do with 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, tellme which you like the most," said the old man after a moment's pause, while eugene putthe last touches to his toilette. the student was about to go out to walk in the gardenof the tuileries until the hour when he could venture to appear in mme. de beauseant's drawing-room. that walk was a turning-point in eugene'scareer. several women noticed him; he looked so handsome, so young, and so well dressed.this almost admiring attention gave a new

turn to his thoughts. he forgot his sistersand the aunt who had robbed herself for him; he no longer remembered his own virtuous scruples.he had seen hovering above his head the fiend so easy to mistake for an angel, the devilwith rainbow wings, who scatters rubies, and aims his golden shafts at palace fronts, whoinvests women with purple, and thrones with a glory that dazzles the eyes of fools tillthey forget the simple origins of royal dominion; he had heard the rustle of that vanity whosetinsel seems to us to be the symbol of power. however cynical vautrin's words had been,they had made an impression on his mind, as the sordid features of the old crone who whispers,"a lover, and gold in torrents," remain engraven on a young girl's memory.

eugene lounged about the walks till it wasnearly five o'clock, then he went to mme. de beauseant, and received one of the terribleblows against which young hearts are defenceless. hitherto the vicomtesse had received him withthe kindly urbanity, the bland grace of manner that is the result of fine breeding, but isonly complete when it comes from the heart. to-day mme. de beauseant bowed constrainedly,and spoke curtly: "m. de rastignac, i cannot possibly see you,at least not at this moment. i am engaged..." an observer, and rastignac instantly becamean observer, could read the whole history, the character and customs of caste, in thephrase, in the tones of her voice, in her glance and bearing. he caught a glimpse ofthe iron hand beneath the velvet glove—the

personality, the egoism beneath the manner,the wood beneath the varnish. in short, he heard that unmistakable i the king that issuesfrom the plumed canopy of the throne, and finds its last echo under the crest of thesimplest gentleman. eugene had trusted too implicitly to the generosityof a woman; he could not believe in her haughtiness. like all the unfortunate, he had subscribed,in all good faith, the generous compact which should bind the benefactor to the recipient,and the first article in that bond, between two large-hearted natures, is a perfect equality.the kindness which knits two souls together is as rare, as divine, and as little understoodas the passion of love, for both love and kindness are the lavish generosity of noblenatures. rastignac was set upon going to the

duchesse de carigliano's ball, so he swalloweddown this rebuff. "madame," he faltered out, "i would not havecome to trouble you about a trifling matter; be so kind as to permit me to see you later,i can wait." "very well, come and dine with me," she said,a little confused by the 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 said to himself as he went away, "crawl in the dust, put up withevery kind of treatment. what must the rest of the world be like when one of the kindestof women forgets all her promises of befriending me in a moment, and tosses me aside like anold shoe? so it is every one for himself?

it is true that her house is not a shop, andi have put myself in the wrong by needing her help. you should cut your way throughthe world like a cannon ball, as vautrin said." but the student's bitter thoughts were soondissipated by the pleasure which he promised himself in this dinner with the vicomtesse.fate seemed to determine that the smallest accidents in his life should combine to urgehim into a career, which the terrible sphinx of the maison vauquer had described as a fieldof battle where you must either slay or be slain, and cheat to avoid being cheated. youleave your conscience and your heart at the barriers, and wear a mask on entering intothis game of grim earnest, where, as in ancient sparta, you must snatch your prize withoutbeing detected if you would deserve the crown.

on his return he found the vicomtesse graciousand kindly, as she had always been to him. they went together to the dining-room, wherethe vicomte was waiting for his wife. in the time of the restoration the luxury of thetable was carried, as is well known, to the highest degree, and m. de beauseant, likemany jaded men of the world, had few pleasures left but those of good cheer; in this matter,in fact, he was a gourmand of the schools of louis xviii. and of the duc d'escars, andluxury was supplemented by splendor. eugene, dining for the first time in a house wherethe traditions of grandeur had descended through many generations, had never seen any spectaclelike this that now met his eyes. in the time of the empire, balls had always ended witha supper, because the officers who took part

in them must be fortified for immediate service,and even in paris might be called upon to leave the ballroom for the battlefield. thisarrangement had gone out of fashion under the monarchy, and eugene had so far only beenasked 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 forthe first time the finely wrought silver plate, the completeness of every detail, the sumptuousdinner, noiselessly served, it was difficult for such an ardent imagination not to preferthis life of studied and refined luxury to the hardships of the life which he had chosenonly that morning. his thoughts went back for a moment to thelodging-house, and with a feeling of profound

loathing, he vowed to himself that at newyear he would go; prompted at least as much by a desire to live among cleaner surroundingsas by a wish to shake off vautrin, whose huge hand he seemed to feel on his shoulder atthat moment. when you consider the numberless forms, clamorous or mute, that corruptiontakes in paris, common-sense begins to wonder what mental aberration prompted the stateto establish great colleges and schools there, and assemble young men in the capital; howit is that pretty women are respected, or that the gold coin displayed in the money-changer'swooden saucers does not take to itself wings in the twinkling of an eye; and when you cometo think further, how comparatively few cases of crime there are, and to count up the misdemeanorscommitted by youth, is there not a certain

amount of respect due to these patient tantaluseswho wrestle with themselves and nearly always come off victorious? the struggles of thepoor student in paris, if skilfully drawn, would furnish a most dramatic picture of moderncivilization. in vain mme. de beauseant looked at eugeneas if asking him to speak; the student was tongue-tied in the vicomte's presence. "are you going to take me to the italiensthis evening?" the vicomtesse asked her husband. "you cannot doubt that i should obey you withpleasure," 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 havean arm, take that of m. de rastignac." the vicomtess turned to eugene with a smile. "that would be a very compromising step foryou," she said. "'a frenchman loves danger, because in dangerthere is glory,' to quote m. de chateaubriand," said rastignac, with a bow. a few moments later he was sitting besidemme. de beauseant in a brougham, that whirled

them through the streets of paris to a fashionabletheatre. it seemed to him that some fairy magic had suddenly transported him into abox facing the stage. all the lorgnettes of the house were pointed at him as he entered,and at the vicomtesse in her charming 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 sisterand m. de trailles are on the other side." the vicomtesse glanced as she spoke at thebox where mlle. de rochefide should have been; m. d'ajuda was not there, and mme. de beauseant'sface lighted up in a marvelous way. "she is charming," said eugene, after lookingat 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 distinctionin her face. just see how she fidgets with her opera-glass! the goriot blood shows itselfin every movement," said the vicomtesse, much to eugene's astonishment.

indeed, mme. de beauseant seemed to be engagedin making a survey of the house, and to be unconscious of mme. nucingen's existence;but no movement made by the latter was lost upon the vicomtesse. the house was full ofthe loveliest women in paris, so that delphine de nucingen was not a little flattered toreceive the undivided attention of mme. de beauseant's young, handsome, and well-dressedcousin, who seemed to have no eyes for any one else. "if you look at her so persistently, you willmake people talk, m. de rastignac. you will never succeed if you fling yourself at anyone's head like that." "my dear cousin," said eugene, "you have protectedme 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 have lost my heart." "already!" "and to that woman!" "how could i aspire to find any one else tolisten to me?" he asked, with a keen glance at his cousin. "her grace the duchesse decarigliano is a friend of the duchesse de berri," he went on, after a pause; "you aresure to see her, will you be so kind as to present me to her, and to take me to her ballon monday? i shall meet mme. de nucingen there, and enter into my first skirmish."

"willingly," she said. "if you have a likingfor her already, your affairs of the heart are like to prosper. that is de marsay overthere in the princesse galathionne's box. mme. de nucingen is racked with jealousy.there is no better time for approaching a woman, especially if she happens to be a banker'swife. all those ladies of the chaussee-d'antin love revenge." "then, what would you do yourself in sucha case?" "i should suffer in silence." at this point the marquis d'ajuda appearedin mme. de beauseant's box. "i have made a muddle of my affairs to cometo you," he said, "and i am telling you about

it, so that it may not be a sacrifice." eugene saw the glow of joy on the vicomtesse'sface, and knew that this was love, and learned the difference between love and the affectationsof parisian coquetry. he admired his cousin, grew mute, and yielded his place to m. d'ajudawith a sigh. "how noble, how sublime a woman is when sheloves like that!" he said to himself. "and he could forsake her for a doll! oh! how couldany one forsake her?" there was a boy's passionate indignation inhis heart. he could have flung himself at mme. de beauseant's feet; he longed for thepower of the devil if he could snatch her away and hide her in his heart, as an eaglesnatches up some white yearling from the plains

and bears it to its eyrie. it was humiliatingto him to think that in all this gallery of fair pictures he had not one picture of hisown. "to have a mistress and 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 has insulted him. the vicomtesse turned to him, and the expressionof her eyes thanked him a thousand times for his discretion. the first act came to an endjust then. "do you know mme. de nucingen well enoughto present m. de rastignac to her?" she asked of the marquis d'ajuda. "she will be delighted," said the marquis.the handsome portuguese rose as he spoke and

took the student's arm, and in another momenteugene found himself in mme. de nucingen's box. "madame," said the marquis, "i have the honorof presenting to you the chevalier 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 would fill up the measureof his happiness by bringing him nearer to his divinity." words spoken half jestingly to cover theirsomewhat disrespectful import; but such an implication, if carefully disguised, nevergives offence to a woman. mme. de nucingen smiled, and offered eugene the place whichher husband had just left.

"i do not venture to suggest that you shouldstay 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 my cousin i should remain with you. before my lord marquis camewe were speaking of you and of your exceedingly distinguished appearance," he added 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 toldme about you, and has made me anxious to meet "she must be very insincere, then, for shehas shut her door on me."

"what?" "madame, i will tell you honestly the reasonwhy; but i must crave your indulgence before confiding such a secret to you. i am yourfather's neighbor; i had no idea that mme. de restaud was his daughter. i was rash enoughto mention his name; i meant no harm, but i annoyed your sister and her husband verymuch. you cannot think how severely the duchesse de langeais and my cousin blamed this apostasyon a daughter's part, as a piece of bad taste. i told them all about it, and they both burstout laughing. then mme. de beauseant made some comparison between you and your sister,speaking in high terms of you, and saying how very fond you were of my neighbor, m.goriot. and, indeed, how could you help loving

him? he adores you so passionately that iam jealous already. we talked about you this morning for two hours. so this evening i wasquite full of all that your father had told me, and while i was dining with my cousini said that you could not be as beautiful as affectionate. mme. de beauseant meant togratify such warm admiration, i think, when she brought me here, telling me, in her graciousway, that i should see you." "then, even now, i owe you a debt of gratitude,monsieur," said the banker's wife. "we shall be quite old friends in a little while." "although a friendship with you could notbe like an ordinary friendship," said rastignac; "i should never wish to be your friend."

such stereotyped phrases as these, in themouths of beginners, possess an unfailing charm for women, and are insipid only whenread coldly; for a 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's outspoken admiration, she answered a previousremark. "yes, it is very wrong of my sister to treatour poor father as she does," she said; "he has been a providence to us. it was not untilm. de nucingen positively ordered me only to receive him in the mornings that i yieldedthe point. but i have been unhappy about it for a long while; i have shed many tears overit. this violence to my feelings, with my

husband's brutal treatment, have been twocauses of my unhappy married life. there is certainly no woman in paris whose lot seemsmore enviable than mine, and yet, in reality, there is not one so much to be pitied. youwill think i must be out of my senses to talk to you like this; but you know my father,and i cannot regard you as a stranger." "you will find no one," said eugene, "wholongs as eagerly as i do to be yours. what do all women seek? happiness." (he answeredhis own question in 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 her wishes, her fancies,her sorrows and joys; to whom she can lay bare her heart and soul, and all her fairdefects and her gracious virtues, without

fear of a betrayal; believe me, the devotionand the warmth that never fails can only be found in the heart of a young man who, ata bare sign from you, would go to his death, who neither knows nor cares to know anythingas yet of the world, because you will be all the world to him. i myself, you see (you willlaugh at my simplicity), have just come from a remote country district; i am quite newto this world of paris; i have only known true and loving hearts; and i made up my mindthat here i should find no love. then i chanced to meet my cousin, and to see my cousin'sheart from very near; i have divined the inexhaustible treasures of passion, and, like cherubino,i am the lover of all women, until the day comes when i find the woman to whom i maydevote 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 so often thoughtof you already, but i had never dreamed that you would be so beautiful! mme. de beauseanttold me that i must not look so much at you. she does not know the charm of your red lips,your fair face, nor see how soft your eyes are.... i also am beginning to talk nonsense;but let me talk." nothing pleases a woman better than to listento such whispered words as these; the most puritanical among them listens even when sheought not to reply to them; and rastignac, having once begun, continued to pour out hisstory, dropping his voice, that she might lean and listen; and mme. de nucingen, smiling,glanced from time to time at de marsay, who

still sat in the princesse galathionne's box. rastignac did not leave mme. de nucingen tillher husband came to take her home. "madame," eugene said, "i shall have the pleasureof calling upon you before the duchesse de carigliano's ball." "if matame infites you to come," said thebaron, 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 in the horse's mouth, and i have only to mount and ride;" and with that hewent to pay his respects to mme. de beauseant,

who was leaving the theatre 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 those letters that bring about a rupture that rends the soul; so, happy in his delusion,eugene went with the vicomtesse to the peristyle, where people were waiting till their carriageswere announced. "that cousin of yours is hardly recognizablefor the same man," said the portuguese laughingly to the vicomtesse, when eugene had taken leaveof them. "he will break the bank. he is as supple as an eel; he will go a long way, ofthat i am sure. who else could have picked out a woman for him, as you did, just whenshe needed consolation?"

"but it is not certain that she does not stilllove the faithless lover," said mme. de beauseant. the student meanwhile walked back from thetheatre-italien to the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve, making the most delightful plans as he went.he had noticed how closely mme. de restaud had scrutinized him when he sat beside mme.de nucingen, and inferred that the countess' doors would not be closed in the future. fourimportant houses were now open to him—for he meant to stand well with the marechale;he had four supporters in the inmost circle of society in paris. even now it was clearto him that, once involved in this intricate social machinery, he must attach himself toa spoke of the wheel that was to turn and raise his fortunes; he would not examine himselftoo curiously as to the methods, but he was

certain of the end, and conscious of the powerto gain and keep his hold. "if mme. de nucingen takes an interest inme, i will teach her how to manage her husband. that husband of hers is a great speculator;he might put 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 was not sufficient of a diplomatist to sum up a situation, to seeits possibilities at a glance, and calculate the chances in his favor. these were nothingbut hazy ideas that floated over his mental horizon; they were less cynical than vautrin'snotions; but if they had been tried in the crucible of conscience, no very pure resultwould have issued from the test. it is by

a succession of such like transactions thatmen sink at last to the level of the relaxed morality of this epoch, when there have neverbeen so few of those who square their courses with their theories, so few of those noblecharacters who do not yield to temptation, for whom the slightest deviation from theline of rectitude is a crime. to these magnificent types of uncompromising right we owe two masterpieces—thealceste of moliere, and, in our own day, the characters of jeanie deans and her fatherin sir walter scott's novel. perhaps a work which should chronicle the opposite course,which should trace out all the devious courses through which a man of the world, a man ofambitions, drags his conscience, just steering clear of crime that he may gain his end andyet save appearances, such a chronicle would

be no less edifying and no less dramatic. rastignac went home. he was fascinated bymme. de nucingen; he seemed to see her before him, slender and graceful as a swallow. herecalled the intoxicating sweetness of her eyes, her fair hair, the delicate silken tissueof the skin, beneath which it almost seemed to him that he could see the blood coursing;the tones of her voice still exerted a spell over him; he had forgotten nothing; his walkperhaps heated his imagination by sending a glow of warmth through his veins. he knockedunceremoniously at goriot's door. "i have seen mme. delphine, neighbor," saidhe. "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 beenin father goriot's room, and he could not control his feeling of amazement at the contrastbetween the den in which the father lived and the costume of the daughter whom he hadjust beheld. the window was curtainless, the walls were damp, in places the varnished wall-paperhad come away and gave glimpses of the grimy yellow plaster beneath. the wretched bed onwhich the old man lay 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 windowstood a chest of drawers made of rosewood, one of the old-fashioned kind with a curvingfront and brass handles, shaped like rings of twisted vine stems covered with flowersand leaves. on a venerable piece of furniture with a wooden shelf stood a ewer and basinand shaving apparatus. a pair of shoes stood in one corner; a night-table by the bed hadneither a door nor marble slab. there was not a trace of a fire in the empty grate;the square walnut table with the crossbar against which father goriot had crushed andtwisted his posset-dish stood near the hearth. the old man's hat was lying on a broken-downbureau. an armchair stuffed with straw and a couple of chairs completed the list of ramshacklefurniture. from the tester of the bed, tied

to the ceiling by a piece of rag, hung a stripof some cheap material in large red and black checks. no poor drudge in a garret could beworse lodged than father goriot in mme. vauquer's lodging-house. the mere sight of the roomsent a chill through you and a sense of oppression; it was like the worst cell in a prison. luckily,goriot could not see the effect that his surroundings produced on eugene as the latter depositedhis candle on the night-table. the old man turned round, keeping the bedclothes huddledup to his chin. "well," he said, "and which do you like thebest, mme. de restaud or mme. de nucingen?" "i like mme. delphine the best," said thelaw student, "because she loves you the best." at the words so heartily spoken the old man'shand slipped out from under the bedclothes

and grasped eugene's. "thank you, thank you," he said, gratefully."then what did she say about me?" the student repeated the baroness' remarkswith some embellishments of his own, the old man listening the while as though he hearda voice from heaven. "dear child!" he said. "yes, yes, she is veryfond of me. but you must not believe all that she tells you about anastasie. the two sistersare jealous of each other, you see, another proof of their affection. mme. de restaudis very fond of me too. i know she is. a father sees his children as god sees all of us; helooks into the very depths of their hearts; he knows their intentions; and both of themare so loving. oh! if i only had good sons-in-law,

i should be too happy, and i dare say thereis no perfect happiness here below. if i might live with them—simply hear their voices,know that they are there, see them go and come as i used to do at home when they werestill with me; why, my heart bounds at the thought.... were they nicely dressed?" "yes," said eugene. "but, m. goriot, how isit that your daughters have such fine houses, while you live in such a den as this?" "dear me, why should i want anything better?"he replied, with seeming carelessness. "i can't quite explain to you how it is; i amnot used to stringing words together properly, but it all lies there——" he said, tappinghis heart. "my real life is in my two girls,

you see; and so long as they are happy, andsmartly dressed, and have soft carpets under their feet, what does it matter what clothesi wear or where i lie down of a night? i shall never feel cold so long as they are warm;i shall never 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, 'thathas all come from me.' you will feel that those little ones are akin to every drop inyour veins, that they are the very flower of your life (and what else are they?); youwill cleave so closely to them that you seem to feel every movement that they make. everywherei hear their voices sounding in my ears. if they are sad, the look in their eyes freezesmy blood. some day you will find out that

there is far more happiness in another's happinessthan in your own. it is something that i cannot explain, something within that sends a glowof warmth all through you. in short, i live my life three times over. shall i tell yousomething funny? well, then, since i have been a father, i have come to understand god.he is everywhere in the world, because the whole world comes from him. and it is justthe same with my children, monsieur. only, i love my daughters better than god lovesthe world, for the world is not so beautiful as god himself is, but my children are morebeautiful than i am. their lives are so bound up with mine that i felt somehow that youwould see them this evening. great heaven! if any man would make my little delphine ashappy as a wife is when 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. a longing to wringhis neck comes over me now and then. he does not love her! does not love a pearl of a woman,with a voice like a nightingale and shaped like a model. where can her eyes have beenwhen she married that great lump of an alsatian? they ought both of them to have married youngmen, good-looking and good-tempered—but, after all, they had their own way." father goriot was sublime. eugene had neveryet seen his face light up as it did now with the passionate fervor of a father's love.it is worthy of remark that strong feeling has a very subtle and pervasive power; theroughest nature, in the endeavor to express

a deep and sincere affection, communicatesto others the influence that has put resonance into the voice, and eloquence into every gesture,wrought a change in the very features of the speaker; for under the inspiration of passionthe stupidest human being attains to the highest eloquence of ideas, if not of language, andseems to move in some sphere of light. in the old man's tones and gesture there wassomething just then of the same spell that a great actor exerts over his audience. butdoes not the poet in us find expression in our affections? "well," said eugene, "perhaps you will notbe sorry to hear that she is pretty sure to break with de marsay before long. that sprigof fashion has left her for the princesse

galathionne. for my part, i fell in love withmme. delphine this evening." "stuff!" said father goriot. "i did indeed, and she did not regard me withaversion. for a whole hour we talked of love, and i am to go to call on her on saturday,the day after to-morrow." "oh! how i should love you, if she shouldlike you. you are kind-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, you see! 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; aloudhe answered, "she told me to tell you that your daughter sends you a good kiss." "good-night, neighbor! sleep well, and pleasantdreams to you! i have mine already made for me by that message from her. may god grantyou all your desires! you have come in like a good angel on me to-night, and brought withyou the air that my daughter breathes." "poor old fellow!" said eugene as he lay down."it is enough to melt a heart of stone. his daughter no more thought of him than of thegrand turk." ever after this conference goriot looked uponhis neighbor as a friend, a confidant such as he had never hoped to find; and there wasestablished between the two the only relationship

that could attach this old man to anotherman. the passions never miscalculate. father goriot felt that this friendship brought himcloser to his daughter delphine; he thought that he should find a warmer welcome for himselfif the baroness should care for eugene. moreover, he had confided one of his troubles to theyounger man. mme. de nucingen, for whose happiness he prayed a thousand times daily, had neverknown the joys of love. eugene was certainly (to make use of his own expression) one ofthe nicest young men that he had ever seen, and some prophetic instinct seemed to tellhim that eugene was to give her the happiness which had not been hers. these were the beginningsof a friendship that grew up between the old man and his neighbor; but for this friendshipthe catastrophe of the drama must have remained

a mystery. chapter 11 the affection with which father goriot regardedeugene, by whom he seated himself at breakfast, the change in goriot's face, which as a rule,looked as expressionless as a plaster cast, and a few words that passed between the two,surprised the other lodgers. vautrin, who saw eugene for the first time since theirinterview, seemed as if he would fain read the student's very soul. during the nighteugene had had some time in which to scan the vast field which lay before him; and now,as he remembered yesterday's proposal, the thought of mlle. taillefer's dowry came, ofcourse, to his mind, and he could not help

thinking of victorine as the most exemplaryyouth may think of an heiress. it chanced that their eyes met. the poor girl did notfail to see that eugene looked very handsome in his new clothes. so much was said in theglance, thus exchanged, that eugene could not doubt but that he was associated in hermind with the vague hopes that lie dormant in a girl's heart and gather round the firstattractive newcomer. "eight hundred thousand francs!" a voice cried in his ears, but suddenlyhe took refuge in the memories of yesterday evening, thinking that his extemporized passionfor mme. de nucingen was a talisman that would preserve him from this temptation. "they gave rossini's barber of seville atthe italiens yesterday evening," 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 eugenelet fall, and watched him as a dog watches his master's slightest movement. "you men are like fighting cocks," said mme.vauquer; "you do what you like." "how did you get back?" inquired vautrin. "i walked," answered eugene. "for my own part," remarked the tempter, "ido not care about doing things by halves. if i want to enjoy myself that way, i shouldprefer to go in my carriage, sit in my own

box, and do the thing comfortably. everythingor nothing; that is my motto." "and a good one, too," commented mme. vauquer. "perhaps you will see mme. de nucingen to-day,"said eugene, addressing goriot in an undertone. "she will welcome you with open arms, i amsure; she would want to ask you for all sorts of little details about me. i have found outthat she will do anything in the world to be known by my cousin mme. de beauseant; don'tforget to tell her that i love her too well not to think of trying to arrange this." rastignac went at once to the ecole de droit.he had no mind to stay a moment longer than was necessary in that odious house. he wastedhis time that day; he had fallen a victim

to that fever of the brain that accompaniesthe too vivid hopes of youth. vautrin's arguments had set him meditating on social life, andhe was deep in these reflections when he happened on his friend bianchon in the jardin du luxembourg. "what makes you look so solemn?" said themedical student, putting an arm through eugene's as they went towards the palais. "i am tormented by temptations." "what kind? there is a cure for temptation." "yielding to it." "you laugh, but you don't know what it isall about. have you read rousseau?"

"do you remember that he asks the reader somewherewhat he would do if he could make a fortune by killing an old mandarin somewhere in chinaby mere force of wishing it, and without stirring from paris?" "well, then?" "pshaw! i am at my thirty-third mandarin." "seriously, though. look here, suppose youwere sure that you could do it, and had only to give a nod. would you do it?" "is he well stricken in years, this mandarinof yours? pshaw! after all, young or old, paralytic, or well and sound, my word forit. ... well, then. hang it, no!"

"you are a good fellow, bianchon. but supposeyou loved a woman well enough to lose your soul in hell for her, and that she wantedmoney for dresses 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 meto my senses. i have two sisters as beautiful and innocent as angels, and i want them tobe happy. how am i to find two hundred thousand francs apiece for them in the next five years?now and then in life, you see, you must play for heavy stakes, and it is no use wastingyour luck on low play." "but you are only stating the problem thatlies before every one at the outset of his

life, and you want to cut the gordian knotwith a sword. if that is the way of it, dear boy, you must be an alexander, or to the hulksyou go. for my own part, i am quite contented with the little lot i mean to make for myselfsomewhere in the country, when i mean to step into my father's shoes and plod along. a man'saffections are just as fully satisfied by the smallest circle as they can be by a vastcircumference. napoleon himself could only dine once, and he could not have more mistressesthan a house student at the capuchins. happiness, old man, depends on what lies between thesole of your foot and the crown of your head; and whether it costs a million or a hundredlouis, the actual amount of pleasure that you receive rests entirely with you, and isjust exactly the same in any case. i am for

letting that chinaman live." "thank you, bianchon; you have done me good.we will always be friends." "i say," remarked the medical student, asthey came to the end of a broad walk in the jardin des plantes, "i saw the michonneauand poiret a few minutes ago on a bench chatting with a gentleman whom i used to see in lastyear's troubles hanging about the chamber of deputies; he seems to me, in fact, to bea detective dressed up like a decent retired tradesman. let us keep an eye on that couple;i will tell you why some time. good-bye; it is nearly four o'clock, and i must be in toanswer to my name." when eugene reached the lodging-house, hefound father goriot waiting for him.

"here," cried the old man, "here is a letterfrom her. pretty handwriting, eh?" eugene broke the seal and read:— "sir,—i have heard from my father that youare fond of italian music. i shall be delighted if you will dome the pleasure of accepting a seat in my box. la fodor and pellegriniwill sing on saturday, so i am sure that you will not refuseme. m. de nucingen and i shall be pleased if you will dine withus; we shall be quite by ourselves. if you will come and be my escort,my husband will be glad to be relieved from his conjugal duties.do not answer,

but simply come.—yours sincerely, d. den." "let me see it," said father goriot, wheneugene had read the letter. "you are going, aren't you?" he added, when he had smelledthe writing-paper. "how nice it smells! her fingers have touched it, that is certain." "a woman does not fling herself at a man'shead in this way," the student 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 youthinking about?" eugene did not know the fever or vanity thatpossessed some women in those 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 the coterie of thefaubourg saint-germain was a charmed circle, and the women who moved in it were at thattime the queens of society; and among the greatest of these dames du petit-chateau,as they were called, were mme. de beauseant and her friends the duchesse de langeais andthe duchesse de maufrigneause. rastignac was alone in his ignorance of the frantic effortsmade by women who lived in the chausee-d'antin to enter this seventh heaven and shine amongthe brightest constellations of their sex. but his cautious disposition stood him ingood stead, and kept his judgment cool, and the not altogether enviable power of imposinginstead of accepting conditions.

"yes, i am going," he replied. so it was curiosity that drew him to mme.de nucingen; while, if she had treated him disdainfully, passion perhaps might have broughthim to her feet. still he waited almost impatiently for to-morrow, and the hour when he couldgo to her. there is almost as much charm for a young man in a first flirtation as thereis in first love. the certainty of success is a source of happiness to which men do notconfess, and all the charm of certain women lies in this. the desire of conquest springsno less from the easiness than from the difficulty of triumph, and every passion is excited orsustained by one or the other of these two motives which divide the empire of love. perhapsthis division is one result of the great question

of temperaments; which, after all, dominatessocial life. the melancholic temperament may stand in need of the tonic of coquetry, whilethose of nervous or sanguine complexion withdraw if they meet with a too stubborn resistance.in other words, the lymphatic temperament is essentially despondent, and the rhapsodicis bilious. eugene lingered over his toilette with anenjoyment of all its little details that is grateful to a young man's self-love, thoughhe will not own to it for fear of being laughed at. he thought, as he arranged his hair, thata pretty woman's glances would wander through the dark curls. he indulged in childish trickslike any young girl dressing for a dance, and gazed complacently at his graceful figurewhile he smoothed out the creases of his coat.

