discover from a stranger's face whether this is a friend or no?

Those by-words--"atoms," "affinities"--are facts surviving in
modern languages for the confusion of philosophic wiseacres who

amuse themselves by winnowing the chaff of language to find its
grammatical roots. We FEEL that we 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, that finer natures look upon a letter as one of
love's most precious treasures. Father Goriot's affection was of

the instinctive order, a canine affection raised to a sublime
pitch; he had scented passion" target="_blank" title="n.同情；怜悯">compassion in the air, and the kindly

respect and youthfulsympathy in the student's heart. This
friendship had, however, scarcely reached the stage at which

confidences are made. Though Eugene had spoken of his wish to
meet Mme. de Nucingen, it was not because he counted on the old

man to introduce him to her house, for he hoped that his own
audacity might stand him in good stead. All that Father Goriot

had said as yet about his daughters had referred to the remarks
that the student had made so freely in public on that day of the

two visits.
"How could you think that Mme. de Restaud bore you a grudge for

mentioning my name?" he had said on the day following that scene
at dinner. "My daughters are very fond of me; I am a happy

father; but my sons-in-law have behaved badly to me, and rather
than make trouble between my darlings and their husbands, I

choose to see my daughters secretly. Fathers who can see their
daughters at any time have no idea of all the pleasure that all

this mystery gives me; I cannot always see 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 wait near the entrance; my heart

beats fast when the carriages begin to come; I admire them in
their dresses, and as they pass they give me a little smile, and

it seems as if everything was lighted up for me by a ray of
bright sunlight. I wait, for they always go back the same way,

and then I see them again; the fresh air has done them good and
brought color into their cheeks; all about me people say, 'What a

beautiful woman that is!' and it does my heart good to hear them.
"Are they not my own flesh and blood? I love the very horses that

draw them; I envy the little lap-dog on their knees. Their
happiness is my life. Every one loves after his own fashion, and

mine does no one any harm; why should people trouble their heads
about me? I am happy in my own way. Is there any law against

going to see my girls in the evening when they are going out to a
ball? And what a 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

whole days. I was so pleased, that it was almost too much for me!
Please do not speak of me unless it is to say how good my

daughters are to me. They are always wanting to heap presents
upon me, but I will not have it. 'Just keep your money,' I tell

them. 'What should 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, tell me which
you like the most," said the old man after a moment's pause,

while Eugene put the last touches to his toilette. The student
was about to go out to walk in the Garden of 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's career. 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 sisters and 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 Devil with rainbow wings, who
scatters rubies, and aims his golden shafts at palace fronts, who

invests women with purple, and thrones with a glory that dazzles
the eyes of fools till they forget the simple origins of royal

dominion; he had heard the rustle of that Vanity whose tinsel
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 was nearly five o'clock,

then he went to Mme. de Beauseant, and received one of the
terrible blows against which young hearts are defenceless.

Hitherto the Vicomtesse had received him with the kindly
urbanity, the bland grace of manner that is the result of fine

breeding, but is only complete when it comes from the heart.
Today 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 became an observer, could
read the whole history, the character and customs of caste, in

the phrase, in the tones of her voice, in her glance and bearing.
He caught a glimpse of the 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

issues from the plumed canopy of the throne, and finds its last
echo under the crest of the simplest gentleman.

Eugene had trusted too implicitly to the generosity of 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 understood as
the passion of love, for both love and kindness are the lavish

generosity of noble natures. Rastignac was set upon going to the
Duchesse de Carigliano's ball, so he swallowed down this rebuff.

"Madame," he faltered out, "I would not have come 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
genuinely kind-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 with

every kind of treatment. What must the rest of the world be like
when one of the kindest of women forgets all her promises of

befriending me in a moment, and tosses me aside like an old shoe?
So it is every one for himself? It is true that her house is not

a shop, and I have put myself in the wrong by needing her help.
You should cut your way through the world like a cannon ball, as

Vautrin said."
But the student's bitter thoughts were soon dissipated 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 urge him into a career, which the
terrible sphinx of the Maison Vauquer had described as a field of

battle where you must either slay or be slain, and cheat to avoid
being cheated. You leave your conscience and your heart at the

barriers, and wear a mask on entering into this game of grim
earnest, where, as in ancient Sparta, you must snatch your prize

without being detected if you would deserve the crown.
On his return he found the Vicomtesse gracious and kindly, as she

had always been to him. They went together to the dining-room,
where the Vicomte was waiting for his wife. In the time of the

Restoration the luxury of the table was carried, as is well