“Delphine,” she said, with a white face, and her 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 was there all the time, and you knew it! Your petty spite has let you to wreak your vengeance on 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. I will …”
Anger paralyzed her; the words died in her dry parched throat.
“Why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother, your preserver!” cried Goriot. “Kiss his hand, Nasie! Stay, I will embrace him myself,” he said, straining Eugène to his breast in a frenzied clasp. “Oh my boy! I will be more than a father to you; if I had God’s power, I would fling worlds at your feet. Why don’t you 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 go on like this,” cried the old man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet had struck him.—“They are killing me between them,” he said to himself.
The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugène, who stood stock still; all his faculties were numbed by this violent scene.
“Sir? …” she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and bearing; she took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine, who was hastily unfastening his waistcoat.
“Madame,” said Eugène, answering the question before it was asked, “I will meet the bill, and keep silence about it.”
“You have killed our father, Nasie!” said Delphine, pointing to Goriot, who lay unconscious on the bed. The Countess fled.
“I freely forgive her,” said the old man, opening his eyes; “her position is horrible; it would turn an older head than hers. Comfort Nasie, and be nice to her, Delphine; promise it to your poor father before he dies,” he asked, holding Delphine’s hand in a convulsive clasp.
“Oh! what ails you, father?” she cried in real alarm.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Goriot; “it will go 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 again and flung herself on her knees before him. “Forgive me!” she cried.
“Come,” said her father, “you are hurting me still more.”
“Monsieur,” the Countess said, turning to Rastignac, “misery made 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 arms round 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 if a dark curtain over my eyes had been raised; your voices have called me back to life. Kiss each other once more. Well, now, Nasie, that bill will save you, won’t it?”
“I hope so. I say, papa, will you write your name on it?”
“There! how stupid of me to forget that! But I am not feeling at all well, Nasie, so you must not remember it against me. Send and let 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 as for signing away your property, I shall have a word to say about that. Quick, my child, and keep Maxime in order in future.”
Eugène was too bewildered to speak.
“Poor Anastasie, she always had a violent temper,” said Mme. de Nucingen, “but she has a good heart.”
“She came back for the endorsement,” said Eugène in Delphine’s ear.
“Do you think so?”
“I only wish I could think otherwise. Do not trust her,” he answered, raising his eyes as if he confided to heaven the thoughts that he did not venture to express.
“Yes. She is always acting a part to some extent.”
“How do you feel now, dear Father Goriot?” asked Rastignac.
“I should like to go to sleep,” he replied.
Eugène helped him to bed, and Delphine sat by the bedside, holding his hand until he fell asleep. Then she went.
“This evening at the Italiens,” she said to Eugène, “and you can let me know how he is. Tomorrow you will leave this place, monsieur. Let us go into your room.—Oh! how frightful!” she cried on the threshold. “Why, you are even worse lodged than our father. Eugène, you have behaved well. I would love you more if that were possible; but, dear boy, if you are to succeed in life, you must not begin by flinging twelve thousand francs out of the windows like that. The Comte de Trailles is a confirmed gambler. My sister shuts her eyes to it. He would have made the twelve thousand francs in the same way that he wins and loses heaps of gold.”
A groan from the next room brought them back to Goriot’s bedside; to all appearances he was asleep, but the two lovers caught the words, “They are not happy!” Whether he was awake or sleeping, the tone in which they were spoken went to his daughter’s heart. She stole up to the pallet-bed on which her father lay, and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes.
“Ah! Delphine!” he said.
“How are you now?” she asked.
“Quite comfortable. Do not worry about me; I shall get up presently. Don’t stay with me, children; go, go and be happy.”
Eugène went back with Delphine as far as her door; 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,