"there are worse figures, that is certain,"he said to himself. then he went downstairs, just as the restof the household were sitting down to dinner, and took with good humor the boisterous applauseexcited by his elegant appearance. the amazement with which any attention to dress is regardedin a lodging-house is a very characteristic trait. no one can put on a new coat but everyone else must say his say about it. "clk! clk! clk!" cried bianchon, making thesound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, like a driver urging on a horse. "he holds himself like a duke and a peer offrance," 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," fromthe 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 certaincure for toothache and other complaints under the patronage of the royal college of physicians!children like it! a remedy for headache, indigestion, and all other diseases affecting the throat,eyes, and ears!" cried vautrin, with a comical imitation of the volubility of a quack ata fair. "and how much shall we say for this

marvel, gentlemen? twopence? no. nothing ofthe sort. all that is left in stock after supplying the great mogul. all the crownedheads of europe, including the gr-r-rand duke of baden, have been anxious to get a sightof it. walk up! walk up! gentlemen! pay at the desk as you go in! strike up the musicthere! brooum, la, la, trinn! la, la, boum! boum! mister clarinette, there you are outof tune!" he added gruffly; "i will rap your knuckles for you!" "goodness! what an amusing man!" said mme.vauquer to mme. couture; "i should never feel dull with him in the house." this burlesque of vautrin's was the signalfor an outburst of merriment, and under cover

of jokes and laughter eugene caught a glancefrom 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 vermicellimaker; he was gazing at eugene with something like envy in his eyes. rastignac reached the house in the rue saint-lazare,one of those many-windowed houses with a mean-looking

portico and slender columns, which are consideredthe 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 sittingin a little drawing-room; the room was painted in the italian fashion, and decorated likea restaurant. the baroness seemed depressed. the effort that she made to hide her feelingsaroused eugene's interest; it was plain that she was not playing a part. he had expecteda little flutter of excitement at his coming, and he found her dispirited and sad. the disappointmentpiqued his vanity. "my claim to your confidence is very small,madame," he said, after rallying her on her abstracted mood; "but if i am in the way,please tell me so frankly; i count on your

good faith." "no, stay with me," she said; "i shall beall alone if you go. nucingen is dining in town, and i do not want to be alone; i wantto be taken out of myself." "but what is the matter?" "you are the very last person whom i shouldtell," 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 adomestic quarrel, which ought to be buried in the depths of the heart. i am very unhappy;did i not tell you so the day before yesterday? golden chains are the heaviest of all fetters."

when a woman tells a young man that she isvery unhappy, and when the young man is clever, and well dressed, and has fifteen hundredfrancs lying idle in his pocket, he is sure to think as eugene said, and he becomes acoxcomb. "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 saidshaking her head mournfully. "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 displayingher gown of white cashmere, covered with persian designs in the most superb taste. "i wish that you were altogether mine," saideugene; "you are charming."

"you would have a forlorn piece of property,"she said, smiling bitterly. "there is nothing about me that betrays my wretchedness; andyet, in spite of appearances, i am in despair. i cannot sleep; my troubles have broken mynight's rest; i shall grow ugly." "oh! that is impossible," cried the law student;"but i am curious to know what these troubles can be that a devoted love cannot efface." "ah! if i were to tell you about them, youwould shun me," she said. "your love for me is as yet only the conventional gallantrythat men use to masquerade in; and, if you really loved me, you would be driven to despair.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; hesat down on the sofa before the fire, and boldly took mme. de nucingen's hand in his.she surrendered it to him; he even felt the pressure of her fingers in one of the spasmodicclutches that betray terrible agitation. "listen," said rastignac; "if you are in trouble,you ought to tell me about it. i want to prove to you that i love you for yourself alone.you must speak to me frankly about your troubles, so that i can put an end to them, even ifi have to kill half-a-dozen men; or i shall go, never to return." "very well," she cried, putting her hand toher forehead in an agony of despair, "i will put you to the proof, and this very moment.yes," she said to herself, "i have no other

resource left." she rang the bell. "are the horses put in for the master?" sheasked of the servant. "yes, madame." "i shall take his carriage myself. he canhave mine and my horses. serve dinner at seven o'clock." "now, come with me," she said to eugene, whothought as he sat in the banker's carriage beside mme. de nucingen that he must surelybe dreaming. "to the palais-royal," she said to the coachman;"stop near the theatre-francais."

she seemed to be too troubled and excitedto answer the innumerable questions that eugene put to her. he was at a loss what to thinkof her mute resistance, her obstinate silence. "another moment and she will escape me," hesaid to himself. when the carriage stopped at last, the baronessgave the law student a glance 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 andtone there was no trace of the uneasiness that he felt. "you will not think ill of me, will you, whateveri may ask of you?"

"no." "are you ready to do my bidding?" "blindly." "have you ever been to a gaming-house?" sheasked 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 sucha fortunate woman as i can call her own. go up into one of the gaming-houses—i do notknow where they are, but there are some near the palais-royal. try your luck with the hundredfrancs at a game they call roulette; lose

it all or bring me back six thousand francs.i will tell you about my troubles when you come back." "devil take me, i'm sure, if i have a glimmerof a notion of what i am about, but i will obey you," he added, with inward exultation,as he thought, "she has gone too far to draw back—she can refuse me nothing now!" eugene took the dainty little purse, inquiredthe way of a second-hand clothes-dealer, and hurried to number 9, which happened to bethe nearest gaming-house. he mounted the staircase, surrendered his hat, and asked the way tothe roulette-table, whither the attendant took him, not a little to the astonishmentof the regular comers. all eyes were fixed

on eugene as he asked, without bashfulness,where he was to deposit his stakes. "if you put a louis on one only of those thirty-sixnumbers, and it turns up, you will win thirty-six louis," said a respectable-looking, white-hairedold man in answer to his inquiry. eugene staked the whole of his money on thenumber 21 (his own age). there was a cry of surprise; before he knew what he had done,he had won. "take your money off, sir," said the old gentleman;"you don't often win twice running by that system." eugene took the rake that the old man handedto him, and drew in his three thousand six hundred francs, and, still perfectly ignorantof what he was about, staked again on the

red. the bystanders watched him enviouslyas they saw him continue to play. the disc turned, and again he won; the banker threwhim three thousand six hundred francs once more. "you have seven thousand, two hundred francsof your own," the old gentleman 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 yourgratitude for sound counsel by giving a trifle to an old prefect of napoleon who is downon his luck." rastignac's head was swimming; he saw tenof his louis pass into the white-haired man's possession, and went down-stairs with hisseven thousand francs; he was still ignorant

of the game, and stupefied by his luck. "so, that is over; and now where will youtake me?" he asked, as soon as the door was closed, and he showed the seven thousand francsto mme. de nucingen. delphine flung her arms about him, but therewas no passion in that wild embrace. "you have saved me!" she cried, and tearsof joy flowed fast. "i will tell you everything, my friend. foryou will be my friend, will you not? i am rich, you think, very rich; i have everythingi want, or i seem as if i had everything. very well, you must know that m. de nucingendoes not allow me the control of a single penny; he pays all the bills for the houseexpenses; he pays for my carriages and opera

box; he does not give me enough to pay formy dress, and he reduces me to poverty in secret on purpose. i am too proud to beg fromhim. i should be the vilest of women if i could take his money at the price at whichhe offers it. do you ask how i, with seven hundred thousand francs of my own, could letmyself be robbed? it is because i was proud, and scorned to speak. we are so young, soartless when our married life begins! i never could bring myself to ask my husband for money;the words would have made my lips bleed, i did not dare to ask; i spent my savings first,and then the money that my poor father gave me, then i ran into debt. marriage for meis a hideous farce; i cannot talk about it, let it suffice to say that nucingen and ihave separate rooms, and that i would fling

myself out of the window sooner than consentto any other manner of life. i suffered agonies when i had to confess to my girlish extravagance,my debts for jewelry and trifles (for our poor father had never refused us anything,and spoiled us), but at last i found courage to tell him about them. after all, i had afortune of my own. nucingen flew into a rage; he said that i should be the ruin of him,and used frightful language! i wished myself a hundred feet down in the earth. he had mydowry, so he paid my debts, but he stipulated at the same time that my expenses in futuremust not exceed a certain fixed sum, and i gave way for the sake of peace. and then,"she went on, "i wanted to gratify the self-love of some one whom you know. he may have deceivedme, but i should do him the justice to say

that there was nothing petty in his character.but, after all, he threw me over disgracefully. if, at a woman's utmost need, somebody heapsgold upon her, he ought never to forsake her; that love should last for ever! but you, atone-and-twenty, you, the soul of honor, with the unsullied conscience of youth, will askme how a woman can bring herself to accept money in such a way? mon dieu! is it not naturalto share everything with the one to whom we owe our happiness? when all has been given,why should we pause and hesitate over a part? money is as nothing between us until the momentwhen the sentiment that bound us together ceases to exist. were we not bound to eachother for life? who that believes in love foresees such an end to love? you swear tolove us eternally; how, then, can our interests

be separate? "you do not know how i suffered to-day whennucingen refused to give me six thousand francs; he spends as much as that every month on hismistress, an opera dancer! i thought of killing myself. the wildest thoughts came into myhead. there have been moments in my life when i have envied my servants, and would havechanged places with my maid. it was madness to think of going to our father, anastasieand i have bled him dry; our poor father would have sold himself if he could have raisedsix thousand francs that way. i should have driven him frantic to no purpose. you havesaved me from shame and death; i was beside myself with anguish. ah! monsieur, i owedyou this explanation after my mad ravings.

when you left me just now, as soon as youwere out of sight, i longed to escape, to run away... where, i did not know. half thewomen in paris lead such lives as mine; they live in apparent luxury, and in their soulsare tormented by anxiety. i know of poor creatures even more miserable than i; there are womenwho are driven to ask their tradespeople to make out false bills, women who rob theirhusbands. some men believe that an indian shawl worth a thousand louis only cost fivehundred francs, others that a shawl costing five hundred francs is worth a hundred louis.there are women, too, with narrow incomes, who scrape and save and starve their childrento pay for a dress. i am innocent of these base meannesses. but this is the last extremityof my torture. some women will sell themselves

to their husbands, and so obtain their way,but i, at any rate, am free. if i chose, nucingen would cover me with gold, but i would ratherweep on the breast of a man whom i can respect. ah! tonight, m. de marsay will no longer havea right to think of me as a woman whom he has paid." she tried to conceal her tearsfrom him, hiding her face in her hands; eugene drew them away and looked at her; she seemedto him sublime at that moment. "it is hideous, is it not," she cried, "tospeak in a breath of money and affection. you cannot love me after this," she added. the incongruity between the ideas of honorwhich make women so great, and the errors in conduct which are forced upon them by theconstitution of society, had thrown eugene's

thoughts into confusion; he uttered soothingand consoling words, and wondered at the beautiful woman before him, and at the artless imprudenceof her cry of pain. "you will not remember this against me?" sheasked; "promise me that you will not." "ah! madame, i am incapable of doing so,"he said. she took his hand and held it to her heart, a movement full of grace that expressedher deep gratitude. "i am free and happy once more, thanks toyou," she said. "oh! i have felt lately as if i were in the grasp of an iron hand. butafter this i mean to live simply and to spend nothing. you will think me just as pretty,will you not, my friend? keep this," she went on, as she took only 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 whenthe baroness said, "i am bound to look on you as an accomplice or as an enemy," he tookthe money. "it shall be a last stake in reserve," hesaid, "in case of misfortune." "that was what i was dreading to hear," shecried, turning pale. "oh, if you would that i should be anything to you, swear to me thatyou will never re-enter a gaming-house. great heaven! that i should corrupt you! i shoulddie of sorrow!" they had reached the rue saint-lazare by thistime. the contrast between the ostentation of wealth in the house, and the wretched conditionof its mistress, dazed the student; and vautrin's

cynical words began to ring in his ears. "seat yourself there," said the baroness,pointing to a low chair beside the fire. "i have a difficult letter to write," she added."tell me what to say." "say nothing," eugene answered her. "put thebills 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 have been well brought up. that is the beauseant through and through,"she went on, smiling at him. "she is charming," thought eugene, more andmore in love. he looked round him at the room; there was an ostentatious character aboutthe luxury, a meretricious taste in the splendor.

"do you like it?" she asked, as she rang forthe maid. "therese, take this to m. de marsay, and giveit into his hands yourself. if he is not at home, bring the letter back to me." therese went, but not before she had giveneugene a spiteful glance. dinner was announced. rastignac gave his armto mme. de nucingen, she led the way into a pretty dining-room, and again he saw theluxury of the table which he had admired in his cousin's house. "come and dine with me on opera evenings,and we will go to the italiens afterwards," she said.

"i should soon grow used to the pleasant lifeif it could last, but i am a poor student, and i have my way to make." "oh! you will succeed," she said laughing."you will see. all that you wish will come to pass. i did not expect to be so happy." it is the wont of women to prove the impossibleby the possible, and to annihilate facts by presentiments. when mme. de nucingen and rastignactook their places in her box at the bouffons, her face wore a look of happiness that madeher so lovely that every one indulged in those small slanders against which women are defenceless;for the scandal that is 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, andby some light pressure of the fingers, or a closer grasp of the hand, they found a languagein which to express the sensations which the music gave them. it was an evening of intoxicatingdelight for both; and when it ended, and they went out together, mme. de nucingen insistedon taking eugene with her as far as the pont neuf, he disputing with her the whole of theway for a single kiss after all those that she had showered upon him so passionatelyat the palais-royal; eugene reproached her with inconsistency. "that was gratitude," she said, "for devotionthat i did not dare to hope for, but now it

would be a promise." "and will you give me no promise, ingrate?" he grew vexed. then, with one of those impatientgestures that fill a lover with ecstasy, she gave him her hand to kiss, and he took itwith a discontented air that delighted her. "i shall see you at the ball on monday," shesaid. as eugene went home in the moonlight, he fellto serious reflections. he was satisfied, and yet dissatisfied. he was pleased withan adventure which would probably give him his desire, for in the end one of the prettiestand best-dressed women in paris would be his; but, as a set-off, he saw his hopes of fortunebrought to nothing; and as soon as he realized

this fact, the vague thoughts of yesterdayevening began to take a more decided shape in his mind. a check is sure to reveal tous the strength of our hopes. the more eugene learned of the pleasures of life in paris,the more impatient he felt of poverty and obscurity. he crumpled the banknote in hispocket, and found any quantity of plausible excuses for appropriating it. he reached the rue neuve-sainte-genevieveat last, and from the stairhead he saw a light in goriot's room; the old man had lighteda candle, and set the door ajar, lest the student should pass him by, and go to hisroom without "telling him all about his daughter," to use his own expression. eugene, accordingly,told him everything without reserve.

"then they think that i am ruined!" criedfather goriot, in an agony of jealousy and desperation. "why, i have still thirteen hundredlivres a year! mon dieu! poor little girl! why did she not come to me? i would have soldmy rentes; she should have had some of the principal, and i would have bought a life-annuitywith the rest. my good neighbor, why did not you come to tell me of her difficulty? howhad you the heart to go and risk her poor little hundred francs at play? this is heart-breakingwork. you see what it is to have sons-in-law. oh! if i had hold of them, i would wring theirnecks. mon dieu! crying! did you say she was crying?" "with her head on my waistcoat," said eugene.

"oh! give it to me," said father goriot. "what!my daughter's tears have fallen there—my darling delphine, who never used to cry whenshe was a little girl! oh! i will buy you another; do not wear it again; let me haveit. by the terms of her marriage-contract, she ought to have the use of her property.to-morrow morning i will go and see derville; he is an attorney. i will demand that hermoney should be invested in her own name. i know the law. i am an old wolf, i will showmy teeth." "here, father; this is a banknote for a thousandfrancs that she wanted me to keep out of our winnings. keep them for her, in the pocketof the waistcoat." goriot looked hard at eugene, reached outand took the law student's hand, and eugene

felt a tear fall on it. "you will succeed," the old man said. "godis just, you see. i know an honest man when i see him, and i can tell you, there are notmany men like you. i am to have another dear child in you, am i? there, go to sleep; youcan sleep; you are not yet a father. she was crying! and i have to be told about it!—andi was quietly eating my dinner, like an idiot, all the time—i, who would sell the father,son and holy ghost to save one tear to either of them." "an honest man!" said eugene to himself ashe lay down. "upon my word, i think i will be an honest man all my life; it is so pleasantto obey the voice of conscience." perhaps

none but believers in god do good in secret;and eugene believed in a god. the next day rastignac went at the appointedtime to mme. de beauseant, who took him with her to the duchesse de carigliano's ball.the marechale received eugene most graciously. mme. de nucingen was there. delphine's dressseemed to suggest that she wished for the admiration of others, so that she might shinethe more in eugene's eyes; she was eagerly expecting a glance from him, hiding, as shethought, this eagerness from all beholders. this moment is full of charm for one who canguess all that passes in a woman's mind. who has not refrained from giving his opinion,to prolong her suspense, concealing his pleasure from a desire to tantalize, seeking a confessionof love in her uneasiness, enjoying the fears

that he can dissipate by a smile? in the courseof the evening the law student suddenly comprehended his position; he saw that, as the cousin ofmme. de beauseant, he was a personage in this world. he was already credited with the conquestof mme. de nucingen, and for this reason was a conspicuous figure; he caught the enviousglances of other young men, and experienced the earliest pleasures of coxcombry. peoplewondered at his luck, and scraps of these conversations came to his ears as he wentfrom 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 kiss that all his entreatiescould scarcely win yesterday. rastignac received several invitations. hiscousin presented him to other women who were

present; women who could claim to be of thehighest fashion; whose houses were looked upon as pleasant; and this was the loftiestand most fashionable society in paris into which he was launched. so this evening hadall the charm of a brilliant debut; it was an evening that he was to remember even inold age, as a woman looks back upon her first ball and the memories of her girlish triumphs. the next morning, at breakfast, he relatedthe story of his success for the benefit of father goriot and the lodgers. vautrin beganto smile in a diabolical fashion. "and do you suppose," cried that cold-bloodedlogician, "that a young man of fashion can live here in the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve,in the maison vauquer—an exceedingly respectable

boarding-house in every way, i grant you,but an establishment that, none the less, falls short of being fashionable? the houseis comfortable, it is lordly in its abundance; it is proud to be the temporary abode of arastignac; 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 cuta figure in paris, my young friend," vautrin continued, with half-paternal jocularity,"you must have three horses, a tilbury for the mornings, and a closed carriage for theevening; you should spend altogether about nine thousand francs on your stables. youwould show yourself unworthy of your destiny if you spent no more than three thousand francswith your tailor, six hundred in perfumery,

a hundred crowns to your shoemaker, and ahundred more to your hatter. as for your laundress, there goes another thousand francs; a youngman of fashion must of necessity make a great point of his linen; if your linen comes upto the required standard, people often do not look any further. love and the churchdemand a fair altar-cloth. that is fourteen thousand francs. i am saying nothing of lossesat play, bets, and presents; it is impossible to allow less than two thousand francs forpocket money. i have led that sort of life, and i know all about these expenses. add thecost of necessaries next; three hundred louis for provender, a thousand francs for a placeto roost in. well, my boy, for all these little wants of ours we had need to have twenty-fivethousand francs every year in our purse, or

we shall find ourselves in the kennel, andpeople laughing at 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 christophe going to carryyour billets-doux for you? do you mean to employ the stationery you use at present?suicidal policy! hearken to the wisdom of your elders!" he went on, his bass voice growinglouder at each syllable. "either take up your quarters in a garret, live virtuously, andwed your work, or set about the thing in a different way." vautrin winked and leered in the directionof mlle. taillefer to enforce his remarks by a look which recalled the late temptingproposals by which he had sought to corrupt

the student's mind. chapter 12 several days went by, and rastignac livedin a whirl of gaiety. he dined almost every day with mme. de nucingen, and went wherevershe went, only returning to the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve in the small hours. he rose at mid-day, anddressed to go into the bois with delphine if the day was fine, squandering in this waytime that was worth far more than he knew. he turned as eagerly to learn the lessonsof luxury, and was as quick to feel its fascination, as the flowers of the date palm to receivethe fertilizing pollen. he played high, lost and won large sums of money, and at last becameaccustomed to the extravagant life that young

men lead in paris. he sent fifteen hundredfrancs out of his first winnings to his mother and sisters, sending handsome presents aswell as the money. he had given out that he meant to leave the maison vauquer; but januarycame and went, and he was still there, still unprepared to go. one rule holds good of most young men—whetherrich or poor. they never have money for the necessaries of life, but they have alwaysmoney to spare for their caprices—an anomaly which finds its explanation in their youthand in the almost frantic eagerness with which youth grasps at pleasure. they are recklesswith anything obtained on credit, while everything for which they must pay in ready money ismade to last as long as possible; if they

cannot have all that they want, they makeup for it, it would seem, by squandering what they have. to state the matter simply—astudent is far more careful of his hat than of his coat, because the latter being a comparativelycostly article of dress, it is in the nature of things that a tailor should be a creditor;but it is otherwise with the hatter; the sums of money spent with him are so modest, thathe is the most independent and unmanageable of his tribe, and it is almost impossibleto bring him to terms. the young man in the balcony of a theatre who displays a gorgeouswaistcoat for the benefit of the fair owners of opera glasses, has very probably no socksin his wardrobe, for the hosier is another of the genus of weevils that nibble at thepurse. this was rastignac's condition. his

purse was always empty for mme. vauquer, alwaysfull at the demand of vanity; there was a periodical ebb and flow in his fortunes, whichwas seldom favorable to the payment of just debts. if he was to leave that unsavory andmean abode, where from time to time his pretensions met with humiliation, the first step was topay his hostess for a month's board and lodging, and the second to purchase furniture worthyof the new lodgings he must take in his quality of dandy, a course that remained impossible.rastignac, out of his winnings at cards, would pay his jeweler exorbitant prices for goldwatches and chains, and then, to meet the exigencies of play, would carry them to thepawnbroker, that discreet and forbidding-looking friend of youth; but when it was a questionof paying for board or lodging, or for the

necessary implements for the cultivation ofhis elysian fields, his imagination and pluck alike deserted him. there was no inspirationto be found in vulgar necessity, in debts contracted for past requirements. like mostof those who trust to their luck, he put off till the last moment the payment of debtsthat among the bourgeoisie are regarded as sacred engagements, acting on the plan ofmirabeau, who never settled his baker's bill until it underwent a formidable transformationinto a bill of exchange. it was about this time when rastignac wasdown on his luck and fell into debt, that it became clear to the law student's mindthat he must have some more certain source of income if he meant to live as he had beendoing. but while he groaned over the thorny

problems of his precarious situation, he feltthat he could not bring himself to renounce the pleasures of this extravagant life, anddecided that he must continue it at all costs. his dreams of obtaining a fortune appearedmore and more chimerical, and the real obstacles grew more formidable. his initiation intothe secrets of the nucingen household had revealed to him that if he were to attemptto use this love affair as a means of mending his fortunes, he must swallow down all senseof decency, and renounce all the generous ideas which redeem the sins of youth. he hadchosen this life of apparent splendor, but secretly gnawed by the canker worm of remorse,a life of fleeting pleasure dearly paid for by persistent pain; like le distrait of labruyere, he had descended so far as to make

his bed in a ditch; but (also like le distrait)he himself was uncontaminated as yet by the mire that stained his garments. "so we have killed our mandarin, have we?"said bianchon one day as they left the dinner table. "not yet," he answered, "but he is at hislast gasp." the medical student took this for a joke,but it was not a jest. eugene had dined in the house that night for the first time fora long while, and had looked thoughtful during the meal. he had taken his place beside mlle.taillefer, and stayed through the dessert, giving his neighbor an expressive glance fromtime to time. a few of the boarders discussed

the walnuts at the table, and others walkedabout the room, still taking part in the conversation which had begun among them. people usuallywent when they chose; the amount of time that they lingered being determined by the amountof interest that the conversation possessed for them, or by the difficulty of the processof digestion. in winter-time the room was seldom empty before eight o'clock, when thefour women had it all to themselves, and made up for the silence previously imposed uponthem by the preponderating masculine element. this evening vautrin had noticed eugene'sabstractedness, and stayed in the room, though he had seemed to be in a hurry to finish hisdinner and go. all through the talk afterwards he had kept out of the sight of the law student,who quite believed that vautrin had left the

room. he now took up his position cunninglyin the sitting-room instead of going when the last boarders went. he had fathomed theyoung man's thoughts, and felt that a crisis was at hand. rastignac was, in fact, in adilemma, which many another young man must have known. mme. de nucingen might love him, or mightmerely be playing with him, but in either case rastignac had been made to experienceall the alternations of hope and despair of genuine passion, and all the diplomatic artsof a parisienne had been employed on him. after compromising herself by continuallyappearing in public with mme. de beauseant's cousin she still hesitated, and would notgive him the lover's privileges which he appeared

to enjoy. for a whole month she had so wroughton his senses, that at last she had made an impression on his heart. if in the earliestdays the student had fancied himself to be master, mme. de nucingen had since becomethe stronger of the two, for she had skilfully roused and played upon every instinct, goodor bad, in the 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, for women are in amanner true to themselves even through their grossest deceit, because their actions areprompted by a natural impulse. it may have been that delphine, who had allowed this youngman to gain such an ascendency over her, conscious that she had been too demonstrative, was obeyinga sentiment of dignity, and either repented

of her concessions, or it pleased her to suspendthem. it is so natural to a parisienne, even when passion has almost mastered her, to hesitateand pause before taking 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 toa selfish young lover had been despised. she had good reason to be suspicious. or it mayhave been that something in eugene's manner (for his rapid success was making a coxcombof him) had warned her 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 begreat in his eyes; for the lover who had forsaken her had held her so cheap that she was determinedthat eugene should not think her an easy conquest,

and for this very reason—he knew that demarsay had been his predecessor. finally, after the degradation of submission to thepleasure of a heartless young rake, it was so sweet to her to wander in the flower-strewnrealms of love, that it was not wonderful that she should wish to dwell a while on theprospect, to tremble 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 inconsistencyis unfortunately only to be expected so long as men do not know how many flowers are mowndown in a young woman's soul by the first stroke of treachery. whatever her reasons may have been, delphinewas playing with rastignac, and took pleasure

in playing with him, doubtless because shefelt sure of his love, and confident that she could put an end to the torture as soonas it was her royal pleasure to do so. eugene's self-love was engaged; he could not sufferhis first passage of love to end in a defeat, and persisted in his suit like a sportsmandetermined to bring down at least one partridge to celebrate his first feast of saint-hubert.the pressure of anxiety, his wounded self-love, his despair, real or feigned, drew him nearerand nearer to this woman. all paris credited him with this conquest, and yet he was consciousthat he had made no progress since the day when he saw mme. de nucingen for the firsttime. he did not know as yet that a woman's coquetry is sometimes more delightful thanthe pleasure of secure possession of her love,

and was possessed with helpless rage. if,at this time, while she denied herself to love, eugene gathered the springtide spoilsof his life, the fruit, somewhat sharp and green, and dearly bought, was no less deliciousto the taste. there were moments when he had not a sou in his pockets, and at such timeshe thought in spite of his conscience of vautrin's offer and the possibility of fortune by amarriage with mlle. taillefer. poverty would clamor so loudly that more than once he wason the point of yielding to the cunning temptations of the terrible sphinx, whose glance had sooften exerted a strange spell over him. poiret and mlle. michonneau went up to theirrooms; 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 woolen cuffs that shewas knitting by the stove, and looked at mlle. taillefer so tenderly that she lowered hereyes. "can you be in trouble, m. eugene?" victorinesaid after a pause. "who has not his troubles?" answered rastignac."if we men were sure of being loved, sure of a devotion which would be our reward forthe sacrifices which we are always ready to make, then perhaps we should have no troubles." for answer mlle. taillefer only gave him aglance but it was impossible to mistake its meaning. "you, for instance, mademoiselle; you feelsure 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 of light from her soul had lighted up her face. eugene was dismayedat the sudden explosion of feeling caused by his words. "ah! but suppose," he said, "that you shouldbe rich and happy to-morrow, suppose that a vast fortune dropped down from the cloudsfor you, would you still love the man whom you loved in your days of poverty?" a charming movement of the head was her onlyanswer. "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 understandeach other." "so there is to be an engagement of marriagebetween m. le chevalier eugene de rastignac and mlle. victorine taillefer, is there?"the words were uttered in vautrin's deep voice, and vautrin appeared at the door as he spoke. "oh! how you startled me!" mme. couture andmme. vauquer exclaimed together. "i might make a worse choice," said rastignac,laughing. vautrin's voice had thrown him into the most painful agitation that he had yetknown.

"no bad jokes, gentlemen!" said mme. couture."my dear, let us go upstairs." mme. vauquer followed the two ladies, meaningto pass the evening in their 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 the coolness that nothing seemed to shake. "but stay a moment!i have as much delicacy as anybody else. don't make up your mind on the spur of the moment;you are a little thrown off your balance just now. you are in debt, and i want you to comeover to my way of thinking after sober reflection, and not in a fit of passion or desperation.perhaps you want a thousand crowns. there, you can have them if you like."

the tempter took out a pocketbook, and drewthence three banknotes, which he fluttered before the student's eyes. eugene was in amost painful dilemma. he had debts, debts of honor. he owed a hundred louis to the marquisd'ajuda and to the count de trailles; he had not the money, and for this reason had notdared to go to mme. de restaud's house, where he was expected that evening. it was one ofthose informal gatherings where tea and little cakes are handed round, but where it is possibleto lose six thousand francs at whist in the course of a night. "you must see," said eugene, struggling tohide a convulsive tremor, "that after what has passed between us, i cannot possibly laymyself under any obligation to you."

