“I will be responsible,” said Eugene, shuddering with horror, for he foresaw the end.
He climbed the stairs and reached Father Goriot’s room. 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 Eugene into a corner of the room.
“Well?” asked Rastignac.
“Nothing but a miracle can save him now. Serous congestion has set in; I have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, they are acting.”
“Is it possible to move him?”
“Quite out of the question. He must stay where he is, and be kept as quiet as possible——”
“Dear Bianchon,” said Eugene, “we will nurse him between us.”
“I have had the head physician round from my hospital to see him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening. He promised to look in again at the end of the day. Unluckily, the preposterous creature must needs go and do something foolish this morning; he will not say what it was. He is as obstinate as a mule. As soon as I begin to talk to him he pretends not to hear, and lies 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 confounded bargain, 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?”
“Yes.”
“Leave him to me for a bit,” said Rastignac. “I will make him confess; he will tell me all about it.”
“And meanwhile I will get my dinner. But try not to excite him; there 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, to make yourself so poorly this evening that you have to stop in bed?”
“Nothing.”
“Did not Anastasie come to see you?” demanded Rastignac.
“Yes,” said Father Goriot.
“Well, then, don’t keep anything from me. What more did she want 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 of the diamonds, Nasie has not had a penny of her own. For this ball she had ordered a golden gown like a setting for a jewel. Her mantuamaker, a woman without a conscience, would not give her 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 saw how things were between her master and mistress, she was afraid of losing her money, and came to an understanding with the dressmaker, and the woman refuses to send the ball-dress until the money is paid. The gown is ready, and the ball is to-morrow night! Nasie was in despair. She wanted to borrow my forks and spoons to pawn them. Her husband is determined that she shall go and wear the diamonds, so as to contradict the stories that are told all over Paris. How can she go to that heartless scoundrel and say, ‘I owe a thousand francs to my dressmaker; pay her for me!’ She cannot. I saw that myself. Delphine will be there too 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 had not the twelve thousand francs, that I would have given the rest of my miserable life to wipe out that wrong. You see, I could have borne anything once, but latterly this want of 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 I went to old Daddy Gobseck, and sold a year’s interest on my annuity for four hundred francs down. Pshaw! I can live on dry bread, as I did when I was a young man; if I have done it before, I can do it again. My Nasie shall have one happy evening, at any rate. She shall be smart. The banknote for a thousand francs is under my pillow; it warms me to have it lying there under my head, for it is going to make my poor Nasie happy. She can turn that bad girl Victoire out of the house. A servant that cannot trust her mistress, did any 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 and take care of me. To-morrow Nasie will come and hold me in her arms as if I were one of her children; her kisses will make me well again. After all, I might have spent the thousand francs on physic; I would far rather give them to my little Nasie, who can charm all the pain away. At any rate, I am some comfort to her in her misery; and that makes up for my unkindness in buying an annuity. She is in the depths, and I cannot draw her out of them now. Oh! I will go into business again, I will buy wheat in Odessa; out there, wheat fetches a quarter of the price it sells for here. There is a law against the importation of grain, but the good folk who made the law forgot to prohibit the introduction of wheat products and food stuffs made from corn. Hey! hey!... That struck me this morning. There is a fine trade to be done in starch.”
Eugene, watching the old man’s face, thought that his friend was light-headed.
“Come,” he said, “do not talk any more, you must 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 wrote letters home to his mother and sisters. Next morning Bianchon thought the symptoms more hopeful, but the patient’s condition demanded continual attention, which the two students alone were willing to give—a task impossible to describe in the squeamish phraseology of the 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 the two young men. Mme. de Restaud did not come; but she sent a messenger for the money.
“I expected she would come herself; but it would have been a pity for her to come, she would have been anxious about me,” said the father, and to all appearances he was well content.
At seven o’clock that evening Therese came with a letter from Delphine.
“What are you doing, dear friend? I have been loved for a very
little while, and I am neglected already? In the confidences of
heart and heart, I have learned to know your soul—you are too
noble not to be faithful for ever, for you know that love with all
its infinite subtle changes of feeling is never the same. Once you
said, as we were listening to the Prayer in Mose in Egitto, ‘For
some it is the monotony of a single note; for others, it is the
