contemptuous. "Puppy!" it seemed to say; "I should make one

mouthful of him!" Then he answered:
"You are in a bad humor; perhaps your visit to the beautiful

Comtesse de Restaud was not a success."
"She has shut her door against me because I 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," he said to his neighbor,

turning a little aside to rub his hand over his face.
"Any one who molests Father Goriot will have henceforward to

reckon with me," said Eugene, looking at the old man's neighbor;
"he is worth 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, and his tone silenced the
dinner-table. Vautrin alone spoke. "If you are going to champion

Father Goriot, and set up for his responsible editor into the
bargain, you had need be a crack shot and know how to handle the

foils," he said, banteringly.
"So I intend," said Eugene.

"Then you are taking the field today?"
"Perhaps," Rastignac answered. "But I owe no account of myself to

any one, especially as I do not try to find out what other people
do of a night."

Vautrin looked askance at Rastignac.
"If you do not mean to be deceived by the puppets, my boy, you

must go behind and see the whole show, and not peep through holes
in the curtain. That is enough," he added, seeing that Eugene was

about to fly into a passion. "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 the change in the disposition of his fellow-lodgers,
nor know that he had met with a championcapable of putting an

end to the persecution.
"Then, M. Goriot sitting there is the father of a countess," said

Mme. Vauquer in a low voice.
"And of a baroness," answered Rastignac.

"That is about all he is capable of," said Bianchon to Rastignac;
"I have taken a look at his head; there is only one bump--the

bump of Paternity; he must be an ETERNAL FATHER."
Eugene was too intent on his thoughts to laugh at Bianchon's

joke. He determined to profit by Mme. de Beauseant's counsels,
and was asking himself how he could obtain the necessary money.

He grew grave. The wide savannas of the world stretched before
his eyes; all things lay before him, nothing was his. Dinner came

to an end, the others went, and he was left in the dining-room.
"So you have seen my daughter?" Goriot spoke tremulously, and the

sound of his voice broke in upon Eugene's dreams. The young man
took the elder's hand, and looked at him with something like

kindness in his eyes.
"You are a good and noble man," he said. "We will 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 child from your breast

again? I am in a position to make a rapid fortune, but I want
twelve hundred francs--I must have them at all costs. Say nothing

about this to my father; perhaps he might make objections, and
unless I have the money, I may be led to put an end to myself,

and so escape the clutches of despair. I will tell you everything
when I see you. I will not begin to try to describe my present

situation; it would take volumes to put the whole story clearly
and fully. I have not been gambling, my kind mother, I owe no one

a penny; but if you would preserve the life that you gave me, you
must send me the sum I mention. As a matter of fact, I go to see

the Vicomtesse de Beauseant; she is using her influence for me; I
am obliged to go into society, and I have not a penny to lay out

on clean gloves. I can manage to exist on bread and water, or go
without food, if need be, but I cannot do without the tools with

which they cultivate the vineyards in this country. I must
resolutely make up my mind at once to make my way, or stick in

the mire for the rest of my days. I know that all 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 other jewels very
soon. I know enough of our affairs at home to know all that such

a sacrifice means, and you must not think that I would lightly
ask you to make it; I should be a monster if I could. You must

think of my entreaty as a cry forced from me by imperative
necessity. Our whole future lies in the subsidy with which I must

begin my first campaign, for life in Paris is one continual
battle. If you cannot otherwiseprocure the whole of the money,

and are forced to sell our aunt's lace, tell her that I will send
her some still handsomer," and so forth.

He wrote to ask each of his sisters for their savings--would they
despoil themselves for him, and keep the sacrifice a secret from

the family? To his request he knew that they would not fail to
respond gladly, and he added to it an appeal to their delicacy by

touching the chord of honor that vibrates so loudly in young and
high-strung natures.

Yet when he had written the letters, he could not help feeling
misgivings in spite of his youthfulambition; his heart beat

fast, and he trembled. He knew the spotless nobleness of the
lives buried away in the lonely manor house; he knew what trouble

and what joy his request would cause his sisters, and how happy
they would be as they talked at the bottom of the orchard of that

dear brother of theirs in Paris. Visions rose before his eyes; a
sudden strong light revealed his sisters secretly counting over

their little store, devising some girlish stratagem by which the
money could be sent to him incognito, essaying, for the first

time in their lives, a piece of 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 petitions put 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 she could not send him all that he
asked for! And this noble affection, these sacrifices made at

such terrible cost, were to serve as the ladder by which he meant
to climb to Delphine de Nucingen. A few tears, like the last

grains of incense flung upon the sacred alter fire of the hearth,
fell from his eyes. He walked up and down, and despair mingled

with his emotion. Father Goriot saw him through the half-open
door.

"What is the matter, sir?" he asked from the threshold.
"Ah! my good neighbor, I am as much a son and brother as you are

a father. You do well to fear for the Comtesse Anastasie; there
is one M. Maxime de Trailles, who will be her ruin."

Father Goriot withdrew, stammering some words, but Eugene failed
to catch their meaning.

The next morning Rastignac went out to post his letters. Up to
the last moment he wavered and doubted, but he ended by flinging

them into the box. "I shall succeed!" he said to himself. So says
the gambler; so says the great captain; but the three words that

have been the salvation of some few, have been the ruin of many
more.