"quite right; i should be sorry to hear youspeak otherwise," answered the tempter. "you are a fine young fellow, honorable, braveas 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, and you will see theworld as it is. make a little scene now and then, and act a virtuous part in it, and aman with a head on his shoulders can do exactly as he likes amid deafening applause from thefools in the gallery. 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 your ambitions. youshould no sooner form a wish than it should be realized to the full; you should have allyour desires—honors, wealth, or women. civilization

should flow with milk and honey for you. youshould be our pet and favorite, our benjamin. we would all work ourselves to death for youwith pleasure; every obstacle should be removed from your path. you have a few prejudicesleft; so you think that i am a scoundrel, do you? well, m. de turenne, quite as honorablea man as you take yourself to be, had some little private transactions with bandits,and did not feel that his honor was tarnished. you would rather not lie under any obligationto me, eh? you need not draw back on that account," vautrin went on, and a smile stoleover his lips. "take these bits of paper and write across this," he added, producing apiece of stamped paper, "accepted the sum of three thousand five hundred francs duethis day twelvemonth, and fill in the date.

the rate of interest is stiff enough to silenceany scruples on your part; it gives you the right to call me a jew. you can call quitswith me on the score of gratitude. i am quite willing that you should despise me to-day,because i am sure that you will have a kindlier feeling towards me later on. you will findout fathomless depths in my nature, enormous and concentrated forces that weaklings callvices, but you will never find me base or ungrateful. in short, i am neither a pawnnor a bishop, but a castle, a tower of strength, my boy." "what manner of man are you?" cried eugene."were you created to torment me?" "why no; i am a good-natured fellow, who iswilling to do a dirty piece of work to put

you high and dry above the mire for the restof your days. do you ask the reason of this devotion? all right; i will tell you thatsome of these days. a word or two in your ear will explain it. i have begun by shockingyou, by showing you the way to ring the changes, and giving you a sight of the mechanism ofthe social machine; but your first fright will go off like a conscript's terror on thebattlefield. you will grow used to regarding men as common soldiers who have made up theirminds to lose their lives for some self-constituted king. times have altered strangely. once youcould say to a bravo, 'here are a hundred crowns; go and kill monsieur so-and-so forme,' and you could sup 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 handsome fortune; youhave only to nod your head, it won't compromise you in any way, and you hesitate. 'tis aneffeminate age." eugene accepted the draft, and received thebanknotes in exchange for it. "well, well. come, now, let us talk rationally,"vautrin continued. "i mean to leave this country in a few months' time for america, and setabout planting tobacco. i will send you the cigars of friendship. if i make money at it,i will help you in your career. if i have no children—which will probably be the case,for i have no anxiety to raise slips of myself here—you shall inherit my fortune. thatis what you may call standing by a man; but i myself have a liking for you. i have a mania,too, for devoting myself to some one else.

i have done it before. you see, my boy, ilive 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 look at. what is a man's life to me? not that," he said, andhe snapped his thumb-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 crushhim like a bug, he is flat and he is offensive. but a man is a god when he is like you; heis not a machine covered with a skin, but a theatre in which the greatest sentimentsare displayed—great thoughts and feelings—and for these, and these only, i live. a sentiment—whatis that but the whole world in a thought? look at father goriot. for him, his two girlsare the whole universe; they are the clue

by which he finds his way through creation.well, for my own part, i have fathomed the depths of life, there is only one real sentiment—comradeshipbetween man and man. pierre and jaffier, that is my passion. i knew venice preserved byheart. have you met many men plucky enough when a comrade says, 'let us bury a dead body!'to go and do it without a word or plaguing him by taking a high moral tone? i have doneit myself. i should not talk like this to just everybody, but you are not like an ordinaryman; one can talk to you, you can understand things. you will not dabble about much longeramong the tadpoles in these swamps. well, then, it is all settled. you will marry. bothof us carry our point. mine is made of iron, and will never soften, he! he!"

vautrin went out. he would not wait to hearthe student's repudiation, he wished to put eugene at his ease. he seemed to understandthe secret springs of the faint resistance still made by the younger man; the strugglesin which men seek to preserve their self-respect by justifying their blameworthy actions tothemselves. "he may do as he likes; i shall not marrymlle. taillefer, that is certain," said eugene to himself. he regarded this man with abhorrence, andyet the very cynicism of vautrin's ideas, and the audacious way in which he used othermen for his own ends, raised him in the student's eyes; but the thought of a compact threw eugeneinto a fever of apprehension, and not until

he had recovered somewhat did he dress, callfor a cab, and go to mme. de restaud's. for some days the countess had paid more andmore attention to a young man whose every step seemed a triumphal progress in the greatworld; it seemed to her that he might be a formidable power before long. he paid messieursde trailles and d'ajuda, played at whist for part of the evening, and made good his losses.most men who have their way to make are more or less of fatalists, and eugene was superstitious;he chose to consider that his luck was heaven's reward for his perseverance in the right way.as soon as possible on the following morning he asked vautrin whether the bill he had givenwas still in the other's possession; and on receiving a reply in the affirmative, he repaidthe three thousand francs 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 arestill acting like a child. you are making mountains out of molehills at the outset." two days later, poiret and mlle. michonneauwere sitting together on a bench in the sun. they had chosen a little frequented alleyin the jardin des plantes, and a gentleman was chatting with them, the same person, asa matter of fact, about whom the medical student had, not without good reason, his own suspicions.

"mademoiselle," this m. gondureau was saying,"i do not see any cause for your scruples. his excellency, monseigneur the minister ofpolice——" "yes, his excellency is taking a personalinterest in the matter," said gondureau. who would think it probable that poiret, aretired clerk, doubtless possessed of some notions of civic virtue, though there mightbe nothing else in his head—who would think it likely that such a man would continue tolend an ear to this supposed independent gentleman of the rue de buffon, when the latter droppedthe mask of a decent citizen by that word "police," and gave a glimpse of the featuresof a detective from the rue de jerusalem? and yet nothing was more natural. perhapsthe following remarks from the hitherto unpublished

records made by certain observers will throwa light on the particular species to which poiret belonged in the great family of fools.there is a race of quill-drivers, confined in the columns of the budget between the firstdegree of latitude (a kind of administrative greenland where the salaries begin at twelvehundred francs) to the third degree, a more temperate zone, where incomes grow from threeto six thousand francs, a climate where the bonus flourishes like a half-hardy annualin spite of some difficulties of culture. a characteristic trait that best reveals thefeeble narrow-mindedness of these inhabitants of petty officialdom is a kind of involuntary,mechanical, and instinctive reverence for the grand lama of every ministry, known tothe rank and file only by his signature (an

illegible scrawl) and by his title—"hisexcellency monseigneur le ministre," five words which produce as much effect as theil bondo cani of the calife de bagdad, five words which in the eyes of this low orderof intelligence represent a sacred power from which there is no appeal. the minister isadministratively infallible for the clerks in the employ of the government, as the popeis infallible for good catholics. something of this peculiar radiance invests everythinghe does or says, or that is said or done in his name; the robe of office covers everythingand legalizes everything done by his orders; does not his very title—his excellency—vouchfor the purity of his intentions and the righteousness of his will, and serve as a sort of passportand introduction to ideas that otherwise would

not be entertained for a moment? pronouncethe words "his excellency," and these poor folk will forthwith proceed to do what theywould not do for their own interests. passive obedience is as well known in a governmentdepartment as in the army itself; and the administrative system silences consciences,annihilates the individual, and ends (give it time enough) by fashioning a man into avise or a thumbscrew, and he becomes part of the machinery of government. wherefore,m. gondureau, who seemed to know something of human nature, recognized poiret at onceas one of those dupes of officialdom, and brought out for his benefit, at the propermoment, the deus ex machina, the magical words "his excellency," so as to dazzle poiret justas he himself unmasked his batteries, for

he took poiret and the michonneau for themale and female of the same species. "if his excellency himself, his excellencythe minister... ah! that is quite another thing," said poiret. "you seem to be guided by this gentleman'sopinion, and you hear what he says," 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 convict who escaped from penalservitude at toulon, where he is known by the nickname trompe-la-mort." "trompe-la-mort?" said pioret. "dear me, heis very lucky if he deserves that nickname."

"well, yes," said the detective. "they callhim so because he has been so lucky as not to lose his life in the very risky businessesthat he has carried through. he is a dangerous man, you see! he has qualities that are outof the common; the thing he is wanted for, in fact, was a matter which gained him noend of credit with his own set——" "then is he a man of honor?" asked poiret. "yes, according to his notions. he agreedto take another man's crime upon himself—a forgery committed by a very handsome youngfellow that he had taken a great fancy to, a young italian, a bit of a gambler, who hassince gone into the army, where his conduct has been unexceptionable."

"but if his excellency the minister of policeis certain that m. vautrin is this trompe-la-mort, why should he want me?" asked mlle. michonneau. "oh yes," said poiret, "if the minister, asyou have been so obliging as to tell us, really knows for a certainty——" "certainty is not the word; he only suspects.you will soon understand how things are. jacques collin, nicknamed trompe-la-mort, is in theconfidence of every convict in the three prisons; he is their man of business and their banker.he makes a very good thing out of managing their affairs, which want a man of mark tosee about them." "ha! ha! do you see the pun, mademoiselle?"asked poiret. "this gentleman calls himself

a man of mark because he is a marked man—branded,you know." "this so-called vautrin," said the detective,"receives the money belonging to my lords the convicts, invests it for them, and holdsit at the disposal of those who escape, or hands it over to their families if they leavea will, or to their mistresses when they draw upon him for their benefit." "their mistresses! you mean their wives,"remarked poiret. "no, sir. a convict's wife is usually an illegitimateconnection. we call them concubines." "then they all live in a state of concubinage?" "naturally."

"why, these are abominations that his excellencyought not to allow. since you have the honor of seeing his excellency, you, who seem tohave philanthropic ideas, ought really to enlighten him as to their immoral conduct—theyare setting a shocking example to the rest of society." "but the government does not hold them upas models of all the virtues, my dear sir——" "of course not, sir; but still——" "just let the gentleman say what he has tosay, dearie," said mlle. michonneau. "you see how it is, mademoiselle," gondureaucontinued. "the government may have the strongest reasons for getting this illicit hoard intoits hands; it mounts up to something considerable,

by all that we can make out. trompe-la-mortnot only holds large sums for his friends the convicts, but he has other amounts whichare paid over to him by the society of the ten thousand——" "ten thousand thieves!" cried pioret in alarm. "no. the society of the ten thousand is notan association of petty offenders, but of people who set about their work on a largescale—they won't touch a matter unless there are ten thousand francs in it. it is composedof the most distinguished of the men who are sent straight to the assize courts when theycome up for trial. they know the code too well to risk their necks when they are nabbed.collin is their confidential agent and legal

adviser. by means of the large sums of moneyat his disposal he has established a sort of detective system of his own; it is widespreadand mysterious in its workings. we have had spies all about him for a twelvemonth, andyet we could not manage to fathom his games. his capital and his cleverness are at theservice of vice and crime; this money furnishes the necessary funds for a regular army ofblackguards 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 jobis a kind of government affair—a state secret—and likely to redound to the honor of those whobring the thing to a successful conclusion. you, sir, for instance, might very well betaken into a government department again;

they might make you secretary to a commissaryof police; you could accept that post without prejudice to your retiring pension." mlle. michonneau interposed at this pointwith, "what is there to hinder trompe-la-mort from making off with the money?" "oh!" said the detective, "a man is told offto follow him everywhere he goes, with orders to kill him if he were to rob the convicts.then it is not quite as easy to make off with a lot of money as it is to run away with ayoung lady of family. besides, collin is not the sort of fellow to play such a trick; hewould be disgraced, according to his notions." "you are quite right, sir," said poiret, "utterlydisgraced he would be."

"but none of all this explains why you donot come and take him without more 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 oldboy ought to pay people handsomely for listening to him.—trompe-la-mort, when he came backhere," he went on aloud "slipped into the skin of an honest man; he turned up disguisedas a decent parisian citizen, and took 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 of consequence,who transacts a good deal of business." "naturally," said poiret to himself.

"and suppose that the minister were to makea mistake and get hold of the real vautrin, he would put every one's back up among thebusiness men in paris, and public opinion would be against him. m. le prefet de policeis on slippery ground; he has enemies. they would take advantage of any mistake. therewould be a fine outcry and fuss made by the opposition, and he would be sent packing.we must set about this just as we did about the coignard affair, the sham comte de sainte-helene;if he had been the real comte de sainte-helene, we should have been in the wrong box. we wantto be quite sure what we are about." "yes, but what you want is a pretty woman,"said mlle. michonneau briskly. "trompe-la-mort would not let a woman comenear him," said the detective. "i will tell

you a secret—he does not like them." "still, i do not see what i can do, supposingthat i did agree to identify him for two thousand francs." "nothing simpler," said the stranger. "i willsend you a little bottle containing a dose that will send a rush of blood to the head;it will do him no harm whatever, but he will fall down as if he were in a fit. the drugcan be put into wine or coffee; either will do equally well. you carry your man to bedat once, and undress him to see that he is not dying. as soon as you are alone, you givehim 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, addressingthe old maid. "but, my dear sir, suppose there are no lettersat all," said mlle. michonneau; "am i to have the two thousand francs all the same?" "what will you give me then?" "five hundred francs." "it is such a thing to do for so little! itlies on your conscience just the same, and i must quiet my conscience, sir." "i assure you," said poiret, "that mademoisellehas a great deal of conscience, and not only

so, she is a very amiable person, and veryintelligent." "well, now," mlle. michonneau went on, "makeit three thousand francs if he is trompe-la-mort, and nothing at all if he is an ordinary man." "done!" said gondureau, "but on the conditionthat the thing is settled to-morrow." "not quite so soon, my dear sir; i must consultmy confessor first." "you are a sly one," said the detective ashe rose to his feet. "good-bye till to-morrow, then. and if you should want to see me ina hurry, go to the petite rue saint-anne at the bottom of the cour de la sainte-chapelle.there is one door under the archway. ask there for m. gondureau."

bianchon, on his way back from cuvier's lecture,overheard the sufficiently striking nickname of trompe-la-mort, and caught the celebratedchief detective's "done!" "why didn't you close with him? it would bethree hundred francs a year," said poiret to mlle. michonneau. "why didn't i?" she asked. "why, it wantsthinking over. suppose that m. vautrin is this trompe-la-mort, perhaps we might do betterfor ourselves with him. still, on the other hand, if you ask him for money, it would puthim on his guard, and he is just the man to clear out without paying, and that would bean abominable sell." "and suppose you did warn him," poiret wenton, "didn't that gentleman say that he was

closely watched? you would spoil everything." "anyhow," thought mlle. michonneau, "i can'tabide him. he says nothing but disagreeable things to me." "but you can do better than that," poiretresumed. "as that gentleman said (and he seemed to me to be a very good sort of man, besidesbeing very well got up), it is an act of obedience to the laws to rid society of a criminal,however virtuous he may be. once a thief, always a thief. suppose he were to take itinto his head to murder us all? the deuce! we should be guilty of manslaughter, and bethe first to fall victims into the bargain!" mlle. michonneau's musings did not permither to listen very closely to the remarks

that fell one by one from poiret's lips likewater dripping from a leaky tap. when once this elderly babbler began to talk, he wouldgo on like clockwork unless mlle. michonneau stopped him. he started on some subject orother, and wandered on through parenthesis after parenthesis, till he came to regionsas remote as possible from his premises without coming to any conclusions by the way. by the time they reached the maison vauquerhe had tacked together a whole string of examples and quotations more or less irrelevant tothe subject in hand, which led him to give a full account of his own deposition in thecase of the sieur ragoulleau versus dame morin, when he had been summoned as a witness forthe defence.

as they entered the dining-room, eugene derastignac was talking apart with mlle. taillefer; the conversation appeared to be of such thrillinginterest that the pair never noticed the two older lodgers as they passed through the room.none of this was thrown away on mlle. michonneau. "i knew how it would end," remarked that lady,addressing poiret. "they have been making eyes at each other in a heartrending way fora week past." "yes," he answered. "so she was found guilty." "mme. morin." "i am talking about mlle. victorine," saidmlle, michonneau, as she entered poiret's room with an absent air, "and you answer,'mme. morin.' who may mme. morin be?"

"what can mlle. victorine be guilty of?" demandedpoiret. "guilty of falling in love with m. eugenede rastignac and going further and further without knowing exactly where she is going,poor innocent!" chapter 13 that morning mme. de nucingen had driven eugeneto despair. in his own mind he had completely surrendered himself to vautrin, and deliberatelyshut his eyes to the motive for the friendship which that extraordinary man professed forhim, nor would he look to the consequences of such an alliance. nothing short of a miraclecould extricate him now out of the gulf into which he had walked an hour ago, when he exchangedvows in the softest whispers with mlle. taillefer.

to victorine it seemed as if she heard anangel's voice, that heaven was opening above her; the maison vauquer took strange and wonderfulhues, like a stage fairy-palace. she loved and she was loved; at any rate, she believedthat 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 snatched under the arguseyes of the maison vauquer? he had trampled on his conscience; he knew that he was doingwrong, and did it deliberately; he had said to himself that a woman's happiness shouldatone for this venial sin. the energy of desperation had lent new beauty to his face; the luridfire that burned in his heart shone from his eyes. luckily for him, the miracle took place.vautrin came in in high spirits, and at once

read the hearts of these two young creatureswhom he had brought together 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 thanit had ever been, but it was full of joy, and not of sorrow. poor child! a pressureof the hand, the light touch of rastignac's hair against her cheek, a word whispered inher ear so closely that she felt the student's warm breath on her, the pressure of a tremblingarm about her waist, a kiss upon her throat—such had been her betrothal. the near neighborhoodof the stout sylvie, who might invade that

glorified room at any moment, only made thesefirst tokens of love more ardent, more eloquent, more entrancing than the noblest deeds donefor love's sake in the most famous romances. this plain-song of love, to use the prettyexpression of our forefathers, seemed almost criminal to the devout young girl who wentto confession every fortnight. in that one hour she had poured out more of the treasuresof her soul than she could give in later days of wealth and happiness, when her whole selffollowed the gift. "the thing is arranged," vautrin said to eugene,who remained. "our two dandies have fallen out. everything was done in proper form. itis a matter of opinion. our pigeon has insulted my hawk. they will meet to-morrow in the redoubtat clignancourt. by half-past eight in the

morning mlle. taillefer, calmly dipping herbread and butter in her coffee 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 expert swordsman, and quitecocksure about it, but he will be bled; i have just invented a thrust for his benefit,a way of raising your sword point and driving it at the forehead. i must show you that thrust;it is an uncommonly handy thing to know." rastignac heard him in dazed bewilderment;he could not find a word in reply. just then goriot came in, and bianchon and a few ofthe boarders likewise appeared. "that is just as i intended." vautrin said."you know quite well what you are about. good, my little eaglet! you are born to command,you are strong, you stand firm on your feet,

you are game! i respect you." he made as though he would take eugene's hand,but rastignac hastily withdrew it, sank into a chair, and turned ghastly pale; it seemedto him that there was a sea of blood before his eyes. "oh! so we still have a few dubious tattersof the swaddling clothes of virtue about us!" murmured vautrin. "but papa doliban has threemillions; i know the amount of his fortune. once have her dowry in your hands, and yourcharacter will be as white as the bride's white dress, even in your own eyes." rastignac hesitated no longer. he made uphis mind that he would go that evening to

warn the taillefers, father and son. but justas vautrin left him, father goriot came up and said in his ear, "you look melancholy,my boy; i will cheer you up. come with me." the old vermicelli dealer lighted his dipat one of the lamps as he spoke. eugene went with him, his curiosity had been aroused. "let us go up to your room," the worthy soulremarked, when he had asked sylvie for the law student's key. "this morning," he resumed,"you thought that she did not care about you, did you not? eh? she would have nothing tosay to you, and you went away out of humor and out of heart. stuff and rubbish! she wantedyou to go because she was expecting me! now do you understand? we were to complete thearrangements for taking some chambers for

you, a jewel of a place, you are to move intoit in three days' time. don't split upon me. she wants it to be a surprise; but i couldn'tbear to keep the secret from you. you will be in the rue d'artois, only a step or twofrom the rue saint-lazare, and you are to be housed like a prince! any one might havethought we were furnishing 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 appeared on the scene,and my daughter is to have thirty-six thousand francs a year, the interest on her money,and i shall insist on having her eight hundred thousand invested in sound securities, landedproperty that won't run away." eugene was dumb. he folded his arms and pacedup and down in his cheerless, untidy room.

father goriot waited till the student's backwas turned, and seized the opportunity to go to the chimney-piece and set upon it alittle red morocco case with rastignac's arms stamped in gold on the leather. "my dear boy," said the kind soul, "i havebeen up to the eyes in this business. you see, there was plenty of selfishness on mypart; i have an interested 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 aboveyour rooms, that is to let along with them; that is where i am going to live, isn't thatso? i am getting old: i am too far from my

girls. i shall not be in the way, but i shallbe there, that is all. you will come and talk to me about her every evening. it will notput you about, will it? i shall have gone to bed before you come in, but i shall hearyou come up, and i shall say to myself, 'he has just seen my little delphine. he has beento a dance with her, and she is happy, thanks to him.' if i were ill, it would do my heartgood to hear you moving about below, to know when you leave the house and when you comein. it is only a step to the champs-elysees, where they go every day, so i shall be sureof seeing them, whereas now i am sometimes too late. and then—perhaps she may cometo see you! i shall hear her, i shall see her in her soft quilted pelisse tripping aboutas daintily as a kitten. in this one month

she has become my little girl again, so light-heartedand gay. her soul is recovering, and her happiness is owing to you! oh! i would do impossibilitiesfor 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 theold memories back. i feel most their father then; 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 themtalk like that, a long, long time since she took my arm as she did to-day. yes, indeed,it must be quite ten years since i walked side by side with one of my girls. how pleasantit 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; i went shopping with her, and i brought herhome again. oh! you must let me live near you. you may want some one to do you a servicesome of these days, and i shall be on the spot to do it. oh! if only that great doltof an alsatian would die, if his gout would have the sense to attack his stomach, howhappy my poor child would be! you would be my son-in-law; you would be her husband inthe eyes of the world. bah! she has known no happiness, that excuses everything. ourfather in heaven is surely on the side of fathers on earth who love their children.how fond of you she is!" he said, raising his head after a pause. "all the time we weregoing about together she chatted away about

you. 'he is so nice-looking, papa; isn't he?he is kind-hearted! does he talk to you about me?' pshaw! she said enough about you to fillwhole volumes; between the rue d'artois and the passage des panoramas she poured her heartout into mine. i did not feel old once during that delightful morning; i felt as light asa feather. i told her how you had given the banknote to me; it moved my darling to tears.but what can this be on your chimney-piece?" said father goriot at last. rastignac hadshowed no sign, and he was dying of impatience. eugene stared at his neighbor in dumb anddazed bewilderment. he thought of vautrin, of that duel to be fought to-morrow morning,and of this realization of his dearest hopes, and the violent contrast between the two setsof ideas gave him all the sensations of nightmare.

he went to the chimney-piece, saw the littlesquare case, opened it, and found a watch of breguet's make wrapped in paper, on whichthese words were written: "i want you to think of me every hour, because... "delphine." that last word doubtless contained an allusionto some scene that had taken place between them. eugene felt touched. inside the goldwatch-case his arms had been wrought in enamel. the chain, the key, the workmanship and designof the trinket were all such as he had imagined, for he had long coveted such a possession.father goriot was radiant. of course he had promised to tell his daughter every littledetail of the scene and of the effect produced

upon eugene by her present; he shared in thepleasure and excitement of the young people, and seemed to be not the least happy of thethree. he loved rastignac already for his own as well as for his daughter's sake. "you must go and see her; she is expectingyou this evening. that great lout 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. he says he idolizesmy daughter, does he? he had better let her alone, or i will kill him. to think that mydelphine is his"—he heaved a sigh—"it is enough to make me murder him, but it wouldnot be manslaughter to kill that animal; he is a pig with a calf's brains.—you willtake me with you, will you not?"

"yes, dear father goriot; you know very wellhow fond i am of you——" "yes, i do know very well. you are not ashamedof me, are you? not you! let me embrace you," and he flung his arms around the student'sneck. "you will make her very happy; promise methat you will! you will go to her this evening, will you not?" "oh! yes. i must go out; i have some urgentbusiness on hand." "can i be of any use?" "my word, yes! will you go to old taillefer'swhile i go to mme. de nucingen? ask him to make an appointment with me some time thisevening; 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 simpletonswere saying down below?... tonnerre de dieu! you have no notion what a tap a la goriotis like, and if you are playing a double game, i shall put a stop to it by one blow of thefist... oh! the thing is impossible!" "i swear to you that i love but one womanin the world," said the student. "i only knew it a moment ago." "oh! what happiness!" cried goriot. "but young taillefer has been called out;the duel comes off to-morrow morning, and i have heard it said that he may lose hislife in it."

"but what business is it of yours?" said goriot. "why, i ought to tell him so, that he mayprevent his son from putting in an appearance——" just at that moment vautrin's voice brokein upon them; he was standing at 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 soupis ready, and every one is waiting for you." "here," vautrin called down to him, "comeand take a bottle of my bordeaux."

"do you think your watch is pretty?" askedgoriot. "she has good taste, hasn't she? eh?" vautrin, father goriot, and rastignac camedownstairs in company, and, all three of them being late, were obliged to sit together. eugene was as distant as possible in his mannerto vautrin during dinner; but the other, so charming in mme. vauquer's opinion, had neverbeen so witty. his lively sallies and sparkling talk put the whole table in good humor. hisassurance and coolness filled eugene with consternation. "why, what has come to you to-day?" inquiredmme. vauquer. "you are as merry as a skylark." "i am always in spirits after i have madea good bargain."

"bargain?" said eugene. "well, yes, bargain. i have just delivereda lot of goods, and i shall be paid a handsome commission on them—mlle. michonneau," hewent on, seeing that the elderly spinster was scrutinizing him intently, "have you anyobjection to some feature in my face, that you are making those lynx eyes at me? justlet me know, and i will have it changed to oblige you... we shall not fall out aboutit, poiret, i dare say?" he added, winking at the superannuated clerk. "bless my soul, you ought to stand as modelfor a burlesque hercules," said the young painter.

"i will, upon my word! if mlle. michonneauwill consent to sit as the venus of pere-lachaise," replied vautrin. "there's poiret," suggested bianchon. "oh! poiret shall pose as poiret. he can bea garden god!" cried vautrin; "his name means a pear——" "a sleepy pear!" bianchon put in. "you willcome in between the pear and the cheese." "what stuff are you all talking!" said mme.vauquer; "you would do better to treat us to your bordeaux; i see a glimpse of a bottlethere. it would keep us all in a good humor, and it is good for the stomach besides."

"gentlemen," said vautrin, "the lady presidentcalls us to order. mme. couture and mlle. victorine will take your jokes in good part,but respect the innocence of the aged goriot. i propose a glass or two of bordeauxrama,rendered twice illustrious by the name of laffite, no political allusions intended.—come,you turk!" he added, looking at christophe, who did not offer to stir. "christophe! here!what, you don't answer to your own name? bring us some liquor, turk!" "here it is, sir," said christophe, holdingout the bottle. vautrin filled eugene's glass and goriot'slikewise, then he deliberately poured out a few drops into his own glass, and sippedit while his two neighbors drank their wine.

all at once he made a grimace. "corked!" he cried. "the devil! you can drinkthe rest of this, christophe, and go and find another bottle; take from the right-hand side,you know. there are sixteen of us; take down eight bottles." "if you are going to stand treat," said thepainter, "i will pay for a hundred chestnuts." "oh! oh!" "booououh!" "prrr!" these exclamations came from all parts ofthe table like squibs from a set firework.

"come, now, mama vauquer, a couple of bottlesof champagne," called vautrin. "quien! just like you! why not ask for thewhole house at once. a couple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! i shallnever see the money back again, i know! but if m. eugene has a mind to pay for it, i havesome currant cordial." "that currant cordial of hers is as bad asa black draught," muttered the medical student. "shut up, bianchon," exclaimed rastignac;"the very mention of black draught makes me feel——. yes, champagne, by all means;i will pay for it," he added. "sylvie," called mme. vauquer, "bring in somebiscuits, and the little cakes." "those little cakes are mouldy graybeards,"said vautrin. "but trot out the biscuits."

the bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner tablebecame a livelier scene than ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. imitations of thecries of various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the museum official havingtaken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like the caterwauling of the animalin question, eight voices simultaneously struck 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 thenasal accent with which he rendered the cry of "umbrellas to me-end!" a few seconds later, and there was a head-splittingracket in the room, a storm of tomfoolery, a sort of cats' concert, with vautrin as conductorof the orchestra, the latter keeping an eye the while on eugene and father goriot. thewine seemed to have gone to their heads already.

they leaned back in their chairs, lookingat the general confusion with an air of gravity, and drank but little; both of them were absorbedin the thought of what lay before them to do that evening, and yet neither of them feltable to rise and go. vautrin gave a side glance at them from time to time, and watched thechange that came over their 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 enoughto outwit papa vautrin yet, and he is too fond of you to let you make a mess of youraffairs. when i have made up my mind to do a thing, no one short of providence can putme off. aha! we were for going round to warn

old taillefer, telling tales out of school!the oven is hot, the dough is kneaded, the bread is ready for the oven; to-morrow wewill eat it up and whisk away the crumbs; and we are not going to spoil the baking?... no, no, it is all 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 our forty winks, colonelcount franchessini will clear the way to michel taillefer's inheritance with the point ofhis sword. victorine will come in for her brother's money, a snug fifteen thousand francsa year. i have made inquiries already, and i know that her late mother's property amountsto more than three hundred thousand——" eugene heard all this, and could not answera word; his tongue seemed to be glued to the

roof of his mouth, an irresistible drowsinesswas creeping over him. he still saw the table and the faces round it, but it was througha bright mist. soon the noise began to subside, one by one the boarders went. at last, whentheir numbers had so dwindled that the party consisted of mme. vauquer, mme. couture, mlle.victorine, vautrin, and father goriot, rastignac watched as though in a dream how mme. vauquerbusied herself by collecting the bottles, and drained the remainder of the wine outof each to fill others. "oh! how uproarious they are! what a thingit is to be young!" said the widow. these were the last words that eugene heardand understood. "there is no one like m. vautrin for a bitof fun like this," said sylvie. "there, just

hark at christophe, he is snoring like a top." "good-bye, mamma," said vautrin; "i am goingto a theatre on the boulevard to see m. marty in le mont sauvage, a fine play taken fromle solitaire.... if you like, i will take you and these two ladies——" "thank you; i must decline," said mme. couture. "what! my good lady!" cried mme. vauquer,"decline to see a play founded on the le solitaire, a work by atala de chateaubriand? we wereso fond of that book that we cried over it like magdalens under the line-trees last summer,and then it is an improving work that might edify your young lady."

"we are forbidden to go to the play," answeredvictorine. "just look, those two yonder have droppedoff where they sit," said vautrin, shaking the heads of the two sleepers in a comicalway. he altered the sleeping student's position,settled his head more comfortably 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," returnedvautrin. "'tis your duty as a meek and obedient wife," he whispered in her ear. "the youngfellow worships you, and you will be his little

wife—there's your fortune for you. in short,"he added aloud, "they lived happily ever afterwards, were much looked up to in all the countryside,and had a numerous family. that is how all the romances end.—now, mamma," he went on,as he turned to madame vauquer and put his arm round her waist, "put on your bonnet,your best flowered silk, and the countess' scarf, while i go out and call a cab—allmy 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 a garret with a man like that.—there, now!" she added, lookinground for the old vermicelli maker, "there

is that father goriot half seas over. he neverthought of taking me anywhere, the old skinflint. but he will measure his length somewhere.my word! it is disgraceful to lose his senses like that, at his age! you will be tellingme that he couldn't lose what he hadn't got—sylvie, just take him up to his room!" sylvie took him by the arm, supported himupstairs, and flung him just as he was, like a package, across the bed. "poor young fellow!" said mme. couture, puttingback eugene's hair that had fallen over his eyes; "he is like a young girl, he does notknow what dissipation is." "well, i can tell you this, i know," saidmme. vauquer, "i have taken lodgers these

thirty years, and a good many have passedthrough my hands, as the saying is, but i have never seen a nicer nor a more aristocraticlooking young man than m. eugene. how handsome he looks sleeping! just let his head reston your shoulder, mme. couture. pshaw! he falls over towards mlle. victorine. there'sa special providence for young 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 such things——" "pooh!" put in mme. vauquer, "he does nothear.—here, sylvie! come and help me to dress. i shall put on my best stays."

"what! your best stays just after dinner,madame?" said sylvie. "no, you can get some one else to lace you. i am not going to beyour 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 mistress as she spoke. mme. couture and her ward were left in thedining-room, and eugene slept on victorine's shoulder. the sound of christophe's snoringechoed through the silent house; eugene's

quiet breathing seemed all the quieter byforce of contrast, he was sleeping as peacefully as a child. victorine was very happy; shewas free to perform one of those acts of charity which form an innocent outlet for all theoverflowing sentiments of a woman's nature; he was so close to her that she could feelthe throbbing of his heart; there was a look of almost maternal protection and consciouspride in victorine's face. among the countless thoughts that crowded up in her young innocentheart, there was a wild flutter of joy at this close contact. "poor, dear child!" said mme. couture, squeezingher hand. the old lady looked at the girl. victorine'sinnocent, pathetic face, so radiant with the

new happiness that had befallen her, calledto mind some naive work of mediaeval art, when the painter neglected the accessories,reserving all the magic of his brush for the quiet, austere outlines and ivory tints ofthe face, which seems to have caught something of the golden glory of heaven. "after all, he only took two glasses, mamma,"said victorine, passing her fingers through eugene's hair. "indeed, if he had been a dissipated youngman, child, he would have carried his wine like the rest of them. his drowsiness doeshim credit." there was a sound of wheels outside in thestreet.

"there is m. vautrin, mamma," said the girl."just take m. eugene. i would rather not have that man see me like this; there are someways of looking at you that seem to sully your soul and make you feel as though youhad 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, rough but kind-hearted; his bark is worse than his bite." vautrin came in while she was speaking; hedid not make a sound, but looked for a while at the picture of the two young faces—thelamplight falling full upon them seemed to caress them.

"well," he remarked, folding his arms, "hereis a picture! it would have suggested some pleasing pages to bernardin de saint-pierre(good soul), who wrote paul et virginie. youth is very charming, mme. couture!—sleep on,poor boy," he added, looking at eugene, "luck sometimes comes while you are sleeping.—thereis something touching and attractive to me about this young man, madame," he continued;"i know that his nature is in harmony with his face. just look, the head of a cherubon an angel's shoulder! he deserves to be loved. if i were a woman, i would die (no—notsuch a fool), i would live for him." he bent lower and spoke in the widow's ear. "wheni see those two together, madame, i cannot help thinking that providence meant them foreach other; he works by secret ways, and tries

the reins and the heart," he said in a loudvoice. "and when i see you, my children, thus united by a like purity and by all human affections,i say to myself that it is quite impossible that the future should separate you. god isjust."—he turned to victorine. "it seems to me," he said, "that i have seen the lineof success in your hand. let me look at it, mlle. victorine; i am well 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 of the richest heiresses in paris before very long. you willheap riches on the man who loves you. your father will want you to go and live with him.you will marry a young and handsome man with a title, and he will idolize you."

the heavy footsteps of the coquettish widow,who was coming down the stairs, interrupted vautrin's fortune-telling. "here is mammavauquerre, fair as a starr-r-r, dressed within an inch of her life.—aren't we a triflepinched for room?" he inquired, with his arm round the lady; "we are screwed up very tightlyabout the bust, mamma! if we are much agitated, there may be an explosion; but i will pickup the fragments with all the care of an antiquary." "there is a man who can talk the languageof french gallantry!" said the widow, bending to speak in mme. couture's ear. "good-bye, little ones!" said vautrin, turningto eugene and victorine. "bless you both!" and he laid a hand on either head. "take myword for it, young lady, an honest man's prayers

are worth something; they should bring youhappiness, for god hears them." "good-bye, dear," said mme. vauquer to herlodger. "do you think that m. vautrin means to run away with me?" she added, loweringher voice. "lack-a-day!" said the widow. "oh! mamma dear, suppose it should reallyhappen as that kind m. vautrin said!" said victorine with a sigh as she looked at herhands. the two women were alone together. "why, it wouldn't take much to bring it topass," 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 wishbad luck to an enemy," the widow remarked. "i will do penance for it. still, i wouldstrew flowers 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 own mother, and cheats you out of yourshare by deceit and trickery. my cousin had a pretty fortune of her own, but unluckilyfor you, nothing was said in the marriage-contract about anything that she might come in for." "it would be very hard if my fortune is tocost some one else his life," said victorine. "if i cannot be happy unless my brother isto be taken out of the world, i would rather stay here all my life."

"mon dieu! it is just as that good m. vautrinsays, and he is full of piety, you see," mme. couture remarked. "i am very glad to findthat he is not an unbeliever like the rest of them that talk of the almighty with lessrespect than they do of the devil. well, as he was saying, who can know the ways by whichit may please providence to lead us?" with sylvie's help the two women at last succeededin getting eugene up to his room; they laid him on the bed, and the cook unfastened hisclothes to make him more comfortable. before they left the room, victorine snatched anopportunity when her guardian's back was turned, and pressed a kiss on eugene's forehead, feelingall the joy that this stolen pleasure could give her. then she looked round the room,and gathering up, as it were, into one single

thought all the untold bliss of that day,she made a picture of her memories, and dwelt upon it until she slept, the happiest creaturein paris. that evening's merry-making, in the courseof which vautrin had given the drugged wine to eugene and father goriot, was his own ruin.bianchon, flustered with wine, forgot to open the subject of trompe-la-mort with mlle. michonneau.the mere mention of the name would have set vautrin on his guard; for vautrin, or, togive him his real name, jacques collin, was in fact the notorious escaped convict. but it was the joke about the venus of pere-lachaisethat finally decided his fate. mlle. michonneau had very nearly made up her mind to warn theconvict and to throw herself on his generosity,

with the idea of making a better bargain forherself by helping him to escape that night; but as it was, she went out escorted by poiretin search of the famous chief of detectives in the petite rue saint-anne, still thinkingthat it was the district superintendent—one gondureau—with whom she had to do. the headof the department received his visitors courteously. there was a little talk, and the details weredefinitely arranged. mlle. michonneau asked for the draught that she was to administerin order to set about her investigation. but the great man's evident satisfaction set mlle.michonneau thinking; and she began to see that this business involved something morethan the mere capture of a runaway convict. she racked her brains while he looked in adrawer in his desk for the little phial, and

it dawned upon her that in consequence oftreacherous revelations made by the prisoners the police were hoping to lay their handson a considerable sum of money. but on hinting her suspicions to the old fox of the petiterue saint-anne, that officer began to smile, and tried to put her off the scent. "a delusion," he said. "collin's sorbonneis the most dangerous that has yet been found among the dangerous classes. that is all,and the rascals are quite aware of it. they rally round him; he is the backbone of thefederation, its bonaparte, in short; he is very popular with them all. the rogue willnever leave his chump in the place de greve." as mlle. michonneau seemed mystified, gondureauexplained the two slang words for her benefit.

sorbonne and chump are two forcible expressionsborrowed from thieves' latin, thieves, of all people, being compelled to consider thehuman head in its two aspects. a sorbonne is the head of a living man, his faculty ofthinking—his council; a chump is a contemptuous epithet that implies how little a human headis worth after the axe has done its work. "collin is playing us off," he continued."when we come across a man like a bar of steel tempered in the english fashion, there isalways one resource left—we can kill him if he takes it into his head to make the leastresistance. we are reckoning on several methods of killing collin to-morrow morning. it savesa trial, and society is rid of him without all the expense of guarding and feeding him.what with getting up the case, summoning witnesses,

paying their expenses, and carrying out thesentence, it costs a lot to go through all the proper formalities before you can getquit of one of these good-for-nothings, over and above the three thousand francs that youare going to have. there is a saving in time as well. one good thrust of the bayonet intotrompe-la-mort's paunch will prevent scores of crimes, and save fifty scoundrels fromfollowing his example; they will be very careful to keep themselves out of the police courts.that is doing the work of the police thoroughly, and true philanthropists will tell you thatit is better to prevent crime than to punish it." "and you do a service to our country," saidpoiret.

"really, you are talking in a very sensiblemanner tonight, that you are," said the head of the department. "yes, of course, we areserving our country, and we are very hardly used too. we do society very great servicesthat are not recognized. in fact, a superior man must rise above vulgar prejudices, anda christian must resign himself to the mishaps that doing right entails, when right is donein an out-of-the-way style. paris is paris, you see! that is the explanation of my life.—ihave the honor to wish you a good-evening, mademoiselle. i shall bring my men to thejardin du roi in the morning. send christophe to the rue du buffon, tell him to ask form. gondureau in the house where you saw me before.—your servant, sir. if you shouldever have anything stolen from you, come to

me, and i will do my best to get it back foryou." "well, now," poiret remarked to mlle. michonneau,"there are idiots who are scared out of their wits by the word police. that was a very pleasant-spokengentleman, and what he wants you to do is as easy as saying 'good-day.'" chapter 14 the next day was destined to be one of themost extraordinary in the annals of the maison vauquer. hitherto the most startling occurrencein its tranquil existence had been the portentous, meteor-like apparition of the sham comtessede l'ambermesnil. but the catastrophes of this great day were to cast all previous eventsinto the shade, and supply an inexhaustible

topic of conversation for mme. vauquer andher boarders so long as she lived. in the first place, goriot and eugene de rastignacboth slept till close upon eleven o'clock. mme. vauquer, who came home about midnightfrom the gaite, lay a-bed till half-past ten. christophe, after a prolonged slumber (hehad finished vautrin's first bottle of wine), was behindhand with his work, but poiret andmlle. michonneau uttered no complaint, though breakfast was delayed. as for victorine andmme. couture, they also lay late. vautrin went out before eight o'clock, and only cameback just as breakfast was ready. nobody protested, therefore, when sylvie and christophe wentup at a quarter past eleven, knocked at all the doors, and announced that breakfast waswaiting. while sylvie and the man were upstairs,

mlle. michonneau, who came down first, pouredthe contents of the phial into the silver cup belonging to vautrin—it was standingwith the others in the bain-marie that kept the cream hot for the morning coffee. thespinster had reckoned on this custom of the house to do her stroke of business. the sevenlodgers were at last collected together, not without some difficulty. just as eugene camedownstairs, stretching himself and yawning, a commissionaire handed him a letter frommme. de nucingen. it ran thus:— "i feel neither false vanity nor anger whereyou are concerned, my friend. 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 could inflict it on another.i know now that you have never loved before.

what can have happened? anxiety has takenhold of me. i would have come myself to find out what had happened, if i had not fearedto betray the secrets of my heart. how can i walk out or drive out at this time of day?would it not be ruin? i have felt to the full how wretched it is to be a woman. send a wordto reassure me, and explain how it is that you have not come after what my father toldyou. i shall be angry, but i will forgive you. one word, for pity's sake. you will cometo me soon, will you not? if you are busy, a line will be enough. say, 'i will hastento you,' or else, 'i am ill.' but if you were ill my father would have come to tell me so.what can have happened?..." "yes, indeed, what has happened?" exclaimedeugene, and, hurrying down to the dining-room,

he crumpled up the letter without readingany more. "what time is it?" "half-past eleven," said vautrin, droppinga lump of sugar into his coffee. the escaped convict cast a glance at eugene,a cold and fascinating glance; men gifted with this magnetic power can quell furiouslunatics in a madhouse by such a glance, it is said. eugene shook in every limb. therewas the sound of wheels in the street, and in another moment a man with a scared facerushed into the room. it was one of m. taillefer's servants; mme. couture recognized the liveryat once. "mademoiselle," he cried, "your father isasking for you—something terrible has happened! m. frederic has had a sword thrust in theforehead in a duel, and the doctors have given

him up. you will scarcely be in time to saygood-bye to him! he is unconscious." "poor young fellow!" exclaimed vautrin. "howcan people brawl when they have a certain income of thirty thousand livres? young peoplehave bad manners, and that is a fact." "sir!" cried eugene. "well, what then, you big baby!" said vautrin,swallowing down his coffee imperturbably, an operation which mlle. michonneau watchedwith such close attention that she had no emotion to spare for the amazing news thathad struck the others dumb with amazement. "are there not duels every morning in paris?"added vautrin. "i will go with you, victorine," said mme.couture, and the two women hurried away at

once without either hats or shawls. but beforeshe went, victorine, with her eyes full of tears, gave eugene a glance that said—"howlittle 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, stringingtogether a succession of commonplaces suited to the occasion. "death takes us off withoutasking us about it. the young often go before the old. it is a lucky thing for us womenthat we are not liable to fight duels, but we have other complaints that men don't sufferfrom. we bear children, and it takes a long

time to get over it. what a windfall for victorine!her father will have to acknowledge her now!" "there!" said vautrin, looking at eugene,"yesterday she had not a penny; this morning she has several millions to her fortune." "i say, m. eugene!" cried mme. vauquer, "youhave landed on your feet!" at this exclamation, father goriot lookedat the student, and saw the crumpled letter still in his hand. "you have not read it through! what does thismean? are you going to be like the rest of them?" he asked. "madame, i shall never marry mlle. victorine,"said eugene, turning to mme. vauquer with

an expression of terror and loathing thatsurprised the onlookers at this scene. father goriot caught the student's hand andgrasped it warmly. he could have kissed it. "oh, ho!" said vautrin, "the italians havea good proverb—col tempo." "is there any answer?" said mme. de nucingen'smessenger, addressing eugene. "say that i will come directly." the man went. eugene was in a state of suchviolent excitement that he could not be prudent. "what is to be done?" he exclaimed aloud."there are no proofs!" vautrin began to smile. though the drug hehad taken was doing its work, the convict was so vigorous that he rose to his feet,gave rastignac a look, 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 poordear 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 youcan; sylvie might not be in time to catch our doctor, m. grimprel." rastignac was glad of an excuse to leave thatden of horrors, his hurry for the doctor was

nothing but a flight. "here, christophe, go round to the chemist'sand ask for something that's good for the apoplexy." christophe likewise went. "father goriot, just help us to get him upstairs." vautrin was taken up among them, carried carefullyup the narrow staircase, and laid upon his bed. "i can do no good here, so i shall go to seemy daughter," said m. goriot. "selfish old thing!" cried mme. vauquer. "yes,go; i wish you may die like a dog."

"just go and see if you can find some ether,"said mlle. michonneau to mme. vauquer; the former, with some help from poiret, had unfastenedthe sick man's clothes. mme. vauquer went down to her room, and leftmlle. michonneau mistress of the situation. "now! just pull down his shirt and turn himover, quick! you might be of some use in sparing my modesty," she said to poiret, "insteadof standing there like a stock." vautrin was turned over; mlle. michonneaugave his shoulder a sharp slap, and the two portentous letters appeared, white againstthe red. "there, you have earned your three thousandfrancs very easily," exclaimed poiret, supporting vautrin while mlle. michonneau slipped onthe shirt again.—"ouf! how heavy he is,"

he added, as he laid the convict down. "hush! suppose there is a strong-box here!"said the old maid briskly; her glances seemed to pierce the walls, she scrutinized everyarticle of the furniture with greedy eyes. "could we find some excuse for opening thatdesk?" "it mightn't be quite right," responded poiretto this. "where is the harm? it is money stolen fromall sorts of people, so it doesn't belong to any one now. but we haven't time, thereis the vauquer." "here is the ether," said that lady. "i mustsay that this is an eventful day. lord! that man can't have had a stroke; he is as whiteas curds."

"white as curds?" echoed poiret. "and his pulse is steady," said the widow,laying her hand on his breast. "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 a doctor. i say, mlle. michonneau, he is sniffing the ether. pooh!it is only 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 sort of 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; thatis why he wears a wig. they say that red-haired people are either the worst or the best. ishe one of the good ones, i wonder?" "good to hang," said poiret. "round a pretty woman's neck, you mean," saidmlle michonneau, hastily. "just go away, m. poiret. it is a woman's duty to nurse youmen when you are ill. besides, for all the good you are doing, you may as well take yourselfoff," she added. "mme. vauquer and i will take great care of dear m. vautrin." poiret went out on tiptoe without a murmur,like a dog kicked out of the room by his master. rastignac had gone out for the sake of physicalexertion; he wanted to breathe the air, he

felt stifled. yesterday evening he had meantto prevent the murder arranged for half-past eight that morning. what had happened? whatought he to do now? he trembled to think that he himself might be implicated. vautrin'scoolness still further dismayed him. "yet, how if vautrin should die without sayinga word?" rastignac asked himself. he hurried along the alleys of the luxembourggardens as if the hounds of justice were after him, and he already heard the baying of thepack. "well?" shouted bianchon, "you have seen thepilote?" the pilote was a radical sheet, edited bym. tissot. it came out several hours later than the morning papers, and was meant forthe benefit of country subscribers; for it

brought the morning news into provincial districtstwenty-four hours sooner than the ordinary local journals. "there is a wonderful history in it," saidthe house student of the hopital cochin. "young taillefer called out count franchessini, ofthe old guard, and the count put a couple of inches of steel into his forehead. andhere is little victorine one of the richest heiresses in paris! if we had known that,eh? what a game of chance death is! they say victorine was sweet on you; was there anytruth in it?" "shut up, bianchon; i shall never marry her.i am in love with a charming woman, and she is in love with me, so——"

"you said that as if you were screwing yourselfup to be faithful to 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," said bianchon, "and let me feel your pulse. you are feverish." "just go to mother vauquer's," said rastignac;"that scoundrel vautrin has dropped down like one dead." "aha!" said bianchon, leaving rastignac tohis reflections, "you confirm my suspicions, and now i mean to make sure for myself."

the law student's long walk was a memorableone for him. he made in some sort a survey of his conscience. after a close scrutiny,after hesitation and self-examination, his honor at any rate came out scatheless fromthis sharp and terrible ordeal, like a bar of iron tested in the english fashion. heremembered father goriot's confidences of the evening before; he recollected the roomstaken for him in the rue d'artois, so that he might be near delphine; and then he thoughtof his letter, and read it again and kissed it. "such a love is my anchor of safety," he saidto himself. "how the old man's heart must have been wrung! he says nothing about allthat he has been through; but who could not

guess? well, then, i will be like a son tohim; his life shall be made happy. if she cares for me, she will often come to spendthe day with him. that grand comtesse de restaud is a heartless thing; she would make her fatherinto her hall porter. dear delphine! she is kinder to the old man; she is worthy to beloved. ah! this evening i shall be very happy!" he took out his watch and admired it. "i have had nothing but success! if two peoplemean to love each other for ever, they may help each other, and i can take this. besides,i shall succeed, and i will pay her a hundredfold. there is nothing criminal in this liaison;nothing that could cause the most austere moralist to frown. how many respectable peoplecontract 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 lived apart for a longwhile. besides, how if i called upon that alsatian to resign a wife whom he cannot makehappy?" rastignac's battle with himself went on fora long while; and though the scruples of youth inevitably gained the day, an irresistiblecuriosity led him, about half-past four, to return to the maison vauquer through the gatheringdusk. bianchon had given vautrin an emetic, reservingthe contents of the stomach for chemical analysis at the hospital. mlle. michonneau's officiousalacrity had still further strengthened his suspicions of her. vautrin, moreover, hadrecovered so quickly that it was impossible

not to suspect some plot against the leaderof all frolics at the lodging-house. vautrin was standing in front of the stove in thedining-room when rastignac came in. all the lodgers were assembled sooner than usual bythe news of young taillefer's duel. they were anxious to hear any detail about the affair,and to talk over the probable change in victorine's prospects. father goriot alone was absent,but the rest were chatting. no sooner did eugene come into the room, than his eyes metthe inscrutable gaze of vautrin. it was the same look that had read his thoughts before—thelook that had such power to waken evil thoughts in his heart. he shuddered. "well, dear boy," said the escaped convict,"i am likely to cheat death for a good while

yet. according to these ladies, i have hada stroke that 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 stillalive," said vautrin in rastignac's ear, thinking that he guessed the student's thoughts. "youmust be mighty sure of yourself." "mlle. michonneau was talking the day beforeyesterday about a gentleman named 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 that strong will, andcollapsed into a chair. the mask of good-nature had dropped from the convict's face; fromthe unmistakable ferocity of that sinister look, poiret felt that the old maid was indanger, and hastily stepped between them. none of the lodgers understood this scenein the least, they looked on in mute amazement. there was a pause. just then there was a soundof tramping feet outside; there were soldiers there, it seemed, for there was a ring ofseveral rifles on the pavement of the street. collin was mechanically looking round thewalls for a way of escape, when four men entered by way of the sitting-room. "in the name of the king and the law!" saidan officer, but the words were almost lost

in a murmur of astonishment. silence fell on the room. the lodgers madeway for three of the men, who had each a hand on a cocked pistol in a side pocket. two policemen,who followed the detectives, kept the entrance to the sitting-room, and two more men appearedin the doorway that gave access to the staircase. a sound of footsteps came from the garden,and again the rifles of several soldiers rang on the cobblestones under the window. allchance of salvation by flight was cut off for trompe-la-mort, to whom all eyes instinctivelyturned. the chief walked straight up to him, and commenced operations by giving him a sharpblow on the head, so that the wig fell off, and collin's face was revealed in all itsugliness. there was a terrible suggestion

of strength mingled with cunning in the short,brick-red crop of hair, the whole head was in harmony with his powerful frame, and atthat moment the fires of hell seemed to gleam from his eyes. in that flash the real vautrinshone forth, revealed at once before them all; they understood his past, his present,and future, his pitiless doctrines, his actions, the religion of his own good pleasure, themajesty with which his cynicism and contempt for mankind invested him, the physical strengthof an organization proof against all trials. the blood flew to his face, and his eyes glaredlike the eyes of a wild cat. he started back with savage energy and a fierce growl thatdrew exclamations of alarm from the lodgers. at that leonine start the police caught attheir pistols under cover of the general clamor.

collin saw the gleaming muzzles of the weapons,saw his danger, and instantly gave proof of a power of the highest order. there was somethinghorrible and majestic in the spectacle of the sudden transformation in his face; hecould only be compared to a cauldron full of the steam that can send mountains flying,a terrific force dispelled in a moment by a drop of cold water. the drop of water thatcooled his wrathful fury was a reflection that flashed across his brain like lightning.he began to smile, and looked down at his wig. "you are not in the politest of humors to-day,"he remarked to the chief, and he held out his hands to the policemen with a jerk ofhis head.

"gentlemen," he said, "put on the braceletsor the handcuffs. i call on those present to witness that i make no resistance." a murmur of admiration ran through the roomat the sudden outpouring like fire and lava flood from this human volcano, and its equallysudden cessation. "there's a sell for you, master crusher,"the convict added, looking at the 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, and surrender." he paused, and looked round the room likean orator who is about to overwhelm his audience.

"take this down, daddy lachapelle," he wenton, addressing a little, white-haired old man who had seated himself at the end of thetable; and after drawing a printed form from the portfolio, was proceeding to draw up adocument. "i acknowledge myself to be jacques collin, otherwise known as trompe-la-mort,condemned to twenty years' penal servitude, and i have just proved that i have come fairlyby my nickname.—if i had as much as raised my hand," he went on, addressing the otherlodgers, "those three sneaking wretches yonder would have drawn claret on mamma vauquer'sdomestic hearth. the rogues have laid their heads together to set a trap for me." mme. vauquer felt sick and faint at thesewords.

"good lord!" she cried, "this does give onea turn; and me at the gaite with him only last night!" she said to sylvie. "summon your philosophy, mamma," collin resumed."is it a misfortune to have sat in my box at the gaite yesterday evening? after all,are you better than we are? the brand upon our shoulders is less shameful than the brandset on your hearts, you flabby members of a society rotten to the core. not the bestman among you could stand up to me." his eyes rested upon rastignac, to whom he spoke witha pleasant smile that seemed strangely at variance with the savage expression in hiseyes.—"our little bargain still holds good, dear boy; you can accept any 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. they are too much afraid of me to swindle me." the convicts' prison, its language and customs,its sudden sharp transitions from the humorous to the horrible, its appalling grandeur, itstriviality and its dark depths, were all revealed in turn by the speaker's discourse; he seemedto be no longer a man, but the type and mouthpiece of a degenerate race, a brutal, supple, clear-headedrace of savages. in one moment collin became the poet of an inferno, wherein all thoughtsand passions that move human nature (save repentance) find a place. he looked abouthim like a fallen archangel who is for war

to the end. rastignac lowered his eyes, andacknowledged this kinship claimed by crime as an expiation of his own evil thoughts. "who betrayed me?" said collin, and his terribleeyes traveled round the room. suddenly they rested on mlle. michonneau. "it was you, old cat!" he said. "that shamstroke of apoplexy was your doing, lynx eyes!... two words from me, and your throat would becut in less than a week, but i forgive you, i am a christian. you did not sell me either.but who did?——aha! you may rummage upstairs," he shouted, hearing the police officers openinghis cupboards and taking possession of his effects. "the nest is empty, the birds flewaway yesterday, and you will be none the wiser.

my ledgers are here," he said tapping hisforehead. "now i know who sold me! it could only be that blackguard fil-de-soie. thatis who it was, old catchpoll, eh?" he said, turning to the chief. "it was timed so neatlyto get the banknotes up above there. there is nothing left for you—spies! as for fil-de-soie,he will be under 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 thepolice officers. "a thousand crowns? oh you ninon in decay, pompadour in tatters, venusof the graveyard, i was worth more than that! if you had given me warning, you should havehad six thousand francs. ah! you had no suspicion of that, old trafficker in flesh and blood,or i should have had the preference. yes,

i would have given six thousand francs tosave myself an inconvenient journey and some loss of money," he said, as they fastenedthe handcuffs on his wrists. "these folks will amuse themselves by dragging out thisbusiness till the end of time to keep me idle. if they were to send me straight to jail,i should soon be back at my old tricks in spite of the duffers at the quai des orfevres.down yonder they will all turn themselves inside out to help their general—their goodtrompe-la-mort—to get clear away. is there a single one among you that can say, as ican, that he has ten thousand brothers ready to do anything for him?" he asked proudly."there is some good there," he said tapping his heart; "i have never betrayed any one!—lookyou here, you slut," he said to the old maid,

"they are all afraid of me, do you see? butthe sight of you turns them sick. rake in your gains." he was silent for a moment, and looked roundat the lodgers' faces. "what dolts you are, all of you! have younever seen a convict before? a convict of collin's stamp, whom you see before you, isa man less weak-kneed than others; he lifts up his voice against the colossal fraud ofthe social contract, as jean jacques did, whose pupil he is proud to declare himself.in short, i stand here single-handed against a government and a whole subsidized machineryof tribunals and police, and i am a match for them all."

"ye gods!" cried the painter, "what a magnificentsketch one might make of him!" "look here, you gentlemen-in-waiting to hishighness the gibbet, master of ceremonies to the widow" (a nickname full of sombre poetry,given by prisoners to the guillotine), "be a good fellow, and tell me if it really wasfil-de-soie who sold me. i don't want him to suffer for some one else, that would notbe fair." but before the chief had time to answer, therest of the party returned from making their investigations upstairs. everything had beenopened and inventoried. a few words passed between them and the chief, and the officialpreliminaries were complete. "gentlemen," said collin, addressing the lodgers,"they will take me away directly. you have

all made my stay among you very agreeable,and i shall look back upon it with gratitude. receive my adieux, and permit me to send youfigs from provence." he advanced a step or two, and then turnedto look once more at rastignac. "good-bye, eugene," he said, in a sad andgentle tone, a strange transition from his previous rough and stern manner. "if you shouldbe hard up, i have left you a devoted friend," and, in spite of his shackles, he managedto assume a posture of defence, called, "one, two!" like a fencing-master, and lunged. "ifanything goes wrong, apply in that quarter. man and money, all at your service." the strange speaker's manner was sufficientlyburlesque, so that no one but rastignac knew

that there was a serious meaning underlyingthe pantomime. as soon as the police, soldiers, and detectiveshad left the house, sylvie, who was rubbing her mistress' temples with vinegar, lookedround at the bewildered lodgers. "well," said she, "he was a man, he was, forall that." her words broke the spell. every one had beentoo much excited, too much moved 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, crouching by the stove; her eyes were downcast,as if she feared that the green eye-shade could not shut out the expression of thosefaces 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 so unanimous, thatit seemed as if the same feeling of loathing had pitched all the voices in one key. mlle.michonneau heard it, and did not stir. it was bianchon who was the first to move; hebent over his neighbor, and said in a low voice, "if that creature is going to stophere, and have dinner with us, i shall clear out." in the twinkling of an eye it was clear thatevery one in the room, save poiret, was of the medical student's opinion, so that thelatter, strong in the support of the majority, went up to that elderly person.

"you are more intimate with mlle. michonneauthan the rest of us," he said; "speak to her, make her understand that she must go, andgo at once." "at once!" echoed poiret in amazement. then he went across to the crouching figure,and spoke a few words in her ear. "i have paid beforehand for the quarter; ihave as much right to be here as any one else," she said, with a viperous look at the boarders. "never mind that! we will club together andpay 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 guesswhy."

eugene started forward at the words, as ifhe meant to spring upon her and wring her neck. that glance, and the depths of treacherythat it revealed, 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," saidthe painter, turning to mme. vauquer. "if you don't show the michonneau the door, madame,we shall all leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there are only convictsand spies left there. if you do the other thing, we will hold our tongues about thebusiness; for when all is said and done, it might happen in the best society until theybrand them on the forehead, when they send

them to the hulks. they ought not to let convictsgo about paris disguised like decent citizens, so as to carry on their antics like a setof rascally humbugs, which they are." at this mme. vauquer recovered miraculously.she sat up and folded her arms; her eyes were wide open now, and there was no sign of tearsin them. "why, do you really mean to be the ruin ofmy establishment, my dear sir? there is m. vautrin——goodness," she cried, interruptingherself, "i can't help calling him by the name he passed himself off by for an honestman! there is one room to let already, and you want me to turn out two more lodgers inthe middle of the season, when no one is moving——" "gentlemen, let us take our hats and go anddine at flicoteaux's in the place sorbonne,"

cried bianchon. mme. vauquer glanced round, and saw in a momenton which side her interest lay. she waddled across to mlle. michonneau. "come, now," she said; "you would not be theruin 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. "shemust go, and go this minute!" "but the poor lady has had no dinner," saidpoiret, with piteous entreaty. "she can go and dine where she likes," shoutedseveral voices.

"turn her out, the spy!" "turn them both out! spies!" "gentlemen," cried poiret, his heart swellingwith the courage that love gives 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 turnpeople out of the house, it ought not to be done so unceremoniously and with no noticeat all. we have paid our money, and we are

not going," said poiret, putting on his cap,and taking a chair beside mlle. michonneau, with whom mme. vauquer was remonstrating. "naughty boy!" said the painter, with a comicallook; "run away, naughty little boy!" "look here," said bianchon; "if you do notgo, 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?" criedmme. vauquer. "i am a ruined woman. you can't stay here; they will go further, do somethingviolent." mlle. michonneau rose to her feet. "she is going!—she is not going!—she isgoing!—no, she isn't."

these alternate exclamations, and a suggestionof hostile intentions, borne out by the behavior of the insurgents, compelled mlle. michonneauto take her departure. she made some stipulations, speaking in a low voice in her hostess' ear,and then—"i shall go to mme. buneaud's," she said, with a threatening look. "go where you please, mademoiselle," saidmme. vauquer, who regarded this choice of an opposition establishment as an atrociousinsult. "go and lodge with the buneaud; the wine would give a cat the colic, and the foodis cheap and nasty." the boarders stood aside in two rows to lether pass; not a word was spoken. poiret looked so wistfully after mlle. michonneau, and soartlessly revealed that he was in two minds

whether to go or stay, that the boarders,in their joy at being quit of mlle. michonneau, burst out laughing at the sight of him. "hist!—st!—st! 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 togo, trahit sua quemque voluptas!" said bianchon. "every one to his taste—free rendering fromvirgil," said the tutor. mlle. michonneau made a movement as if totake poiret's arm, with an appealing glance that he could not resist. the two went outtogether, the old maid leaning upon him, and

there was a burst of applause, followed bypeals 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 aletter for mme. vauquer, who read it through, and collapsed in her chair. "the house might as well be burned down atonce," cried she, "if there are to be any

more of these thunderbolts! young tailleferdied at three o'clock this afternoon. it serves me right for wishing well to those ladiesat that poor man's expense. mme. couture and victorine want me to send their things, becausethey are going to live with her father. m. taillefer allows his daughter to keep oldmme. couture as her lady companion. four rooms to let! and five lodgers gone!..." she sat up, and seemed about to burst intotears. "bad luck has come to lodge here, i think,"she cried. once more there came a sound of wheels fromthe street outside. "what! another windfall for somebody!" wassylvie's comment.

but it was goriot who came in, looking soradiant, so flushed with happiness, that he seemed to have grown young again. "goriot in a cab!" cried the boarders; "theworld is coming to an end." the good soul made straight for eugene, whowas standing wrapped in thought 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 escaped convict; they have just arrested him; and young taillefer isdead." "very well, but what business is it of ours?"replied father goriot. "i am going to dine

with my daughter in your house, do you understand?she is expecting you. come!" he carried off rastignac with him by mainforce, and they departed in as great a hurry as a pair of eloping lovers. "now, let us have dinner," cried the painter,and every one drew his chair to the table. "well, i never," said the portly sylvie. "nothinggoes right to-day! the haricot mutton has caught! bah! you will have to eat it, burnedas it is, more's the pity!" mme. vauquer was so dispirited that she couldnot say a word as she looked round the table and saw only ten people where eighteen shouldbe; but every one tried to comfort and cheer her. at first the dinner contingent, as wasnatural, talked about vautrin and the day's

events; but the conversation wound round tosuch topics of interest as duels, jails, justice, prison life, and alterations that ought tobe made in the laws. they soon wandered miles away from jacques collin and victorine andher brother. there might be only ten of them, but they made noise enough for twenty; indeed,there seemed to be more of them than usual; that was the only difference between yesterdayand to-day. indifference to the fate of others is a matter of course in this selfish world,which, on the morrow of tragedy, seeks among the events of paris for a fresh sensationfor its daily renewed appetite, and this indifference soon gained the upper hand. mme. vauquer herselfgrew calmer under the soothing influence of hope, and the mouthpiece of hope was the portlysylvie.

chapter 15 that day had gone by like a dream for eugene,and the sense of unreality lasted into the evening; so that, in spite of his energeticcharacter and clear-headedness, his ideas were a chaos as he sat beside goriot in thecab. the old man's voice was full of unwonted happiness, but eugene had been shaken by somany emotions that the words sounded in his ears like words spoken in a dream. "it was finished this morning! all three ofus are going to dine there together, together! do you understand? i have not dined with mydelphine, my little delphine, these four years, and i shall have her for a whole evening!we have been at your lodging the whole time

since morning. i have been working like aporter in my shirt sleeves, helping to carry in the furniture. aha! you don't know whatpretty ways she has; 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 i have been withher in quiet every-day life as we shall have her." "it really seems as if the world has beenturned upside down." "upside down?" repeated father goriot. "why,the world has never been so right-side up. i see none but smiling faces in the streets,people who shake hands cordially and embrace each other, people who all look as happy asif they were going to dine with their daughter,

and gobble down a nice little dinner thatshe went with me to order of the chef at the cafe des anglais. but, pshaw! with her besideyou gall and wormwood would 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 in front. "get on faster; i will give you five francs if youget to the place i told you of in ten minutes time." with this prospect before him the cabman crossedparis with miraculous celerity. "how that fellow crawls!" said father goriot.

"but where are you taking me?" eugene askedhim. "to your own house," said goriot. the cab stopped in the rue d'artois. fathergoriot stepped out first and flung ten francs to the man with the recklessness of a widowerreturning to 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.there they stopped before a door; but before goriot could ring, it was opened by therese,mme. de nucingen's maid. eugene found himself in a charming set of chambers; an ante-room,a little drawing-room, a bedroom, and a study, looking out upon a garden. the furniture andthe decorations of the little drawing-room

were of the most daintily charming description,the room was full of soft light, and delphine rose up from a low chair by the fire and stoodbefore him. she set her fire-screen down on the chimney-piece, and spoke with tendernessin every tone of her voice. "so we had to go in search of you, sir, youwho are so slow to understand!" therese left the room. the student took delphinein his arms and held her in a tight clasp, his eyes filled with tears of joy. this lastcontrast between his present surroundings and the scenes he had just witnessed was toomuch for rastignac's over-wrought nerves, after the day's strain and excitement thathad wearied heart and brain; he was almost overcome by it.

"i felt sure myself that he loved you," murmuredfather goriot, while eugene 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 bring about this final transformationscene. "but you must see your rooms," said mme. denucingen. she took his hand and led him into a room carpeted and furnished like her own;indeed, down to the smallest details, it was a reproduction in miniature of delphine'sapartment. "there is no bed," said rastignac. "no, monsieur," she answered, reddening, andpressing his hand. eugene, looking at her, understood, young though he yet was, how deeplymodesty is implanted in the heart of a woman

who loves. "you are one of those beings whom we cannotchoose but to adore for ever," he said in her ear. "yes, the deeper and truer love is,the more mysterious and closely veiled it should be; i can dare to say so, since weunderstand each other so well. no one shall learn our secret." "oh! so i am nobody, i suppose," growled thefather. "you know quite well that 'we' means you." "ah! that is what i wanted. you will not mindme, will you? i shall go and come like a good fairy who makes himself felt everywhere withoutbeing seen, shall i not? eh, delphinette,

ninette, dedel—was it not a good idea ofmine to say to you, 'there are some nice rooms to let in the rue d'artois; let us furnishthem for him?' and she would not hear of it! ah! your happiness has been all my doing.i am the author of your happiness and of your existence. fathers must always be giving ifthey would be happy themselves; always giving—they would not be fathers else." "was that how it happened?" asked eugene. "yes. she would not listen to me. she wasafraid that people would talk, as if the rubbish that they say about you were to be comparedwith happiness! why, all women dream of doing what she has done——"

father goriot found himself without an audience,for mme. de nucingen had led rastignac into the study; he heard a kiss given and taken,low though the sound was. the study was furnished as elegantly as theother rooms, and nothing was wanting there. "have we guessed your wishes rightly?" sheasked, as they returned to the drawing-room for dinner. "yes," he said, "only too well, alas! forall this luxury so well carried out, this realization of pleasant dreams, the elegancethat satisfies all the romantic fancies of youth, appeals to me so strongly that i cannotbut feel that it is my rightful possession, but i cannot accept it from you, and i amtoo poor as yet to——"

"ah! ah! you say me nay already," she saidwith arch imperiousness, and a charming little pout of the lips, a woman's way of laughingaway scruples. but eugene had submitted so lately to thatsolemn self-questioning, and vautrin's arrest had so plainly shown him the depths of thepit that lay ready to his feet, that the instincts of generosity and honor had been strengthenedin him, and he could not allow himself to be coaxed into abandoning his high-mindeddeterminations. profound melancholy filled his mind. "do you really mean to refuse?" said mme.de nucingen. "and do you know what such a refusal means? that you are not sure of yourself,that you do not dare to bind yourself to me.

are you really afraid of betraying my affection?if you love me, if i—love you, why should you shrink back from such a slight obligation?if you but knew what a pleasure it has been to see after all the arrangements of thisbachelor establishment, you would not hesitate any longer, you would ask me to forgive youfor your hesitation. i had some money that belonged to you, and i have made good useof it, that is all. you mean this for magnanimity, but it is very little of you. you are askingme for far more than this.... ah!" she cried, as eugene's passionate glance was turned onher, "and you are making 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. can he imagine that i am less nicethan he is on the point of honor?" father goriot was looking on and listeningto this pretty quarrel with a placid smile, as if he had found some balm for all the sorrowsof life. "child that you are!" she cried again, catchingeugene's hand. "you are just beginning life; you find barriers at the outset that manya man finds insurmountable; a woman's hand opens the way and you shrink back! why, youare sure to succeed! you will have a brilliant future. success is written on that broad foreheadof yours, and will you not be able to repay me my loan of to-day? did not a lady in oldentimes arm her knight with sword and helmet and coat of mail, and find him a charger,so that he might fight for her in the tournament?

well, then, eugene, these things that i offeryou are the weapons of this age; every one who means to be something must have such toolsas these. a pretty place your garret must be if it is like papa's room! see, dinneris waiting all this time. do you want to make me unhappy?—why don't you answer?" she said,shaking his hand. "mon dieu! papa, make up his mind for him, or i will go away and neversee him any more." "i will make up your mind," said goriot, comingdown 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," saideugene. "all right, i will give you credit," saidthe other, drawing out a cheap leather pocket-book,

much the worse for wear. "i have turned jewmyself; i paid for everything; here are the invoices. you do not owe a penny for anythinghere. it did not come to very much—five thousand francs at most, and i am going tolend you the money myself. i am not a woman—you can refuse me. you shall give me a receipton a scrap of paper, and you can return it some time or other." delphine and eugene looked at each other inamazement, tears sprang to their eyes. rastignac held out his hand and grasped goriot's warmly. "well, what is all this about? are you notmy children?" "oh! my poor father," said mme. de nucingen,"how did you do it?"

"ah! now you ask me. when i made up my mindto move him nearer to you, and saw you buying things as if they were wedding presents, isaid to myself, 'she will never be able to pay for them.' the attorney says that thoselaw proceedings will last quite six months before your husband can be made to disgorgeyour fortune. well and good. i sold out my property in the funds that brought in thirteenhundred and fifty livres a year, and bought a safe annuity of twelve hundred francs ayear for fifteen thousand francs. then i paid your tradesmen out of the rest of the capital.as for me, children, i have a room upstairs for which i pay fifty crowns a year; i canlive like a prince on two francs a day, and still have something left over. i shall nothave to spend anything much on clothes, for

i never wear anything out. this fortnightpast i have been laughing in my sleeve, thinking to myself, 'how happy they are going to be!'and—well, now, are you not happy?" "oh papa! papa!" cried mme. de nucingen, springingto her father, who took 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 bright and radiant. "dear father, what a father you are! no, thereis not another father like 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 his daughter's heart beat against his breast for ten years, "do youwant me to die of joy? my poor heart will

break! come, monsieur eugene, we are quitsalready." and the old man strained her to his breast with such fierce and passionateforce 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 his face seemed greater than it is given to humanity to know. theagony of this christ of paternity can only be compared with the masterpieces of thoseprinces of the palette who have left for us the record of their visions of an agony sufferedfor a whole world by the saviour of men. father goriot pressed his lips very gently againstthe waist than his fingers had grasped too roughly.

"oh! no, no," he cried. "i have not hurt you,have i?" and his smile seemed to repeat the question. "you have hurt me with that cryjust now.—the things cost rather more than that," he said in her ear, with another gentlekiss, "but i had to deceive him about it, or he would have been angry." eugene sat dumb with amazement in the presenceof this inexhaustible love; 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 law student on the forehead.

"he gave up mlle. taillefer and her millionsfor you," said father goriot. "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 haveone regret now this evening. ah! how i will love you! and for ever!" "this is the happiest day i have had sinceyou two were married!" cried goriot. "god may send me any suffering, so long as i donot suffer through you, and i can still say, 'in this short month of february i had morehappiness than other men have in their whole lives.'—look at me, fifine!" he said tohis daughter. "she is very beautiful, is she

not? tell me, now, have you seen many womenwith that pretty soft color—that little dimple of hers? no, i thought not. ah, well,and but for me this lovely woman would never have been. and very soon happiness will makeher a thousand times lovelier, happiness through you. i could give up my place in heaven toyou, neighbor, if needs be, and go down to hell instead. come, let us have dinner," headded, scarcely knowing what he said, "everything is ours." "poor dear father!" he rose and went over to her, and took herface in his hands, and set a kiss on the plaits of hair. "if you only knew, little one, howhappy you can make me—how little it takes

to make me happy! will you come and see mesometimes? 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 hundredtimes over if i followed my own wishes. let us have dinner." the three behaved like children that evening,and father goriot's spirits were certainly not the least wild. he lay at his daughter'sfeet, kissed them, gazed into her eyes, rubbed

his head against her dress; in short, no younglover could have been more extravagant or more tender. "you see!" delphine said with a look at eugene,"so long as my father is with us, he monopolizes me. he will be rather in the way sometimes." eugene had himself already felt certain twingesof jealousy, and could not blame this speech that contained the germ of all ingratitude. "and when will the rooms be ready?" askedeugene, looking round. "we must all leave them this evening, i suppose." "yes, but to-morrow you must come and dinewith me," she answered, with an 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 carriagewas waiting for her, and father goriot and the student walked back to the maison vauquer,talking of delphine, and warming over their talk till there grew up a curious rivalrybetween the two violent passions. eugene could not help seeing that the father's self-lesslove was deeper and more steadfast than his own. for this worshiper delphine was alwayspure and fair, and her father's adoration drew its fervor from a whole past as wellas a future of love. they found mme. vauquer by the stove, withsylvie and christophe to keep her company;

the old landlady, sitting like marius amongthe ruins of carthage, was waiting for the two lodgers that yet remained to her, andbemoaning her lot with the sympathetic sylvie. tasso's lamentations as recorded in byron'spoem are undoubtedly eloquent, but for sheer force of truth they fall far short of thewidow's cry from the depths. "only three cups of coffee in the morning,sylvie! oh dear! to have your house 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 as ifall the furniture had been taken out of the house, and your furniture is your life. howhave i offended heaven to draw down all this trouble upon me? and haricot beans and potatoeslaid in for twenty people! the police in my

house too! we shall have to live on potatoesnow, and christophe will have to go!" the savoyard, who was fast asleep, suddenlywoke up at this, and said, "madame," questioningly. "poor fellow!" said sylvie, "he is like adog." "in the dead season, too! nobody is movingnow. i would like to know where the lodgers are to drop down from. it drives me distracted.and that old witch of a michonneau goes and takes poiret with her! what can she have doneto make him so fond of her? he runs about after her like a little dog." "lord!" said sylvie, flinging up her head,"those old maids are up to all sorts of tricks." "there's that poor m. vautrin that they madeout to be a convict," the widow went on. "well,

you know that is too much for me, sylvie;i can't bring myself to believe it. such a lively man as he was, and paid fifteen francsa month for his coffee of an evening, paid you very penny on 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 to think that all these things have happened in my house, andin a quarter where you never see a cat go by. on my word as an honest woman, it's likea dream. for, look here, we saw louis xvi. meet with his mishap; we saw the fall of theemperor; and we saw him come back and fall

again; there was nothing out of the way inall that, but lodging-houses are not liable to revolutions. you can do without a king,but you must eat all the same; and so long as a decent woman, a de conflans born andbred, will give you all sorts of good things for dinner, nothing short of the end of theworld ought to—but there, it is the end of the world, that is just what it is!" "and to think that mlle. michonneau who madeall this mischief is to have 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. "she is going to the buneaud, who charges less than cost. but the buneaudis capable of anything; she must have done

frightful things, robbed and murdered peoplein her time. she ought to be put in jail for life instead of that poor dear——" eugene and goriot rang the door-bell at thatmoment. "ah! here are my two faithful lodgers," saidthe widow, sighing. but the two faithful lodgers, who retainedbut shadowy recollections of the misfortunes of their lodging-house, announced to theirhostess without more ado that they were about to remove to the chaussee d'antin. "sylvie!" cried the widow, "this is the laststraw.—gentlemen, this will be the death of me! it has quite upset me! there's a weighton my chest! i am ten years older for this

day! upon my word, i shall go out of my senses!and what is to be done with the haricots!—oh, well, if i 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 inquiredof sylvie. "lord! everybody is going about his business,and that has addled her wits. there! she is crying upstairs. it will do her good to snivela bit. it's the first time she has cried since i've been with her." by the morning, mme. vauquer, to use her ownexpression, had "made up her mind to it." true, she still wore a doleful countenance,as might be expected of a woman who had lost

all her lodgers, and whose manner of lifehad been suddenly revolutionized, but she had all her wits about her. her grief wasgenuine and profound; it was real pain of mind, for her purse had suffered, the routineof her existence had been broken. a lover's farewell glance at his lady-love's windowis not more mournful than mme. vauquer's survey of the empty places round her table. eugeneadministered comfort, telling the widow that bianchon, whose term of residence at the hospitalwas about to expire, would doubtless take his (rastignac's) place; that the officialfrom the museum had often expressed a desire to have mme. couture's rooms; and that ina very few days her household would be on the old footing.

"god send it may, my dear sir! but bad luckhas come to lodge here. there'll be a death in the house before ten days are out, you'llsee," and she gave a lugubrious look round the dining-room. "whose turn will it be, iwonder?" "it is just as well that we are moving out,"said eugene to father goriot in a low voice. "madame," said sylvie, running in with a scaredface, "i have not seen mistigris these three days." "ah! well, if my cat is dead, if he has goneand left us, i——" the poor woman could not finish her sentence;she clasped her hands and hid her face on the back of her armchair, quite overcome bythis dreadful portent.

by twelve o'clock, when the postman reachesthat quarter, eugene received a letter. the dainty envelope bore the beauseant arms onthe seal, and contained an invitation to the vicomtesse's great ball, which had been talkedof in paris for a month. a little note for eugene was slipped in with the card. "i think, monsieur, that you will undertakewith pleasure to interpret my sentiments to mme. de nucingen,so i am sending the card for which you asked me to you. i shallbe delighted to make the acquaintance of mme. de restaud's sister.pray introduce that charming lady to me, and do not let her monopolizeall your

affection, for you owe me not a little inreturn for mine. "vicomtesse de beauseant." "well," said eugene to himself, as he readthe note a second time, "mme. de beauseant says pretty plainly that she does not wantthe baron de nucingen." he went to delphine at once in his joy. hehad procured this pleasure for her, and doubtless he would receive the price of it. mme. denucingen was dressing. rastignac waited in her boudoir, enduring as best he might thenatural impatience of an eager temperament for the reward desired and withheld for ayear. such sensations are only known once in a life. the first woman to whom a man isdrawn, if she is really a woman—that is

to say, if she appears to him amid the splendidaccessories that form a necessary background to life in the world of paris—will neverhave a rival. love in paris is a thing distinct and apart;for in paris neither men nor women are the dupes of the commonplaces by which peopleseek to throw a veil over their motives, or to parade a fine affectation of disinterestednessin their sentiments. in this country within a country, it is not merely required of awoman that she should satisfy the senses and the soul; she knows perfectly well that shehas still greater obligations to discharge, that she must fulfil the countless demandsof a vanity that enters into every fibre of that living organism called society. love,for her, is above all things, and by its very

nature, a vainglorious, brazen-fronted, ostentatious,thriftless charlatan. if at the court of louis xiv. there was not a woman but envied mlle.de la valliere the reckless devotion of passion that led the grand monarch to tear the pricelessruffles at his wrists in order to assist the entry of a duc de vermandois into the world—whatcan you expect of the rest of society? you must have youth and wealth and rank; nay,you must, if possible, have more than these, for the more incense you bring with you toburn at the shrine of the god, the more favorably will he regard the worshiper. love is a religion,and his cult must in the nature of things be more costly than those of all other deities;love the spoiler stays for a moment, and then passes on; like the urchin of the streets,his course may be traced by the ravages that

he has made. the wealth of feeling and imaginationis the poetry of the garret; how should love exist there without that wealth? if there are exceptions who do not subscribeto these draconian laws of the parisian code, they are solitary examples. such souls liveso far out of the main current that they are not borne away by the doctrines of society;they dwell beside some clear spring of everflowing water, without seeking to leave the greenshade; happy to listen to the echoes of the infinite in everything around them and intheir own souls, waiting in patience to take their flight for heaven, while they look withpity upon those of earth. rastignac, like most young men who have beenearly impressed by the circumstances of power

and grandeur, meant to enter the lists fullyarmed; the burning ambition of conquest possessed him already; perhaps he was conscious of hispowers, but as yet he knew neither the end to which his ambition was to be directed,nor the means of attaining it. in default of the pure and sacred love that fills a life,ambition may become something very noble, subduing to itself every thought of personalinterest, and setting as the end—the greatness, not of one man, but of a whole nation. but the student had not yet reached the timeof life when a man surveys the whole course of existence and judges it soberly. hithertohe had scarcely so much as shaken off the spell of the fresh and gracious influencesthat envelop a childhood in the country, like

green leaves and grass. he had hesitated onthe brink of the parisian rubicon, and in spite of the prickings of ambition, he stillclung to a lingering tradition of an old ideal—the peaceful life of the noble in his chateau.but yesterday evening, at the sight of his rooms, those scruples had vanished. he hadlearned what it was to enjoy the material advantages of fortune, as he had already enjoyedthe social advantages of birth; he ceased to be a provincial from that moment, and slippednaturally and easily into a position which opened up a prospect of a brilliant future. so, as he waited for delphine, in the prettyboudoir, where he felt that he had a certain right to be, he felt himself so far away fromthe rastignac who came back to paris a year

ago, that, turning some power of inner visionupon this latter, he asked himself whether that past self bore any resemblance to therastignac of that moment. "madame is in her room," therese came to tellhim. the woman's voice made him start. he found delphine lying back in her low chairby the fireside, looking fresh and bright. the sight of her among the flowing draperiesof muslin suggested some beautiful tropical flower, where the fruit is set amid the 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. he took possession of her arm to kiss her hand.

mme. de nucingen gave a joyful start as shesaw the card. she turned to eugene; there were tears in her eyes as she flung her armsabout his neck, and drew him towards her in a frenzy of gratified vanity. "and i owe this happiness to you—to thee"(she whispered the more intimate word in his ear); "but therese is in my dressing-room,let us be prudent.—this happiness—yes, for i may call it so, when it comes to methrough you—is surely more than a triumph for self-love? no one has been willing tointroduce me into that set. perhaps just now i may seem to you to be frivolous, petty,shallow, like a parisienne, but remember, my friend, that i am ready to give up allfor you; and that if i 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 veryplainly that she does not expect to see the baron de nucingen at her ball; don't you thinkso?" said eugene. "why, yes," said the baroness as she returnedthe letter. "those women have a talent for insolence. but it is of no consequence, ishall go. my sister is sure to be there, and sure to be very beautifully dressed.—eugene,"she went on, lowering her voice, "she will go to dispel ugly suspicions. you do not knowthe things that people are saying about her. only this morning nucingen came to tell methat they had been discussing her at the club. great heavens! on what does a woman's characterand the honor of a whole family depend! i

feel that i am nearly touched and woundedin my poor sister. according to some people, m. de trailles must have put his name to billsfor a hundred thousand francs, nearly all of them are overdue, and proceedings are threatened.in this predicament, it seems that my sister sold her diamonds to a jew—the beautifuldiamonds that belonged to her husband's mother, mme. de restaud the elder,—you have seenher wearing them. in fact, nothing else has been talked about for the last two days. soi can see that anastasie is sure to come to mme. de beauseant's ball in tissue of gold,and ablaze with diamonds, to draw all eyes upon her; and i will not be outshone. shehas tried to eclipse me all her life, she has never been kind to me, and i have helpedher so often, and always had money for her

when she had none.—but never mind otherpeople now, to-day i mean to be perfectly happy." at one o'clock that morning eugene was stillwith mme. de nucingen. in the midst of their lovers' farewell, a farewell full of hopeof bliss to come, she said in a troubled voice, "i am very fearful, superstitious. give whatname you like to my presentiments, but i am afraid that my happiness will be paid forby some horrible catastrophe." "child!" said eugene. "ah! have we changed places, and am i thechild to-night?" she asked, laughingly. eugene went back to the maison vauquer, neverdoubting but that he should leave it for good

on the morrow; and on the way he fell to dreamingthe bright dreams of youth, when the cup of happiness has left its sweetness on the lips. "well?" cried goriot, as rastignac passedby his door. "yes," said eugene; "i will tell you everythingto-morrow." "everything, will you not?" cried the oldman. "go to bed. to-morrow our happy life will begin." chapter 16 next day, goriot and rastignac were readyto leave the lodging-house, and only awaited the good pleasure of a porter to move outof it; but towards noon there was a sound

of wheels in the rue neuve-sainte-genevieve,and a carriage stopped before the door of the maison vauquer. mme. de nucingen alighted,and asked if her father was still in the house, and, receiving an affirmative reply from sylvie,ran lightly upstairs. it so happened that eugene was at home allunknown to his neighbor. at breakfast time he had asked goriot to superintend the removalof his goods, saying that he would meet him in the rue d'artois at four o'clock; but rastignac'sname had been called early on the list at the ecole de droit, and he had gone back atonce to the rue nueve-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. eugene had thoughtto pay her himself, for it struck him that

if he left this, goriot in his zeal wouldprobably pay for him. as it was, eugene went up to his room to see that nothing had beenforgotten, and blessed his foresight when he saw the blank bill bearing vautrin's signaturelying in the drawer where he had carelessly thrown it on the day when he had repaid theamount. there was no fire in the grate, so he was about to tear it into little pieces,when he heard a voice speaking in goriot's room, and the speaker was delphine! he madeno more noise, and stood still to listen, thinking that she should have no secrets fromhim; but after the first few words, the conversation between the father and daughter was so strangeand interesting that it absorbed all his attention. "ah! thank heaven that you thought of askinghim to give an account of the money settled

on me before i was utterly ruined, father.is it safe to talk?" she added. "yes, there is no one in the house," saidher father faintly. "what is the matter with you?" asked mme.de nucingen. "god forgive you! you have just dealt me astaggering blow, child!" said the old man. "you cannot know how much i love you, or youwould not have burst in upon me like this, with such news, especially if all is not lost.has something so important happened that you must come here about it? in a few minuteswe should have been in the rue d'artois." "eh! does one think what one is doing aftera catastrophe? it has turned my head. your attorney has found out the state of thingsnow, but it was bound to come out sooner or

later. we shall want your long business experience;and i come to you like a drowning man who catches at a branch. when m. derville foundthat nucingen was throwing all sorts of difficulties in his way, he threatened him with proceedings,and told him plainly that he would soon obtain an order from the president of the tribunal.so nucingen came to my room this morning, and asked if i meant to ruin us both. i toldhim that i knew nothing whatever about it, that i had a fortune, and ought to be putinto possession of my fortune, and that my attorney was acting for me in the matter;i said again that i knew 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 toldme 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 are locked up. if i wereto compel him to refund my dowry now, he would be forced to file his petition; but if i willwait a year, he undertakes, on his honor, to double or treble my fortune, by investingit in building land, and i shall be mistress at last of the whole of my property. he wasspeaking the truth, father dear; he frightened me! he asked my pardon for his conduct; hehas given me my liberty; i am free to act as i please on condition that i leave himto carry on my business in my name. to prove

his sincerity, he promised that m. dervillemight inspect the accounts as often as i pleased, so that i might be assured that everythingwas being conducted properly. in short, he put himself in my power, bound hand and foot.he wishes the present arrangements as to the expenses of housekeeping to continue for twomore years, and entreated 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 his opera dancer; he willbe compelled to practise the most strict economy (in secret) if he is to bide his time withunshaken credit. i scolded, i did all i could to drive him to desperation, so as to findout more. he showed me his ledgers—he broke down and cried at last. i never saw a manin such a state. he lost his head completely,

talked of killing himself, and raved tilli felt quite sorry for him." "do you really believe that silly rubbish?"...cried her father. "it was all got up for your benefit! i have had to do with germans inthe way of business, honest and straightforward they are pretty sure to be, but when withtheir simplicity and frankness they are sharpers and humbugs as well, they are the worst roguesof all. your husband is taking advantage of you. as soon as pressure is brought to bearon him he shams dead; he means to be more the master under your name than in his own.he will take advantage of the position to secure himself against the risks of business.he is as sharp as he is treacherous; he is a bad lot! no, no; i am not going to leavemy girls behind me without a penny when i

go to pere-lachaise. i know something aboutbusiness still. he has sunk his money in speculation, he says; very well then, there is somethingto show for it—bills, receipts, papers of some sort. let him produce them, and cometo an arrangement with you. we will choose the most promising of his speculations, takethem over at our own risk, and have the securities transferred into your name; they shall representthe separate estate of delphine goriot, wife of the baron de nucingen. does that fellowreally take us for idiots? does he imagine that i could stand the idea of your beingwithout fortune, without bread, for forty-eight hours? i would not stand it a day—no, nota night, not a couple of hours! if there had been any foundation for the idea, i shouldnever get over it. what! i have worked hard

for forty years, carried sacks on my back,and sweated and pinched and saved all my life for you, my darlings, for you who made thetoil and every burden borne for you seem light; and now, my fortune, my whole life, is tovanish in smoke! i should 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 through the books, have thewhole business looked thoroughly into! i will not sleep, nor rest, nor eat until i havesatisfied myself that all your fortune is in existence. your money is settled upon you,god be thanked! and, luckily, your attorney, maitre derville, is an honest man. good lord!you shall have your snug little million, your fifty thousand francs a year, as long as youlive, or i will raise a racket in paris, i

will so! if the tribunals put upon us, i willappeal to the chambers. if i knew that you were well and comfortably off as far as moneyis concerned, that thought would keep me easy in spite of bad health and troubles. money?why, it is life! money does everything. that great dolt of an alsatian shall sing to anothertune! look here, delphine, don't give way, don't make a concession of half a quarterof a farthing to that fathead, who has ground you down and made you miserable. if he can'tdo without you, we will give him a good cudgeling, and keep him in order. great heavens! my brainis on fire; it is as if there were something redhot inside my head. my delphine lying onstraw! you! my fifine! good gracious! where are my gloves? come, let us go at once; imean to see everything with my own eyes—books,

cash, and correspondence, the whole business.i shall have no peace until i know for certain that your fortune is secure." "oh! father dear, be careful how you set aboutit! if there is the least hint of vengeance in the business, if you show yourself openlyhostile, it will be all over with me. he knows whom he has to deal with; he thinks it quitenatural that if you put the idea into my head, i should be uneasy about my money; but i swearto you that he has it in his own hands, and that he had meant to keep it. he is just theman to abscond with all the money and leave us in the lurch, the scoundrel! he knows quitewell that i will not dishonor the name i bear by bringing him into a court of law. his positionis strong and weak at the same time. if we

drive him to despair, i am lost." "why, then, the man is a rogue?" "well, yes, father," she said, flinging herselfinto a chair, "i wanted to keep it from you to spare your feelings," and she burst intotears; "i did not want you to know that you had married me to such a man as he is. heis just the same in private life—body and soul and conscience—the same through andthrough—hideous! i hate him; i despise him! yes, after all that that despicable nucingenhas told me, i cannot respect him any longer. a man capable of mixing himself up in suchaffairs, and of talking about them to me as he did, without the slightest scruple,—itis because i have read him through and through

that i am afraid of him. he, my husband, franklyproposed to give me my liberty, 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 his stalking-horse." "but there is law to be had! there is a placede greve for sons-in-law of that sort," cried her father; "why, i would guillotine him myselfif there 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 andno one else can be my accomplice; either everything is lost, you are ruined and have not a farthing,or you will let me carry this business through myself.' is that plain speaking? he must havemy assistance. he is assured 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 and dishonest compact,and he holds out threats of ruin to compel me to consent to it. he is buying my conscience,and the price is liberty to be eugene's wife in all but name. 'i connive at your errors,and you allow me to commit crimes and ruin poor families!' is that sufficiently explicit?do you know what he means by speculations? he buys up land in his own name, then he findsmen of straw to run up houses upon it. these men make a bargain with a contractor to buildthe houses, paying them by bills at long dates; then in consideration of a small sum theyleave my husband in possession of the houses, and finally slip through the fingers of thedeluded contractors by going into bankruptcy.

the name of the firm of nucingen has beenused to dazzle the poor contractors. i saw that. i noticed, too, that nucingen had sentbills for large amounts to amsterdam, london, naples, and vienna, in order to prove if necessarythat large sums had been paid away by the firm. how could we get possession of thosebills?" eugene heard a dull thud on the floor; fathergoriot must have fallen on his knees. "great heavens! what have i done to you? boundmy daughter to this scoundrel 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, perhapsyou are to blame," said delphine. "we have so little sense when we marry! what do weknow of the world, of business, or men, or

life? our fathers should think for us! fatherdear, i am not blaming you in the least, forgive me for what i said. this is all my own fault.nay, do not cry, papa," she said, kissing him. "do not cry either, my little delphine. lookup and let me kiss away the tears. there! i shall find my wits and unravel this skeinof your husband's winding." "no, let me do that; i shall be able to managehim. he is fond of me, well and good; i shall use my influence to make him invest my moneyas soon as possible in landed property in my own name. very likely i could get him tobuy back nucingen in alsace in my name; that has always been a pet idea of his. still,come to-morrow and go through the books, and

look into the business. m. derville knowslittle of mercantile matters. no, not to-morrow though. i do not want to be upset. mme. debeauseant's ball will be the day after to-morrow, and i must keep quiet, so as to look my bestand freshest, and do honor to my dear eugene!... come, let us see his room." but as she spoke a carriage stopped in therue nueve-sainte-genevieve, and the sound of mme. de restaud's voice came from the staircase."is my father in?" she asked of sylvie. this accident was luckily timed for eugene,whose one idea had been to throw himself down on the bed and pretend to be asleep. "oh, father, have you heard about anastasie?"said delphine, when she heard her sister speak.

"it looks as though some strange things hadhappened in that family." "what sort of things?" asked goriot. "thisis like to be the death of me. my poor head will not stand a double misfortune." "good-morning, father," said the countessfrom the threshold. "oh! delphine, are you here?" mme. de restaud seemed taken aback by hersister's presence. "good-morning, nasie," said the baroness."what is there so extraordinary 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 countessfretfully. "i am very miserable, i am lost. oh! my poor father, it is hopeless this time!" "what is it, nasie?" cried goriot. "tell usall about it, child! how white she is! quick, do something, delphine; be kind to her, andi will love you even better, if that were possible." "poor nasie!" said mme. de nucingen, drawingher sister to a chair. "we are the only two people in the world whose love is always sufficientto forgive 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, stirring the smouldering fire, "come nearer, both of you. it is cold. whatis it, nasie? be quick and tell me, this is enough to——" "well, then, my husband knows everything,"said the countess. "just imagine it; do you remember, father, that bill of maxime's sometime ago? well, that was not the first. i had paid ever so many before that. about thebeginning 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 you love, a mere trifle is enough; and thenyou feel things instinctively. indeed, he

was more tender and affectionate than ever,and i was happier than i had ever been before. poor maxime! in himself he was really sayinggood-bye to me, so he has told me since; he meant to blow his brains out! at last i worriedhim so, and begged and implored so hard; for two hours i knelt at his knees and prayedand entreated, and at last he told me—that he owed a hundred thousand francs. oh! papa!a hundred thousand francs! i was beside myself! you had not the money, i knew, i had eatenup all that you had——" "no," said goriot; "i could not have got itfor you unless i had stolen it. but i would have done that for you, nasie! i will do ityet." the words came from him like a sob, a hoarsesound like the death rattle 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 the sisters spoke.it must have been selfishness indeed that could hear unmoved 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 whatwas not mine to sell," and the countess burst into tears. delphine was touched; she laid her head onher sister's shoulder, and cried too. "then it is all true," she said. anastasie bowed her head, mme. de nucingenflung 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 that draws you together?" this warm and palpitating affection seemedto give the countess courage. "to save maxime's life," she said, "to saveall my own happiness, i went 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 restaud is so proud of—hisand mine too—and sold them to that m. gobseck. sold them! do you understand? i saved maxime,but i am lost. restaud found it all out." "how? who told him? i will kill him," criedgoriot.

"yesterday he sent to tell me to come to hisroom. i went. ... 'anastasie,' he said in a voice—oh! such a voice; that was enough,it told me everything—'where are your diamonds?'—'in my room——'—'no,' he said, looking straightat me, 'there they are on that chest of drawers——' and he lifted his handkerchief and showedme the casket. 'do you know where they came from?' he said. i fell at his feet.... i cried;i besought him to tell me the death he wished to see me die." "you said that!" cried goriot. "by god inheaven, whoever lays a hand on either of you so long as i am alive may reckon on beingroasted by slow fires! yes, i will cut him in pieces like..."

goriot stopped; the words died away in histhroat. "and then, dear, he asked something worsethan death of me. oh! heaven preserve all other women from hearing such words as i heardthen!" "i will murder that man," said goriot quietly."but he has only one life, and he deserves to die twice.—and then, what next?" he added,looking at anastasie. "then," the countess resumed, "there was apause, and he looked at me. 'anastasie,' he said, 'i will bury this in silence; thereshall be no separation; there are the children. i will not kill m. de trailles. i might misshim if we fought, and as for other ways of getting rid of him, i should come into collisionwith the law. if i killed him in your arms,

it would bring dishonor on those children.but if you do not want 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 my own?' i answered,'yes,'—'which?'—'ernest, our eldest boy.'—'very well,' he said, 'and now swear to obey mein this particular from this time forward.' i swore. 'you will make over your propertyto me when i require you to do so.'" "do nothing of the kind!" cried goriot. "aha!m. de restaud, you could not make your wife happy; she has looked for happiness and foundit elsewhere, and you make her suffer for your own ineptitude? he will have to reckonwith me. make yourself easy, nasie. aha! he cares about his heir! good, very good. i willget hold of the boy; isn't he my grandson?

what the blazes! i can surely go to see thebrat! i will stow him away somewhere; i will take care of him, you may be quite easy. iwill bring restaud to terms, the monster! i shall say to him, 'a word or two with you!if you want your son back again, give my daughter her property, and leave her to do as she pleases.'" "father!" "yes. i am your father, nasie, a father indeed!that rogue of a great lord had better not ill-treat my daughter. tonnerre! what is itin my veins? there is the blood of a tiger in me; i could tear those two men to pieces!oh! children, children! so this is what your lives are! why, it is death!... what willbecome 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 theytell us is true, and yet thou leavest us to suffer so through our children. my darlings,my darlings! to think that trouble only should bring you to me, that i should only see youwith tears on your faces! ah! yes, yes, you love me, i see that you love me. come to meand pour out your griefs to me; my heart is large enough to hold them all. oh! you mightrend my heart in pieces, and every fragment would make a father's heart. if only i couldbear all your sorrows for you! ... ah! you were so happy when you were little and stillwith me...." "we have never been happy since," said delphine."where are the old days when we slid down

the sacks in the great granary?" "that is not all, father," said anastasiein goriot's ear. the old man gave a startled shudder. "the diamonds only sold for a hundredthousand francs. maxime is hard pressed. there are twelve thousand francs still to pay. hehas given me his word that he will be steady and give up play in future. his love is allthat i have left in the world. i have paid such a fearful price for it that i shoulddie if i lose him now. i have sacrificed my fortune, my honor, my peace of mind, and mychildren for him. oh! do something, so that at the least maxime may be at large and liveundisgraced in the world, where he will assuredly make a career for himself. something morethan my happiness is at stake; the children

have nothing, and if he is sent to sainte-pelagieall his prospects will be ruined." "i haven't the money, nasie. i have nothing—nothingleft. this is the end of everything. yes, the world is crumbling into ruin, i am sure.fly! save yourselves! ah!—i have still my silver buckles left, and half-a-dozen silverspoons and forks, the first i ever had in my life. but i have nothing else except mylife annuity, twelve hundred francs..." "then what has become of your money in thefunds?" "i sold out, and only kept a trifle for mywants. i wanted twelve thousand 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?" askedgoriot. "the money is spent now." "i see how it is," said the countess. "roomsfor m. de rastignac. poor delphine, take warning by me!" "m. de rastignac is incapable of ruining thewoman he loves, dear." "thanks! delphine. i thought you would havebeen kinder to me in my troubles, but you never did love me." "yes, yes, she loves you, nasie," cried goriot;"she was saying so only just now. we were talking about you, and she insisted that youwere beautiful, and that she herself was only pretty!"

"pretty!" said the countess. "she is as hardas 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. and when did i come, as you werealways doing, to drain our poor father, a thousand francs at a time, till he is leftas you see him now? that is all your doing, sister! i myself have seen my father as oftenas i could. i have not turned him out of the house, and then come and fawned upon him wheni wanted money. i did not so much as know that he had spent those twelve thousand francson me. i am economical, as you know; and when papa has made me presents, it has never beenbecause i came and begged for them."

"you were better off than i. m. de marsaywas rich, as you have reason to know. you always were as slippery as gold. good-bye;i have neither sister nor——" "oh! hush, hush, nasie!" cried her father. "nobody else would repeat what everybody hasceased to believe. you are an unnatural sister!" cried delphine. "oh, children, children! hush! hush! or iwill kill myself before your eyes." "there, nasie, i forgive you," said mme. denucingen; "you are very unhappy. but i am kinder than you are. how could you say thatjust when i was ready to do anything in the world to help you, even to be reconciled withmy husband, which for my own sake i——oh!

it is just like you; you have behaved cruellyto me all through these nine years." "children, children, kiss each other!" criedthe father. "you are angels, both of you." "no. let me alone," cried the countess shakingoff the hand that her father had laid on her arm. "she is more merciless than my husband.any one might think she was a model of all the virtues herself!" "i would rather have people think that i owedmoney to m. de marsay than own that m. de trailles had cost me more than two hundredthousand francs," retorted mme. de nucingen. "delphine!" cried the countess, stepping towardsher sister. "i shall tell you the truth about yourselfif you begin to slander me," said the baroness

coldly. "delphine! you are a ——" father goriot sprang between them, graspedthe countess' hand, and laid his own over her mouth. "good heavens, father! what have you beenhandling this morning?" said anastasie. "ah! well, yes, i ought not to have touchedyou," said the poor father, wiping his hands on his trousers, "but i have been packingup my things; i did not know that you were coming to see me." he was glad that he had drawn down her wrathupon himself.

"ah!" he sighed, as he sat down, "you childrenhave broken my heart between you. this is killing me. my head feels as if it were onfire. be good to each other and love each other! this will be the death of me! delphine!nasie! come, be sensible; you are both in the wrong. come, dedel," he added, lookingthrough his tears at the baroness, "she must have twelve thousand francs, you see; letus see if we can find them for her. oh, my girls, do not look at each other like that!"and he sank on his knees beside delphine. "ask her to forgive you—just to please me,"he said in her ear. "she is more miserable than you are. come now, dedel." "poor nasie!" said delphine, alarmed at thewild extravagant grief in her father's face,

"i was in the wrong, kiss me——" "ah! that is like balm to my heart," criedfather goriot. "but how are we to find twelve thousand francs? i might offer myself as asubstitute in the army——" "oh! father dear!" they both cried, flingingtheir arms about him. "no, no!" "god reward you for the thought. we are notworth it, are we, nasie?" asked delphine. "and besides, father dear, it would only bea drop in the bucket," observed the countess. "but is flesh and blood worth nothing?" criedthe old man in his despair. "i would give body and soul to save you, nasie. i woulddo a murder for the man who would rescue you. i would do, as vautrin did, go to the hulks,go——" he stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt,

and put both hands to his head. "nothing left!"he cried, tearing his hair. "if i only knew of a way to steal money, but it is so hardto do it, and then 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. i am no good inthe world; i am no longer a father! no. she has come to me in her extremity, and, wretchthat i am, i have nothing to give her. ah! you put your money into a life annuity, oldscoundrel; and had you not daughters? you did not love them. die, die in a ditch, likethe dog that you are! yes, i am worse than a dog; a beast would not have done as i havedone! 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 headagainst the wall. there was a sound of sobbing. eugene, greatly alarmed, took the bill thatbore vautrin's signature, saw that the stamp would suffice for a larger sum, altered thefigures, made it into a regular bill for twelve thousand francs, payable to goriot's order,and went to his neighbor's room. "here is the money, madame," he said, handingthe piece of paper to her. "i was asleep; your conversation awoke me, and by this meansi learned all that i owed to m. goriot. this bill can be discounted, and i shall meet itpunctually at the due date." the countess stood motionless and speechless,but she held the bill in her fingers.

"delphine," she said, with a white face, andher whole frame quivering with indignation, anger, and rage, "i forgave you everything;god is my witness that i forgave you, but i cannot forgive this! so this gentleman wasthere all the time, and you knew it! your petty spite has let you to wreak your vengeanceon me by betraying my secrets, my life, my children's lives, my shame, my honor! there,you are nothing to me any longer. i hate you. i will do all that i can to injure you. iwill..." anger paralyzed her; the words died in herdry parched throat. "why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother,your preserver!" cried goriot. "kiss his hand, nasie! stay, i will embrace him myself," hesaid, straining eugene to his breast in a

frenzied clasp. "oh my boy! i will be morethan a father to you; if i had god's power, i would fling worlds at your feet. why don'tyou kiss him, nasie? he is not a man, but an 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 goon like this," cried the old 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, whostood stock still; all his faculties were

numbed by this violent scene. "sir?..." she said, doubt and inquiry in herface, tone, and bearing; she took no notice now of her father nor of delphine, who washastily unfastening his waistcoat. "madame," said eugene, answering the questionbefore it was asked, "i will meet the bill, and keep silence about it." "you have killed our father, nasie!" saiddelphine, pointing to goriot, who lay unconscious on the bed. the countess fled. "i freely forgive her," said the old man,opening his eyes; "her position is horrible; it would turn an older head than hers. comfortnasie, and be nice to her, delphine; promise

it to your poor father before he dies," heasked, holding delphine's hand in a convulsive clasp. "oh! what ails you, father?" she cried inreal alarm. "nothing, nothing," said goriot; "it willgo off. there is something heavy pressing on my forehead, a little headache.... ah!poor nasie, what a life lies before her!" just as he spoke, the countess came back againand flung herself on her knees before him. "forgive me!" she cried. "come," said her father, "you are hurtingme still more." "monsieur," the countess said, turning torastignac, "misery made me unjust to you.

you will be a brother to me, will you not?"and she held out her hand. her eyes were full of tears as she spoke. "nasie," cried delphine, flinging her armsround her sister, "my little nasie, let us forget and forgive." "no, no," cried nasie; "i shall never forget!" "dear angels," cried goriot, "it is as ifa dark curtain over my eyes had been raised; your voices have called me back to life. kisseach other once more. well, now, nasie, that bill will save you, won't it?" "i hope so. i say, papa, will you write yourname on it?"

"there! how stupid of me to forget that! buti am not feeling at all well, nasie, so you must not remember it against me. send andlet me know 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 kill him on the spot. and asfor signing away your property, i shall have a word to say about that. quick, my child,and keep maxime in order in future." eugene was too bewildered to speak. "poor anastasie, she always had a violenttemper," said mme. de nucingen, "but she has a good heart." "she came back for the endorsement," saideugene in delphine's ear.

"do you think so?" "i only wish i could think otherwise. do nottrust her," he answered, raising his eyes as if he confided to heaven the thoughts thathe did not venture to express. "yes. she is always acting a part to someextent." "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 satby the bedside, holding his hand until he fell asleep. then she went. "this evening at the italiens," she said toeugene, "and you can let me know how he is.

to-morrow you will leave this place, monsieur.let us go into your room.—oh! how frightful!" she cried on the threshold. "why, you areeven worse lodged than our father. eugene, you have behaved well. i would love you moreif that were possible; but, dear boy, if you are to succeed in life, you must not beginby flinging twelve thousand francs out of the windows like that. the comte de traillesis a confirmed gambler. my sister shuts her eyes to it. he would have made the twelvethousand francs in the same way that he wins and loses heaps of gold." a groan from the next room brought them backto goriot's bedside; to all appearances he was asleep, but the two lovers caught thewords, "they are 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-bed on which herfather lay, and kissed his forehead. he opened "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 herdoor; but he was not easy about goriot, and would not stay to dinner, as she proposed.he wanted to be back at the maison vauquer. father goriot had left his room, and was justsitting down to dinner as he came in. bianchon

had placed himself where he could watch theold man carefully; and when the old vermicelli maker took up his square of bread and smelledit to find out the 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, hospitallerof cochin," said eugene. bianchon went the more willingly because hischange of place brought him next to the old lodger. "what is wrong with him?" asked rastignac. "it is all up with him, or i am much mistaken!something very extraordinary must have taken

place; he looks to me as if he were in imminentdanger of serous apoplexy. the lower part of his face is composed enough, but the upperpart is drawn and distorted. then there is that peculiar look about the eyes that indicatesan effusion of serum in the brain; they look as though they were covered with a film offine dust, 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 deathoff for a time if a way could be found of setting up a reaction in the lower extremities;but if the symptoms do not abate by to-morrow evening, it will be all over with him, poorold fellow! do you know what has happened

to bring this on? there must have been someviolent shock, and his mind has given way." "yes, there was," said rastignac, rememberinghow the two daughters had struck blow on blow at their father's heart. "but delphine at any rate loves her father,"he said to himself. chapter 17 that evening at the opera rastignac chosehis words carefully, lest he should give mme. de nucingen needless alarm. "do not be anxious about him," she said, however,as soon as eugene began, "our father has really a strong constitution, but this morning wegave him a shock. our whole fortunes were

in peril, so the thing was serious, you see.i could not live if your affection did not make me insensible to troubles that i shouldonce have thought too hard to bear. at this moment i have but one fear left, but one miseryto dread—to lose 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 you are all the worldto me. if i feel glad to be rich, it is for your sake. to my shame be it said, i thinkof my lover before my father. do you ask why? i cannot tell you, but all my life is in you.my father gave me a heart, 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 have no right to thinkill of me for the faults which a tyrannous

love has forced me to commit for you! do youthink me an unnatural daughter? oh! no, no one could help loving such a dear kind fatheras ours. but how could 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 to think for us andforesee for us? to-day i know he suffers as much as we do, but how can it be helped? andas for comforting him, we could not comfort him in the least. our resignation would givehim more pain and hurt him far more than complaints and upbraidings. there are times in life wheneverything turns to bitterness." eugene was silent, the artless and sincereoutpouring made an impression on him. parisian women are often false, intoxicatedwith vanity, selfish and self-absorbed, frivolous

and shallow; yet of all women, when they love,they sacrifice their personal feelings to their passion; they rise but so much the higherfor all the pettiness overcome in their nature, and become sublime. then eugene was struckby the profound discernment and insight displayed by this woman in judging of natural affection,when a privileged affection had separated and set her at a distance apart. mme. de nucingenwas piqued by the silence, "what are you thinking about?" she asked. "i am thinking about what you said just now.hitherto i have always felt sure that i cared far more for you than you did for me." she smiled, and would not give way to thehappiness she felt, lest their talk should

exceed the conventional limits of propriety.she had never heard the vibrating tones of a sincere and youthful love; a few more words,and she feared for her self-control. "eugene," she said, changing the conversation,"i wonder whether you know what has been happening? all paris will go to mme. de beauseant's to-morrow.the rochefides and the marquis d'ajuda have agreed to keep the matter a profound secret,but to-morrow the king will sign the marriage-contract, and your poor cousin the vicomtesse knowsnothing of it as yet. she cannot put off her ball, and the marquis will not be there. peopleare wondering what will happen?" "the world laughs at baseness and connivesat it. but this will kill mme. de beauseant." "oh, no," said delphine, smiling, "you donot know that kind of woman. why, all paris

will be there, and so shall i; i ought togo there for your sake." "perhaps, after all, it is one of those absurdreports that people set in circulation here." "we shall know the truth to-morrow." eugene did not return to the maison vauquer.he could not forego the pleasure of occupying his new rooms in the rue d'artois. yesterdayevening he had been obliged to leave delphine soon after midnight, but that night it wasdelphine who stayed with him until two o'clock in the morning. he rose late, and waited formme. de nucingen, who came about noon to breakfast with him. youth snatches eagerly at theserosy moments of happiness, and eugene had almost forgotten goriot's existence. the prettythings that surrounded him were growing familiar;

this domestication in itself was one longfestival for him, and mme. de nucingen was there to glorify it all by her presence. itwas four o'clock before they thought of goriot, and of how he had looked forward to the newlife in that house. eugene said that the old man ought to be moved at once, lest he shouldgrow too ill to move. he left delphine and hurried back to the lodging-house. neitherfather goriot nor young bianchon was in the dining-room with the others. "aha!" said the painter as eugene came in,"father goriot has broken down at last. bianchon is upstairs with him. one of his daughters—thecomtesse de restaurama—came to see the old gentleman, and he would get up and go out,and made himself worse. society is about to

lose one of its brightest ornaments." rastignac sprang to the staircase. "hey! monsieur eugene!" "monsieur eugene, the mistress is callingyou," shouted sylvie. "it is this, sir," said the widow. "you andm. goriot should by rights have moved out on the 15th of february. that was three daysago; to-day is the 18th, i ought really to be paid a month in advance; but if you willengage to pay for both, i shall be quite satisfied." "why can't you trust him?" "trust him, indeed! if the old gentleman wentoff his head and died, those daughters of

his would not pay me a farthing, and his thingswon't fetch ten francs. this morning he went out with all the spoons and forks he has left,i don't know why. he had got himself up to look quite young, and—lord, forgive me—buti thought he had rouge on his cheeks; he looked quite young again." "i will be responsible," said eugene, shudderingwith horror, for he foresaw the end. he climbed the stairs and reached father goriot'sroom. the old man was tossing 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 eugeneinto a corner of the room. "well?" asked rastignac. "nothing but a miracle can save him now. serouscongestion has set in; i have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, theyare acting." "is it possible to move him?" "quite out of the question. he must stay wherehe is, and be kept as quiet as possible——"

"dear bianchon," said eugene, "we will nursehim between us." "i have had the head physician round frommy hospital to see him." "and what did he say?" "he will give no opinion till to-morrow evening.he promised to look in again at the end of the day. unluckily, the preposterous creaturemust needs go and do something foolish this morning; he will not say what it was. he isas obstinate as a mule. as soon as i begin to talk to him he pretends not to hear, andlies as if he were asleep instead of answering, or if he opens his eyes he begins to groan.some time this morning 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 been driving some confoundedbargain, and it has been too much for his strength. one of his daughters has been here." "was it the countess?" asked eugene. "a tall,dark-haired woman, with large bright eyes, slender figure, and little feet?" "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 trynot to excite him; there is still some hope left." "all right."

"how they will enjoy themselves to-morrow,"said father goriot when they were alone. "they are going to a grand ball." "what were you doing this morning, papa, tomake yourself so poorly this evening that you have to stop in bed?" "nothing." "did not anastasie come to see you?" demandedrastignac. "yes," said father goriot. "well, then, don't keep anything from me.what more did she want of you?" "oh, she was very miserable," he answered,gathering up all his strength to speak. "it

was this way, my boy. since that affair ofthe diamonds, nasie has not had a penny of her own. for this ball she had ordered a goldengown like a setting for a jewel. her mantuamaker, a woman without a conscience, would not giveher credit, so nasie's waiting-woman advanced a thousand francs on account. poor nasie!reduced to such shifts! it cut me to the heart to think of it! but when nasie's maid sawhow things were between her master and mistress, she was afraid of losing her money, and cameto an understanding with the dressmaker, and the woman refuses to send the ball-dress untilthe money is paid. the gown is ready, and the ball is to-morrow night! nasie was indespair. she wanted to borrow my forks and spoons to pawn them. her husband is determinedthat she shall go and wear the diamonds, so

as to contradict the stories that are toldall over paris. how can she go to that heartless scoundrel and say, 'i owe a thousand francsto 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 her younger sister.and then—she was drowned in tears, poor girl! i felt so humbled yesterday when i hadnot the twelve thousand francs, that i would have given the rest of my miserable life towipe out that wrong. you see, i could have borne anything once, but latterly this wantof money has broken my heart. oh! i did not do it by halves; i titivated myself up a bit,and went out and sold my spoons and forks and buckles for six hundred francs; then iwent to old daddy gobseck, and sold a year's

interest on my annuity for four hundred francsdown. pshaw! i can live on dry bread, as i did when i was a young man; if i have doneit before, i can do it again. my nasie shall have one happy evening, at any rate. she shallbe smart. the banknote for a thousand francs is under my pillow; it warms me to have itlying there under my head, for it is going to make my poor nasie happy. she can turnthat bad girl victoire out of the house. a servant that cannot trust her mistress, didany one ever hear the like! i shall be quite well to-morrow. nasie is coming at ten o'clock.they must not think that i am ill, or they will not go to the ball; they will stop andtake care of me. to-morrow nasie will come and hold me in her arms as if i were one ofher children; her kisses will make me well

again. after all, i might have spent the thousandfrancs on physic; i would far rather give them to my little nasie, who can charm allthe pain away. at any rate, i am some comfort to her in her misery; and that makes up formy unkindness in buying an annuity. she is in the depths, and i cannot draw her out ofthem now. oh! i will go 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 against the importationof grain, but the good folk who made the law forgot to prohibit the introduction of wheatproducts and food stuffs made from corn. hey! hey!... that struck me this morning. thereis a fine trade to be done in starch." eugene, watching the old man's face, thoughtthat his friend was light-headed.

"come," he said, "do not talk any more, youmust rest——" just then bianchon came up, and eugene went down to dinner. the two students sat up with him that night,relieving each other in turn. bianchon brought up his medical books and studied; eugene wroteletters home to his mother and sisters. next morning bianchon thought the symptoms morehopeful, but the patient's condition demanded continual attention, which the two studentsalone were willing to give—a task impossible to describe in the squeamish phraseology ofthe epoch. leeches must be applied to the wasted body, the poultices and hot foot-baths,and other details of the treatment required the physical strength and devotion of thetwo young men. mme. de restaud did not come;

but she sent a messenger for the money. "i expected she would come herself; but itwould have been a pity for her to come, she would have been anxious about me," said thefather, and to all appearances he was well content. at seven o'clock that evening therese camewith a letter from delphine. "what are you doing, dear friend? i have beenloved for a very little while, and i am neglected already?in the confidences of heart and heart, i have learned to know yoursoul—you are too noble not to be faithful for ever, for youknow that love with all

its infinite subtle changes of feeling isnever the same. once you said, as we were listening to the prayer inmose in egitto, 'for some it is the monotony of a single note;for others, it is the infinite of sound.' remember that i am expectingyou this evening to take me to mme. de beauseant's ball. everyone knows now that the king signed m. d'ajuda's marriage-contractthis morning, and the poor vicomtesse knew nothing of it untiltwo o'clock this afternoon. all paris will flock to her house,of course, just as a crowd fills the place de greve to see an execution.it is

horrible, is it not, to go out of curiosityto see if she will hide her anguish, and whether she will diecourageously? i certainly should not go, my friend, if i hadbeen at her house before; but, of course, she will not receivesociety any more after this, and all my efforts would be invain. my position is a very unusual one, and besides, i am goingthere partly on your account. i am waiting for you. if you arenot beside me in less than two hours, i do not know whether i couldforgive such treason."

rastignac took up a pen and wrote: "i am waiting till the doctor comes to knowif there is any hope of your father's life. he is lying dangerouslyill. i will come and bring you the news, but i am afraid it maybe a sentence of death. when i come you can decide whether you cango to the ball.—yours a thousand times." at half-past eight the doctor arrived. hedid not take a very hopeful view of the case, but thought that there was no immediate danger.improvements and relapses might be expected, and the good man's life and reason hung inthe balance.

"it would be better for him to die at once,"the doctor said as he took leave. eugene left goriot to bianchon's care, andwent to carry the sad news to mme. de nucingen. family feeling lingered in her, and this mustput an end for the present to her plans of amusement. "tell her to enjoy her evening as if nothinghad happened," cried goriot. he had been lying in a sort of stupor, but he suddenly sat uprightas 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, the last touches requiremore time than the whole groundwork of the

picture. "why, you are not dressed!" she cried. "madame, your father——" "my father again!" she exclaimed, breakingin upon him. "you need not teach me what is due to my father, i have known my father thislong while. not a word, eugene. i will hear what you have to say when you are dressed.my carriage is waiting, take it, go round to your rooms and dress, therese has put outeverything in readiness for you. come back as soon as you can; we will talk about myfather on the way to mme. de beauseant's. we must go early; if we have to wait our turnin a row of carriages, we shall be lucky if

we get there by eleven o'clock." "madame——" "quick! not a word!" she cried, darting intoher dressing-room for a necklace. "do go, monsieur eugene, or you will vex madame,"said therese, hurrying him away; and eugene was too horror-stricken by this elegant parricideto resist. he went to his rooms and dressed, sad, thoughtful,and dispirited. the world of paris was like an ocean of mud for him just then; and itseemed that whoever set foot in that black mire must needs sink into it up to the chin. "their crimes are paltry," said eugene tohimself. "vautrin was greater."

he had seen society in its three great phases—obedience,struggle, and revolt; the family, the world, and vautrin; and he hesitated in his choice.obedience was dull, revolt impossible, struggle hazardous. his thoughts wandered back to thehome circle. he thought of the quiet uneventful life, the pure happiness of the days spentamong those who loved him there. those loving and beloved beings passed their lives in obedienceto the natural laws of the hearth, and in that obedience found a deep and constant serenity,unvexed by torments such as these. yet, for all his good impulses, he could not bringhimself to make profession of the religion of pure souls to delphine, nor to prescribethe duties of piety to her in the name of love. his education had begun to bear itsfruits; he loved selfishly already. besides,

his tact had discovered to him the real natureof delphine; he divined instinctively that she was capable of stepping over her father'scorpse to go to the ball; and within himself he felt that he had neither the strength ofmind to play the part of mentor, nor the strength of character to vex her, nor the courage toleave her to go alone. "she would never forgive me for putting herin the wrong over it," he said to himself. then he turned the doctor's dictum over inhis mind; he tried to believe that goriot was not so dangerously ill as he had imagined,and ended by collecting together a sufficient quantity of traitorous excuses for delphine'sconduct. she did not know how ill her father was; the kind old man himself would have madeher go to the ball if she had gone to see

him. so often it happens that this one orthat stands condemned by the social laws that govern family relations; and yet there arepeculiar circumstances in the case, differences of temperament, divergent interests, innumerablecomplications of family life that excuse the apparent offence. eugene did not wish to see too clearly; hewas ready to sacrifice his conscience to his mistress. within the last few days his wholelife had undergone a change. woman had entered into his world and thrown it into chaos, familyclaims dwindled away before her; she had appropriated all his being to her uses. rastignac and delphinefound each other at a crisis in their lives when their union gave them the most poignantbliss. their passion, so long proved, had

only gained in strength by the gratified desirethat often extinguishes passion. this woman was his, and eugene recognized that not untilthen had he loved her; perhaps love is only gratitude for pleasure. this woman, vile orsublime, he adored for the pleasure she had brought as her dower; and delphine loved rastignacas tantalus would have loved some angel who had satisfied his hunger and quenched theburning thirst in his parched throat. "well," said mme. de nucingen when he cameback in evening dress, "how is my father?" "very dangerously ill," he answered; "if youwill grant me a proof of your 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'sthroat," he said almost angrily. and with the hot indignation of youth, he told thestory of mme. de restaud's vanity and cruelty, of her father's final act of self-sacrifice,that had brought about this struggle between life and death, of the price that had beenpaid for anastasie's golden embroideries. delphine cried. "i shall look frightful," she thought. shedried her tears.

"i will nurse my father; i will not leavehis bedside," she said aloud. "ah! now you are as i would have you," exclaimedrastignac. the lamps of five hundred carriages lit upthe darkness about the hotel de beauseant. a gendarme in all the glory of his uniformstood on either side of the brightly lighted gateway. the great world was flocking thitherthat night in its eager curiosity to see the great lady at the moment of her fall, andthe rooms on the ground floor were already full to overflowing, when mme. de nucingenand rastignac appeared. never since louis xiv. tore her lover away from la grand mademoiselle,and the whole court hastened to visit that unfortunate princess, had a disastrous loveaffair made such a sensation in paris. but

the youngest daughter of the almost royalhouse of burgundy had risen proudly above her pain, and moved till the last moment likea queen in this world—its vanities had always been valueless for her, save in so far asthey contributed to the triumph of her passion. the salons were filled with the most beautifulwomen in paris, resplendent in their toilettes, and radiant with smiles. ministers and ambassadors,the most distinguished men at court, men bedizened with decorations, stars, and ribbons, menwho bore the most illustrious names in france, had gathered about the vicomtesse. the music of the orchestra vibrated in waveafter wave of sound from the golden ceiling of the palace, now made desolate for its queen.

madame de beauseant stood at the door of thefirst salon to receive the guests who were styled her friends. she was dressed in white,and wore no ornament in the plaits of hair braided about her head; her face was calm;there was no sign there of pride, nor of pain, nor of joy that she did not feel. no one couldread her soul; she stood there like some niobe carved in marble. for a few intimate friendsthere was a tinge of satire in her smile; but no scrutiny saw any change in her, norhad she looked otherwise in the days of the glory of her happiness. the most callous ofher guests admired her as young rome applauded some gladiator who could die smiling. it seemedas if society had adorned itself for a last audience of one of its sovereigns.

"i was afraid that you would not come," shesaid to rastignac. "madame," he said, in an unsteady voice, takingher speech as a reproach, "i shall be the last to go, that is why i am here." "good," she said, and she took his hand. "youare perhaps the only one i can trust here among all these. oh, my friend, when you love,love a woman whom you are sure that you can love always. never forsake a woman." she took rastignac's arm, and went towardsa sofa in the card-room. "i want you to go to the marquis," she said."jacques, my footman, will go with you; he has a letter that you will take. i am askingthe marquis to 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 one shall bring me word." she rose to go to meet the duchesse de langeais,her most intimate friend, who had come like the rest of the world. rastignac went. he asked for the marquis d'ajudaat the hotel rochefide, feeling certain that the latter would be spending his evening there,and so it proved. the marquis went to his own house with rastignac, and gave a casketto the student, saying as he did so, "they are all there." he seemed as if he was about to say somethingto eugene, to ask about the ball, or the vicomtesse;

perhaps he was on the brink of the confessionthat, even then, he was in despair, and knew that his marriage had been a fatal mistake;but a proud gleam shone in his eyes, and with deplorable courage he kept his noblest feelingsa secret. "do not even mention my name to her, my deareugene." he grasped rastignac's hand sadly and affectionately, and turned away from him.eugene went back to the hotel beauseant, the servant took him to the vicomtesse's room.there were signs there of preparations for a journey. he sat down by the fire, fixedhis eyes on the cedar wood casket, and fell into deep mournful musings. mme. de beauseantloomed large in these imaginings, like a goddess in the iliad.

"ah! my friend!..." said the vicomtesse; shecrossed the room and laid her 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 that the fingers ofthe other trembled. suddenly she took the casket, put it in the fire, and watched itburn. "they are dancing," she said. "they all camevery early; but death will 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 see paris again.i am taking my leave of the world. at five o'clock this morning i shall set out on myjourney; i mean to bury myself in the remotest part of normandy. i have had very little timeto make my arrangements; since three o'clock

this afternoon i have been busy signing documents,setting my affairs in order; there was no one whom i could send to..." she broke off. "he was sure to be..." again she broke off; the weight of her sorrowwas more than she could bear. in such moments as these everything is agony, and some wordsare impossible to utter. "and so i counted upon you to do me this lastpiece of service this 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 kind and noble, fresh-heartedand true, in this world where such qualities

are seldom found. i should like you to thinksometimes of me. stay," she said, glancing about her, "there is this box that has heldmy gloves. every time i opened it before going to a ball or to the theatre, i used to feelthat i must be beautiful, because i was so happy; and i never touched it except to laysome gracious memory in it: there is so much of my old self in it, of a madame de beauseantwho now lives no longer. will you take it? i will leave directions that it is to be sentto you in the rue d'artois.—mme. de nucingen looked very charming this evening. eugene,you must love her. perhaps we may never see each other again, my friend; but be sure ofthis, that i shall pray for you who have been kind to me.—now, let us go downstairs. peopleshall not think that 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 my tears. one last lookround first." she stood for a moment. then she covered hereyes with her hands for an instant, dashed away the tears, bathed her face with coldwater, and took the student's arm. "let us go!" she said. this suffering, endured with such noble fortitude,shook eugene with a more violent emotion than he had felt before. they went back to theballroom, and mme. de beauseant went through the rooms on eugene's arm—the last delicatelygracious act of a gracious woman. in another moment he saw the sisters, mme. de restaudand mme. de nucingen. the countess shone in

all the glory of her magnificent diamonds;every stone must have scorched like fire, she was never to wear them again. strong aslove and pride might be in her, she found it difficult to meet her husband's eyes. thesight of her was scarcely calculated to lighten rastignac's sad thoughts; through the blazeof those diamonds he seemed to see the wretched pallet-bed on which father goriot was lying.the vicomtesse misread his melancholy; she withdrew her hand from his arm. "come," she said, "i must not deprive youof a pleasure." eugene was soon claimed by delphine. she wasdelighted by the impression that 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 move henceforth. "what do you think of nasie?" she asked him. "she has discounted everything, even her ownfather's death," said rastignac. towards four o'clock in the morning the roomsbegan to empty. a little later the music ceased, and the duchesse de langeais and rastignacwere left in the great ballroom. the vicomtesse, who thought to find the student 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 is a great pity, my dear, to shut yourself up at your age!pray stay among us." mme. de beauseant saw the duchesse, and, inspite of herself, an exclamation broke from

her. "i saw how it was, clara," said mme. de langeais."you are going from among us, and you will never come back. but you must not go untilyou have heard me, until we have understood each other." she took her friend's arm, and they went togetherinto 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 have been 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 worthy of our friendship,and i mean to prove myself worthy of it. i

have not always been kind; i was in the wrong;forgive me, dearest; i wish i could unsay anything that may have hurt you; i take backthose 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 whatthat means?—none of those who saw you to-night, clara, will ever forget you. i mean to makeone last effort. if i fail, i shall go into a convent. clara, where are you going?" "into normandy, to courcelles. i shall loveand pray there until the day when god shall take me from this world.—m. de rastignac!"called the vicomtesse, in a tremulous voice, remembering that the young man was waitingthere.

the student knelt to kiss his cousin's hand. "good-bye, antoinette!" said mme. de beauseant."may you be happy."—she turned to the student. "you are young," she said; "you have somebeliefs still left. i have been privileged, like some dying people, to find sincere andreverent feeling in those about me as i take my leave of this world." it was nearly five o'clock that morning whenrastignac came away. he had put mme. de beauseant into her traveling carriage, and receivedher last farewells, spoken amid fast-falling tears; for no greatness is so great that itcan rise above the laws of human affection, or live beyond the jurisdiction of pain, ascertain demagogues would have the people believe.

eugene returned on foot to the maison vauquerthrough the cold and darkness. his education was nearly complete. "there is no hope for poor father goriot,"said bianchon, as rastignac came into the room. eugene looked for a while at the sleepingman, then he turned to his friend. "dear fellow, you are content with the modest career youhave marked out for yourself; keep to it. i am in hell, and i must stay there. believeeverything that you hear said of the world, nothing is too impossibly bad. no juvenalcould paint the horrors hidden away under the covering of gems and gold." at two o'clock in the afternoon bianchon cameto wake rastignac, and begged him to take

charge of goriot, who had grown worse as theday wore on. the medical student was obliged to go out. "poor old man, he has not two days to live,maybe not many hours," he said; "but we must do our utmost, all the same, to fight thedisease. it will be a very troublesome case, and we shall want money. we can nurse himbetween us, of course, but, for my own part, i have not a penny. i have turned out hispockets, and rummaged through his drawers—result, nix. i asked him about it while his mind wasclear, and he told me he had not a farthing of his own. what have you?" "i have twenty francs left," said rastignac;"but i will take them to the roulette table,

i shall be sure to win." "and if you lose?" "then i shall go to his sons-in-law and hisdaughters and ask them for money." "and suppose they refuse?" bianchon retorted."the most pressing thing just now is not really money; we must put mustard poultices, as hotas they can be made, on his feet and legs. if he calls out, there is still some hopefor him. you know how to set about doing it, and besides, christophe will help you. i amgoing round to the dispensary to persuade them to let us have the things we want oncredit. it is a pity that we could not move him to the hospital; poor fellow, he wouldbe better there. well, come along, i leave

you in charge; you must stay with him tilli come back." the two young men went back to the room wherethe 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 overthe pallet-bed. goriot turned his dull eyes upon eugene, looked at him attentively, anddid not recognize him. it was more than the student could bear; the tears came into hiseyes. "bianchon, ought we to have the curtains putup in the windows?" "no, the temperature and the light do notaffect him now. it would be a good thing for him if he felt heat or cold; but we must havea fire in any case to make tisanes and heat

the other things. i will send round a fewsticks; they will last till we can have in some firewood. i burned all the bark fuelyou had left, as well as his, poor man, yesterday and during the night. the place is so dampthat the water stood in drops on the walls; i could hardly get the room dry. christophecame in and swept the floor, but the place is like a stable; i had to burn juniper, thesmell was something horrible. "mon dieu!" said rastignac. "to think of thosedaughters of his." "one moment, if he asks for something to drink,give him this," said the house 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; get christophe to helpyou. if he should happen to grow much excited,

and begin to talk a good deal and even toramble in his talk, do not be alarmed. it would not be a bad symptom. but send christopheto the hospice cochin. our doctor, my chum, or i will come and apply moxas. we had a greatconsultation this morning while you were asleep. a surgeon, a pupil of gall's came, and ourhouse surgeon, and the head physician from the hotel-dieu. those gentlemen consideredthat the symptoms were very unusual and interesting; the case must be carefully watched, for itthrows a light on several obscure and rather important scientific problems. one of theauthorities says that if there is more pressure of serum on one or other portion of the brain,it should affect his mental capacities in such and such directions. so if he shouldtalk, notice very carefully what kind of ideas

his mind seems to run on; whether memory,or penetration, or the reasoning faculties are exercised; whether sentiments or practicalquestions fill his thoughts; whether he makes forecasts or dwells on the past; in fact;you must be prepared to give an accurate report of him. it is quite likely that the extravasationfills the whole brain, in which case he will die in the imbecile state in which he is lyingnow. you cannot tell anything about these mysterious nervous diseases. suppose the crashcame here," said bianchon, touching the back of the head, "very strange things have beenknown to happen; the brain sometimes partially recovers, and death is delayed. or the congestedmatter may pass out of the brain altogether through channels which can only be determinedby a post-mortem examination. there is an

old man at the hospital for incurables, animbecile patient, in his case the effusion has followed the direction of the spinal cord;he suffers horrid agonies, but he lives." "did they enjoy themselves?" it was fathergoriot who spoke. he had recognized eugene. "oh! he thinks of nothing but his daughters,"said bianchon. "scores of times last night he said to me, 'they are dancing now! shehas her dress.' he called them by their names. he made me cry, the devil take it, callingwith that tone in his voice, for 'delphine! my little delphine! and nasie!' upon my word,"said the medical student, "it was enough to make any one burst out crying." "delphine," said the old man, "she is there,isn't she? i knew she was there," and his

eyes sought the door. "i am going down now to tell sylvie to getthe poultices ready," said bianchon. "they ought to go on at once." chapter 18 rastignac was left alone with the old man.he sat at the foot of the bed, and gazed at the face before him, so horribly changed thatit was shocking to see. "noble natures cannot dwell in this world,"he said; "mme de beauseant has fled from it, and there he lies dying. what place indeedis there in the shallow petty frivolous thing called society for noble thoughts and feelings?"

pictures of yesterday's ball rose up in hismemory, in strange contrast to the deathbed before him. bianchon suddenly appeared. "i say, eugene, i have just seen our headsurgeon at the hospital, and i ran all the way back here. if the old man shows any signsof reason, if he begins to talk, cover him with a mustard poultice from the neck to thebase of the spine, and send round for us." "dear bianchon," exclaimed eugene. "oh! it is an interesting case from a scientificpoint of view," said the medical student, with all the enthusiasm of a neophyte. "so!" said eugene. "am i really the only onewho cares for the poor old man for his own

sake?" "you would not have said so if you had seenme this morning," returned bianchon, who did not take offence at this speech. "doctorswho have seen a good deal of practice never see anything but the disease, but, my dearfellow, i can see the patient still." he went. eugene was left alone with the oldman, and with an apprehension 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 screwedup in a vise, but now it is set free again.

did you see my girls? they will be here directly;as soon as they know that i am ill they will hurry here at once; they used to take suchcare of me in the rue de la jussienne! great heavens! if only my room was fit for themto come into! there has been a young man here, who has burned up all my bark fuel." "i can hear christophe coming upstairs," eugeneanswered. "he is bringing up some firewood that that young man has sent you." "good, but how am i to pay for the wood. ihave not a penny left, dear boy. i have given everything, everything. i am a pauper now.well, at least the golden gown was grand, was it not? (ah! what pain this is!) thanks,christophe! god will reward you, my boy; i

have nothing left now." eugene went over to christophe and whisperedin the man's ear, "i will pay 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 themthat i am not feeling well, that i should like to kiss them both and see them once againbefore i die. tell them that, but don't alarm them more than you can help." rastignac signed to christophe to go, andthe man went. "they will come before long," the old manwent on. "i know them so well. my tender-hearted

delphine! if i am going to die, she will feelit so much! 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 will be very dreary there where i am going.for a father it is hell to be without your children; i have served my apprenticeshipalready since they 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 them in spirit? i haveheard some such things said. it is true? it is as if i could see them at this moment asthey used to be when we all lived in the rue de la jussienne. they used to come downstairsof a morning. 'good-morning, papa!' they used to say, and i would take them on my knees;we had all sorts of little games of play together,

and they had such pretty coaxing ways. wealways had breakfast together, too, every morning, and they had dinner with me—infact, i was a father then. i enjoyed my children. they did not think for themselves so longas they lived in the rue de la jussienne; they knew nothing of the world; they lovedme with all their hearts. mon dieu! why could they not always be little girls? (oh! my head!this racking pain in my head!) ah! ah! forgive me, children, this pain is fearful; it mustbe agony indeed, for you 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 the way? christopheis so stupid; i ought to have gone myself. he will see them. but you went to the ballyesterday; just tell me how they looked. they

did not know that i was ill, did they, orthey would not have been dancing, poor little things? oh! i must not be ill any longer.they stand too much in need of me; their fortunes are in danger. and such husbands as they arebound to! i must get well! (oh! what pain this is! what pain this is! ... ah! ah!)—imust get well, you see; for they must have money, and i know how to set about makingsome. i will go to odessa and manufacture starch there. i am an old hand, i will makemillions. (oh! this is agony!)" goriot was silent for a moment; it seemedto require his whole strength to endure the pain. "if they were here, i should not complain,"he said. "so why should i complain now?"

he seemed to grow drowsy with exhaustion,and lay quietly for a long time. christophe came back; and rastignac, thinking that goriotwas asleep, allowed the man to give his story aloud. "first of all, sir, i went to madame la comtesse,"he said; "but she and her husband were so busy that i couldn't get to speak to her.when i insisted that i must see her, m. de restaud came out to me himself, and went onlike this: 'm. goriot is dying, is he? very well, it is the best thing he can do. i wantmme. de restaud to transact some important business, when it is all finished she cango.' the gentleman looked angry, i thought. i was just going away when mme. de restaudcame out into an ante-chamber through a door

that i did not notice, and said, 'christophe,tell my father that my husband wants me to discuss some matters with him, and i cannotleave the house, the life or death of my children is at stake; but as soon as it is over, iwill come.' as for madame 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, but madame only came back froma ball at a quarter to five this morning; she is asleep now, and if i wake her beforemid-day she will be cross. as soon as she rings, i will go and tell her that her fatheris worse. it will 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 was out."

"to think that neither of his daughters shouldcome!" exclaimed rastignac. "i will write to them both." "neither of them!" cried the old man, sittingupright in bed. "they are busy, they are asleep, they will not come! i knew that they wouldnot. not until you are dying do you know your children.... oh! my friend, do not marry;do not have children! you give them life; they give you your deathblow. you bring theminto the world, and they send you out of it. no, they will not come. i have known thatthese ten years. sometimes i have told myself so, but i did not dare to believe it." the tears gathered and stood without overflowingthe red sockets.

"ah! if i were rich still, if i had kept mymoney, if i had not given all to them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on meand cover my cheeks with their kisses! i should be living in a great mansion; i should havegrand apartments and servants and a fire in my room; and they would be about me all intears, and their husbands and their children. i should have had all that; now—i have nothing.money brings everything 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 and tend me; i shouldhear their voices, i should see their faces. ah, god! who knows? they both of them havehearts of stone. i loved them too much; it was not likely that they should love me. afather ought always to 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 the crowning act that bringsthe last ten years to a proper close. if you but knew how much they made of me just afterthey were married. (oh! this is cruel torture!) i had just given them each eight hundred thousandfrancs; they were bound to be civil to me after that, and their husbands too were civil.i used to go to their houses: it was 'my kind father' here, 'my dear father' there. therewas always a place for me at their tables. i used to dine with their husbands now andthen, and they were very respectful to me. i was still worth something, they thought.how should they know? i had not said anything about my affairs. it is worth while to becivil to a man who has given his daughters

eight hundred thousand francs apiece; andthey showed me every attention then—but it was all for my money. grand people arenot great. i found that out by experience! i went to the theatre with them in their carriage;i might stay as long as i cared to stay at their evening parties. in fact, they acknowledgedme their father; publicly they owned that they were my daughters. but i was always ashrewd one, you see, and nothing was lost upon me. everything went straight to the markand pierced my heart. i saw quite well that it was all sham and pretence, but there isno help for such things as these. i felt less at my ease at their dinner-table than i diddownstairs here. i had nothing to say for myself. so these grand folks would ask inmy son-in-law's ear, 'who may that gentleman

be?'—'the father-in-law with the money bags;he is very rich.'—'the devil, he is!' they would say, and look again at me with the respectdue to my money. well, if i was in the way sometimes, i paid dearly for my mistakes.and besides, who is perfect? (my head is one sore!) dear monsieur eugene, i am sufferingso now, that a man might die of the pain; but it is nothing to be compared with thepain i endured when anastasie made me feel, for the first time, that i had said somethingstupid. she looked at me, and that glance of hers opened all my veins. i used to wantto know everything, to be learned; and one thing i did learn thoroughly—i knew thati was not wanted here on earth. "the next day i went to delphine for comfort,and what should i do there but make some stupid

blunder that made her angry with me. i waslike one driven out of his senses. for a week i did not know what to do; i did not dareto go to see them for fear they should reproach me. and that was how they both turned me outof the house. "oh god! thou knowest all the misery and anguishthat 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 my life; why dost thoumake me to suffer so to-day? have i not more than expiated the sin of loving them too much?they themselves have been the instruments of vengeance; they have tortured me for mysin of affection. "ah, well! fathers know no better; i lovedthem so; i went back to them as a gambler

goes to the gaming table. this love was myvice, you see, my mistress—they were everything in the world to me. they were always wantingsomething or other, dresses and ornaments, and what not; their maids used to tell mewhat they wanted, and i used to give them the things for the sake of the welcome thatthey bought for me. but, at the same time, they used to give me little lectures on mybehavior in society; they began about it at once. then they began to feel ashamed of me.that is what comes of having your children well brought up. i could not go to schoolagain at my time of life. (this pain is fearful! mon dieu! these doctors! these doctors! ifthey would open my head, it would give me some relief!) oh, my daughters, my daughters!anastasie! delphine! if i could only see them!

send for the police, and make them come tome! justice is on my side, the whole world is on my side, i have natural rights, andthe law with me. i protest! the country will go to ruin if a father's rights are trampledunder foot. that is easy to see. the whole world turns on fatherly love; fatherly loveis the foundation of society; it will crumble into ruin when children do not love theirfathers. oh! if i could only see them, and hear them, no matter what they said; if icould simply hear their voices, it would soothe the pain. delphine! delphine most of all.but tell them when they come not to look so coldly at me as they do. oh! my friend, mygood monsieur eugene, 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 since the light in theireyes shone no more for me. i have had nothing but disappointments to devour. disappointmenthas been my daily bread; i have lived on humiliation and insults. i have swallowed down all theaffronts for which they sold me my poor stealthy little moments of joy; for i love them so!think of it! a father hiding himself to get a glimpse of his children! i have given allmy life to them, and to-day they will not give me one hour! i am hungering and thirstingfor them, my heart is burning in me, but they will not come to bring relief in the agony,for i am dying now, i feel that this is death. do they not know what it means to trampleon a father's corpse? there is a god in heaven who avenges us fathers whether we will orno.

"oh! they will come! come to me, darlings,and give me one more kiss; one last kiss, the viaticum for your father, who will praygod for you in heaven. i will tell him that you have been good children to your father,and plead your cause with god! after all, it is not their fault. i tell you they areinnocent, my friend. tell every one that it is not their fault, and no one need be distressedon my account. it is all my own fault, i taught them to trample upon me. i loved to have itso. it is no one's affair but mine; man's justice and god's justice have nothing todo in it. god would be unjust if he condemned them for anything they may have done to me.i did not behave to them properly; i was stupid enough to resign my rights. i would have humbledmyself in the dust for them. what could you

expect? the most beautiful nature, the noblestsoul, would have been spoiled by such indulgence. i am a wretch, i am justly punished. i, andi only, am to blame for all their sins; i spoiled them. to-day they are as eager forpleasure as they used to be for sugar-plums. when they were little girls i indulged themin every whim. they had a carriage of their own when they were fifteen. they have neverbeen crossed. i am guilty, and not they—but i sinned through love. "my heart would open at the sound of theirvoices. i can hear them; they are coming. yes! yes! they are coming. the law demandsthat they should be 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, tell them that ihave millions to leave to them! on my word of honor, yes. i am going to manufacture italianpaste foods at odessa. i understand the trade. there are millions to be made in it. nobodyhas thought of the scheme 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; there are millions tobe made in the starch trade! you will not be telling a lie. millions, tell them; andeven if they really come because they covet the money, i would rather let them deceiveme; and i shall see them 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 white hair, seemed to eugenelike a threat; every line that could still

speak spoke of menace. "there, there, dear father," said eugene,"lie down again; i will write to them at once. as soon as bianchon comes back i will go forthem myself, if they do not come before." "if they do not come?" repeated the old man,sobbing. "why, i shall be dead before then; i shall die in a fit of rage, of rage! angeris getting the better of me. i can see my whole life at this minute. i have been cheated!they do not love me—they have never loved me all their lives! it is all clear to me.they have not come, and they will not come. the longer they put off their coming, theless they are likely to give me this joy. i know them. they have never cared to guessmy disappointments, my sorrows, my wants;

they never cared to know my life; they willhave no presentiment of my death; they do not even know the secret of my tendernessfor them. yes, i see it all now. i have laid my heart open so often, that they take everythingi do for them as a matter of course. they might have asked me for the very eyes outof my head and i would have bidden them to pluck them out. they think that all fathersare like theirs. you should always make your value felt. their own children will avengeme. why, for their own sakes they should come to me! make them understand that they arelaying up retribution for their own deathbeds. all crimes are summed up in this one.... goto them; just tell them that if they stay away it will be parricide! there is enoughlaid to their charge already without adding

that to the list. cry aloud as i do now, 'nasie!delphine! here! come to your father; the father who has been so kind to you is lying ill!'—nota sound; no one comes! then am i to die like a dog? this is to be my reward—i am forsakenat the last. they are wicked, heartless women; curses on them, i loathe them. i shall riseat 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 nowthat delphine is in the room? she is more tender-hearted than her sister.... eugene,you are my son, you know. you will love her; be a father to her! her sister is very unhappy.and there are their fortunes! ah, god! i am dying, this anguish is almost more than ican bear! cut off my head; leave me nothing

but my heart." "christophe!" shouted eugene, alarmed by theway in which the old man moaned, and by his cries, "go for m. bianchon, and send a cabhere for me.—i am going to fetch them, dear father; i will bring them back to you." "make them come! compel them to come! callout the guard, the military, anything and everything, but make them come!" he lookedat eugene, and a last gleam of intelligence shone in his eyes. "go to the authorities,to the public prosecutor, let them bring them here; come they shall!" "but you have cursed them."

"who said that!" said the old man in dullamazement. "you know quite well that i love them, i adore them! i shall be quite wellagain if i can see them.... go for them, my good neighbor, my dear boy, you are kind-hearted;i wish i could repay you for your kindness, but i have nothing to give you now, save theblessing of a dying man. ah! if i could only see delphine, to tell her to pay my debt toyou. if the other cannot 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 she will come to methen. give me something to drink! there is a fire in my bowels. press something againstmy forehead! if my daughters would lay their hands there, i think i should get better.... mon dieu! who will 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 on his left arm, while he held a cup of tisane to goriot'slips. "how you must love your own father and mother!"said the old man, and grasped 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; do you understand? tobe always thirsting, and never to drink; that has been my life for the last ten years....i have no daughters, my sons-in-law killed them. no, since their marriages they havebeen dead to me. fathers should petition the

chambers to pass a law against marriage. ifyou love your daughters, do not let them marry. a son-in-law is a rascal who poisons a girl'smind and contaminates her whole nature. let us have no more marriages! it robs us of ourdaughters; we are left alone upon our deathbeds, and they are not with us then. they oughtto pass a law for dying fathers. this is awful! it cries for vengeance! they cannot come,because my sons-in-law forbid them!... kill them!... restaud and the alsatian, kill themboth! they have murdered me between them!... death or my daughters!... ah! it is too late,i am dying, and they are not here!... dying without them!... nasie! fifine! why do younot 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; i shall see them and hear their voices. i shall die happy. ah!well, after all, i do not wish to live; i cannot stand this much longer; this pain thatgrows worse and worse. but, oh! to see them, to touch their dresses—ah! nothing but theirdresses, that is very little; still, to feel something that belongs to them. let me touchtheir hair with my fingers... their hair..." his head fell back on the pillow, as if asudden heavy blow had struck him down, but

his hands groped feebly over the quilt, asif to find his daughters' hair. "my blessing on them..." he said, making aneffort, "my blessing..." his voice died away. just at that moment bianchoncame into the room. "i met christophe," he said; "he is gone foryour cab." then he looked at the patient, and raisedthe closed eyelids with his fingers. the two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyesbeneath had grown. "he will not get over this, i am sure," saidbianchon. he felt the old man's pulse, and laid a hand over his heart. "the machinery works still; more is the pity,in his state it would be better for him to

die." "ah! my word, it would!" "what is the matter with you? you are as paleas death." "dear fellow, the moans and cries that i havejust heard.... there is a god! ah! yes, yes, there is a god, and he has made a better worldfor us, or this world of ours would be a nightmare. i could have cried like a child; but thisis too tragical, and i am sick at heart. "we want a lot of things, you know; and whereis the money to come from?" rastignac took out his watch. "there, be quick and pawn it. i do not wantto stop on the way to the rue du helder; there

is not a moment to lose, i am afraid, andi must wait here till christophe comes back. i have not a farthing; i shall have to paythe cabman when i get home again." chapter 19 rastignac rushed down the stairs, and droveoff to the rue du helder. the awful scene through which he had just passed quickenedhis imagination, and he grew fiercely indignant. he reached mme. de restaud's house only tobe told by the servant that his mistress could see no one. "but i have brought a message from her father,who is dying," rastignac told the man. "the count has given us the strictest orders,sir——"

"if it is m. de restaud who has given theorders, tell him that his father-in-law is dying, and that i am here, and must speakwith him at once." the man went out. eugene waited for a long while. "perhaps herfather is dying at this moment," he thought. then the man came back, and eugene followedhim to the little drawing-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, is lying 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 any moment, and keepscalling for his daughter——"

"i feel very little affection for m. goriot,sir, as you probably are aware," the count answered coolly. "his character has been compromisedin connection with mme. de restaud; he is the author of the misfortunes that have embitteredmy life and troubled my peace of mind. it is a matter of perfect indifference to meif he lives or dies. now you know my feelings with regard to him. public opinion may blameme, but i care nothing for public opinion. just now i have other and much more importantmatters to think about than the things that fools and chatterers may say about me. asfor mme. de restaud, she cannot leave the house; she is in no condition to do so. and,besides, i shall not allow her to leave it. tell her father that as soon as she has doneher duty by her husband and child she shall

go to see him. if she has any love for herfather, she can be free to go to him, if she chooses, in a few seconds; it lies entirelywith her——" "monsieur le comte, it is no business of mineto criticise your conduct; you can do as you please with your wife, but may i count uponyour keeping your word with me? well, then, promise me to tell her that her father hasnot twenty-four hours to live; that he looks in vain for her, and has cursed her alreadyas he lies on his deathbed,—that is all i ask." "you can tell her yourself," the count answered,impressed by the thrill of indignation in eugene's voice.

the count led the way to the room where hiswife usually sat. she was drowned in tears, and lay crouching in the depths of an armchair,as if she were tired of life and longed to die. it was piteous to see her. before venturingto look at rastignac, she glanced at her husband in evident and abject terror that spoke ofcomplete prostration of body and mind; she seemed crushed by a tyranny both mental andphysical. the count jerked his head towards her; she construed this as a permission tospeak. "i heard all that you said, monsieur. tellmy father that if he knew all he would forgive me.... i did not think there was such torturein the world as this; it is more than i can endure, monsieur!—but i will not give wayas long as i live," she said, turning to her

husband. "i am a mother.—tell my fatherthat i have never sinned against him in spite of appearances!" she cried aloud in her despair. eugene bowed to the husband and wife; he guessedthe meaning of the scene, and that this was a terrible crisis in the countess' life. m.de restaud's manner had told him that his errand was a fruitless one; he saw that anastasiehad no longer any liberty of action. he came away mazed and bewildered, and hurried tomme. de nucingen. delphine was in bed. "poor dear eugene, i am ill," she said. "icaught cold after the ball, and i am afraid of pneumonia. i am waiting for the doctorto come." "if you were at death's door," eugene brokein, "you must be carried somehow 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 quiteso ill as you say; but i cannot bear to do anything that you do not approve, so i willdo just as you wish. as for him, he would die of grief i know if i went out to see himand brought on a dangerous illness. well, i will go as soon as i have seen the doctor.—ah!"she cried out, "you are not wearing your watch, how is that?" eugene reddened. "eugene, eugene! if you have sold it alreadyor lost it.... oh! it would be very wrong

of you!" the student bent over delphine and said inher ear, "do you want to know? very well, then, you shall know. your father has nothingleft to pay for the shroud that they will lay him in this evening. your watch has beenpawned, for i had nothing either." delphine sprang out of bed, ran to her desk,and took out her purse. she gave it to eugene, and rang the bell, crying: "i will go, i will go at once, eugene. leaveme, 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 to come upstairs at onceand speak to me."

eugene was almost happy when he reached therue nueve-sainte-genevieve; he was so glad to bring the news to the dying man that oneof his daughters was coming. he fumbled in delphine's purse for money, so as to dismissthe cab at once; and discovered that the young, beautiful, and wealthy woman of fashion hadonly seventy francs in her private purse. he climbed the stairs and found bianchon supportinggoriot, while the house surgeon from the hospital was applying moxas to the patient's back—underthe direction of the physician, it was the last expedient of science, and it was triedin vain. "can you feel them?" asked the physician.but goriot had caught sight of rastignac, and answered, "they are coming, are they not?"

"there is hope yet," said the surgeon; "hecan speak." "yes," said eugene, "delphine is coming." "oh! that is nothing!" said bianchon; "hehas been talking about his daughters all the time. he calls for them as a man impaled callsfor water, 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 thedying man out again on his loathsome bed. "but the sheets ought to be changed," addedthe physician. "even if there is no hope left, something is due to human nature. i shallcome back again, bianchon," he said, turning

to the medical student. "if he complains again,rub some laudanum over the diaphragm." he went, and the house surgeon went with him. "come, eugene, pluck up heart, my boy," saidbianchon, as soon as they were alone; "we must set about changing his sheets, and puthim into a clean shirt. go and tell sylvie to bring some sheets and come and help usto make the bed." eugene went downstairs, and found mme. vauquerengaged in setting the table; sylvie was helping her. eugene had scarcely opened his mouthbefore the widow walked up to him with the acidulous sweet smile of a cautious shopkeeperwho is anxious neither to lose money nor to offend a customer.

"my dear monsieur eugene," she said, whenhe had spoken, "you know quite as well as i do that father goriot has not a brass farthingleft. if you give out clean linen for a man who is just going to turn up his eyes, youare not likely to see your sheets again, for one is sure to be wanted to wrap him in. now,you owe me a hundred and forty-four francs as it is, add forty francs for the pair ofsheets, and then there are several little things, besides the candle that sylvie willgive you; altogether it will all mount up to at least two hundred francs, which is morethan a poor widow like me can afford to lose. lord! now, monsieur eugene, look at it fairly.i have lost quite enough in these five days since this run of ill-luck set in for me.i would rather than ten crowns that the old

gentlemen had moved out as you said. it setsthe other lodgers against the house. it would not take much to make me send him to the workhouse.in short, just put yourself in my place. i have to think of my establishment first, fori 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 hundredand sixty odd francs that are left of it. i paid up all the old scores out of it beforethey let me have the things. the pawn ticket lies there under the money." rastignac hurried downstairs.

"here, madame" he said in disgust, "let ussquare accounts. m. goriot will not stay much longer in your house, nor shall i——" "yes, he will go out feet foremost, poor oldgentleman," 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 upstairsto help the gentlemen." "you won't forget sylvie," said mme. vauquerin eugene's ear; "she has been sitting up these two nights." as soon as eugene's back was turned, the oldwoman hurried after her handmaid.

"take the sheets that have had the sides turnedinto the middle, number 7. lord! they are plenty good enough for a corpse," she saidin sylvie's ear. eugene, by this time, was part of the wayupstairs, and did not overhear the elderly economist. "quick," said bianchon, "let us change hisshirt. hold him upright." eugene went to the head of the bed and supportedthe dying man, while bianchon drew off his shirt; and then goriot made a movement asif he tried to clutch something to his breast, uttering a low inarticulate moaning the while,like some dumb animal in mortal pain. "ah! yes!" cried bianchon. "it is the littlelocket and the chain made of hair that he

wants; we took it off a while ago when weput the blisters on him. poor fellow! he must have it again. there it lies on the chimney-piece." eugene went to the chimney-piece and foundthe little plait of faded golden hair—mme. goriot's hair, no doubt. he read the nameon the little round locket, anastasie on the one side, delphine on the other. it was thesymbol of his own heart that the father always wore on his breast. the curls of hair insidethe locket were so fine and soft that is was plain they had been taken from two childishheads. when the old man felt the locket once more, his chest heaved with a long deep sighof satisfaction, like a groan. it was something terrible to see, for it seemed as if the lastquiver of the nerves were laid bare to their

eyes, the last communication of sense to themysterious point within whence our sympathies come and whither they go. a delirious joylighted up the distorted face. the terrific and vivid force of the feeling that had survivedthe power of thought made such an impression on the students, that the dying man felt theirhot tears falling on him, and gave a shrill 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 followhis example, knelt down and pressed his arms under the sick man, and rastignac on the otherside did the same, so that sylvie, standing in readiness, might draw the sheet from beneathand replace it with the one that she had brought. those tears, no doubt, had misled goriot;for he gathered up all his remaining strength in a last effort, stretched out his hands,groped for the students' heads, and as his fingers caught convulsively at their hair,they heard a faint whisper: "ah! my angels!" two words, two inarticulate murmurs, shapedinto words by the soul which fled forth with them as they left his lips.

"poor dear!" cried sylvie, melted by thatexclamation; the expression of the great love raised for the last time to a sublime heightby that most ghastly and involuntary of lies. the father's last breath must have been asigh of joy, and in that sigh his whole life was summed up; he was cheated even at thelast. they laid father goriot upon his wretched bed with reverent hands. thenceforward therewas no expression on his face, only the painful traces of the struggle between life and deaththat was going on in the machine; for that kind of cerebral consciousness that distinguishesbetween pleasure and 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 rattlein the throat. the brain must be completely suffused." as he spoke there was a footstep on the staircase,and a young woman hastened up, panting for breath. "she has come too late," said rastignac. but it was not delphine; it was therese, herwaiting-woman, who stood in the doorway. "monsieur eugene," she said, "monsieur andmadame have had a terrible scene about some money that madame (poor thing!) wanted forher father. she fainted, and the doctor came, and she had to be bled, calling out all thewhile, 'my father is dying; i want to see

papa!' it was heartbreaking to hear her——" "that will do, therese. if she came now, itwould be trouble thrown away. 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 lookafter my dinner; it is half-past four," remarked sylvie. the next instant she all but collidedwith mme. de restaud on the landing outside. there was something awful and appalling inthe sudden apparition of the countess. she saw the bed of death by the dim light of thesingle candle, and her tears flowed at the sight of her father's passive features, fromwhich the life had almost ebbed. bianchon

with thoughtful tact left the room. "i could not escape soon enough," she saidto rastignac. the student bowed sadly in reply. mme. derestaud took her father's hand and kissed "forgive me, father! you used to say thatmy voice would call you back from the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless yourpenitent daughter. do you hear me? oh! this is fearful! no one on earth will ever blessme henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you in all the world. my ownchildren will hate me. take me with you, father; i will love you, i will take care of you.he does not hear me ... i am mad..." she fell on her knees, and gazed wildly atthe human wreck before her.

"my cup of misery is full," she said, turningher eyes upon eugene. "m. de trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, andi have found out that he was deceiving me. my husband will never forgive me, and i haveleft my fortune in his hands. i have lost all my illusions. alas! i have forsaken theone heart that loved me (she pointed to her father as she spoke), and for whom? i haveheld his kindness cheap, and slighted his affection; many and many a time i have givenhim pain, ungrateful wretch that i am!" "he knew it," said rastignac. just then goriot's eyelids unclosed; it wasonly a muscular contraction, but the countess' sudden start of reviving hope was no lessdreadful than the dying eyes.

"is it possible that he can hear me?" criedthe countess. "no," she answered herself, and sat down beside the bed. as mme. de restaudseemed to wish to sit by her father, eugene went down to take a little food. the boarderswere already assembled. "well," remarked the painter, as he joinedthem, "it seems that there is to be a death-orama upstairs." "charles, i think you might find somethingless 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 has lived."

"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 theresewith her, and bade the maid take the countess to mme. de nucingen. bianchon came down to them. "yes, he is dead," he said. "come, sit down to dinner, gentlemen," saidmme. vauquer, "or the soup will be cold." the two students sat down together.

"what is the next thing to be done?" eugeneasked of bianchon. "i have closed his eyes and composed his limbs,"said bianchon. "when the certificate has been officially registered at the mayor's office,we will sew him in his winding sheet and bury him somewhere. what do you think we oughtto do?" "he will not smell at his bread like thisany more," said the painter, mimicking the old man's little trick. "oh, hang it all!" cried the tutor, "let fathergoriot drop, and let us have something else for a change. he is a standing dish, and wehave had him with every sauce this hour or more. it is one of the privileges of the goodcity of paris that anybody may be born, or

live, or die there without attracting anyattention whatsoever. let us profit by the advantages of civilization. there are fiftyor sixty deaths every day; if you have a mind to do it, you can sit down at any time andwail over whole hecatombs of dead in paris. father goriot has gone off the hooks, hashe? so much the better for him. if you venerate his memory, keep it to yourselves, and letthe rest of us feed in peace." "oh, to be sure," said the widow, "it is allthe better for him that he is dead. it looks as though he had had trouble enough, poorsoul, while he was alive." and this was all the funeral oration deliveredover him who had been for eugene the type and embodiment of fatherhood.

the fifteen lodgers began to talk as usual.when bianchon and eugene had satisfied their hunger, the rattle of spoons and forks, theboisterous conversation, the expressions on the faces that bespoke various degrees ofwant of feeling, gluttony, or indifference, everything about them made them shiver withloathing. they went out to find a priest to watch that night with the dead. it was necessaryto measure their last pious cares by the scanty sum of money that remained. before nine o'clockthat evening the body was laid out on the bare sacking of the bedstead in the desolateroom; a lighted candle stood on either side, and the priest watched at the foot. rastignacmade inquiries of this latter as to the expenses of the funeral, and wrote to the baron denucingen and the comte de restaud, entreating

both gentlemen to authorize their man of businessto defray the charges of laying their father-in-law in the grave. he sent christophe with theletters; then he went to bed, tired out, and slept. next day bianchon and rastignac were obligedto take the certificate to the registrar themselves, and by twelve o'clock the formalities werecompleted. two hours went by, no word came from the count nor from the baron; nobodyappeared to act for them, and rastignac had already been obliged to pay the priest. sylvieasked ten francs for sewing the old man in his winding-sheet and making him ready forthe grave, and eugene and bianchon calculated that they had scarcely sufficient to pay forthe funeral, if nothing was forthcoming from

the dead man's family. so it was the medicalstudent who laid him in a pauper's coffin, despatched from bianchon's hospital, whencehe obtained it at a cheaper rate. "let us play those wretches a trick," saidhe. "go to the cemetery, buy a grave for five years at pere-lachaise, and arrange with thechurch and the undertaker to have a third-class funeral. if the daughters and their husbandsdecline to repay you, you can carve this on the headstone—'here lies m. goriot, fatherof the comtesse de restaud and the baronne de nucingen, interred at the expense of twostudents.'" eugene took part of his friend's advice, butonly after he had gone in person first to m. and mme. de nucingen, and then to m. andmme. de restaud—a fruitless errand. he went

no further than the doorstep in either house.the servants had received strict orders to admit no one. "monsieur and madame can see no visitors.they have just lost their father, and are in deep grief over their loss." eugene's parisian experience told him thatit was idle to press the point. something clutched strangely at his heart when he sawthat it was impossible to reach delphine. "sell some of your ornaments," he wrote hastilyin the porter's room, "so that your father may be decently laid in his last resting-place." he sealed the note, and begged the porterto give it to therese for her mistress; but

the man took it to the baron de nucingen,who flung the note into the fire. eugene, having finished his errands, returned to thelodging-house about three o'clock. in spite of himself, the tears came into his eyes.the coffin, in its scanty covering of black cloth, was standing there on the pavementbefore the gate, on two chairs. a withered sprig of hyssop was soaking in the holy waterbowl of silver-plated copper; there was not a soul in the street, not a passer-by hadstopped to sprinkle the coffin; there was not even an attempt at a black drapery overthe wicket. it was a pauper who lay there; no one made a pretence of mourning for him;he had neither friends nor kindred—there was no one to follow him to the grave.

bianchon's duties compelled him to be at thehospital, but he had left a few lines for eugene, telling his friend about the arrangementshe had made for the burial service. the house student's note told rastignac that a masswas beyond their means, that the ordinary office for the dead was cheaper, and mustsuffice, and that he had sent word to the undertaker by christophe. eugene had scarcelyfinished reading bianchon's scrawl, when he looked up and saw the little circular goldlocket 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 withhim?" retorted sylvie. "it is gold."

"of course it shall!" eugene answered indignantly;"he shall at any rate take one thing that may represent his daughters into the gravewith him." when the hearse came, eugene had the coffincarried into the house again, unscrewed the lid, and reverently laid on the old man'sbreast the token that recalled the days when delphine and anastasie were innocent littlemaidens, before they began "to think for themselves," as he had moaned out in his agony. rastignac and christophe and the two undertaker'smen were the only followers of the funeral. the church of saint-etienne du mont was onlya little distance from the rue nueve-sainte-genevieve. when the coffin had been deposited in a low,dark, little chapel, the law student looked

round in vain for goriot's two daughters ortheir husbands. christophe was his only fellow-mourner; christophe, who appeared to think it was hisduty to attend the funeral of the man who had put him in the way of such handsome tips.as they waited there in the chapel for the two priests, the chorister, and the beadle,rastignac grasped christophe's hand. he could not utter a word just then. "yes, monsieur eugene," said christophe, "hewas a good and worthy man, who never said one word louder than another; he never didany one any harm, and gave nobody any trouble." the two priests, the chorister, and the beadlecame, and said and did as much as could be expected for seventy francs in an age whenreligion cannot afford to say prayers for

nothing. the ecclesiatics chanted a psalm, the liberanos and the de profundis. the whole service lasted about twenty minutes. there was butone mourning coach, which the priest and chorister agreed to share with eugene and christophe. "there is no one else to follow us," remarkedthe priest, "so we may as well go quickly, and so save time; it is half-past five." but just as the coffin was put in the hearse,two empty carriages, with the armorial bearings of the comte de restaud and the baron de nucingen,arrived and followed in the procession to pere-lachaise. at six o'clock goriot's coffinwas lowered into the grave, his daughters'

servants standing round the while. the ecclesiasticrecited the short prayer that the students could afford to pay for, and then both priestand lackeys disappeared at once. the two grave diggers flung in several spadefuls of earth,and then stopped and asked rastignac for their fee. eugene felt in vain in his pocket, andwas obliged to borrow five francs of christophe. this thing, so trifling in itself, gave rastignaca terrible pang of distress. it was growing dusk, the damp twilight fretted his nerves;he gazed down into the grave and the tears he shed were drawn from him by the sacredemotion, a single-hearted sorrow. when such tears fall on earth, their radiance reachesheaven. and with that tear that fell on father goriot's grave, eugene rastignac's youth ended.he folded his arms and gazed at the clouded

sky; and christophe, after a glance at him,turned and went—rastignac was left alone. he went a few paces further, to the highestpoint of the cemetery, and looked out over paris and the windings of the seine; the lampswere beginning to shine on either side of the river. his eyes turned almost eagerlyto the space between the column of the place vendome and the cupola of the invalides; therelay the shining world that he had wished to reach. he glanced over that humming hive,seeming to draw a foretaste of its honey, and said magniloquently: "henceforth there is war between us." and by way of throwing down the glove to society,rastignac went to dine with mme. de nucingen.

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