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The Magic Skin-Part27_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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then as smiling, blooming, and fresh as the smartest assistant in a

fashionable shop.



"You are all as ugly as bailiffs. You won't be fit for anything

to-day, so this day is lost, and I vote for breakfast."



At this Taillefer went out to give some orders. The women went

languidly up to the mirrors to set their toilettes in order. Each one



shook herself. The wilder sort lectured the steadier ones. The

courtesans made fun of those who looked unable to continue the



boisterous festivity; but these wan forms revived all at once, stood

in groups, and talked and smiled. Some servants quickly and adroitly



set the furniture and everything else in its place, and a magnificent

breakfast was got ready.



The guests hurried into the dining-room. Everything there bore

indelible marks of yesterday's excess, it is true, but there were at



any rate some traces of ordinary, rationalexistence, such traces as

may be found in a sick man's dying struggles. And so the revelry was



laid away and buried, like carnival of a Shrove Tuesday, by masks

wearied out with dancing, drunk with drunkenness, and quite ready to



be persuaded of the pleasures of lassitude, lest they should be forced

to admit their exhaustion.



As soon as these bold spirits surrounded the capitalist's breakfast-

table, Cardot appeared. He had left the rest to make a night of it



after the dinner, and finished the evening after his own fashion in

the retirement of domestic life. Just now a sweet smile wandered over



his features. He seemed to have a presentiment that there would be

some inheritance to sample and divide, involving inventories and



engrossing; an inheritance rich in fees and deeds to draw up, and

something as juicy as the trembling fillet of beef in which their host



had just plunged his knife.

"Oh, ho! we are to have breakfast in the presence of a notary," cried



Cursy.

"You have come here just at the right time," said the banker,



indicating the breakfast; "you can jot down the numbers, and initial

off all the dishes."



"There is no will to make here, but contracts of marriage there may

be, perhaps," said the scholar, who had made a satisfactory



arrangement for the first time in twelve months.

"Oh! Oh!"



"Ah! Ah!"

"One moment," cried Cardot, fairly deafened by a chorus of wretched



jokes. "I came here on serious business. I am bringing six millions

for one of you." (Dead silence.) "Monsieur," he went on, turning to



Raphael, who at the moment was unceremoniously wiping his eyes on a

corner of the table-napkin, "was not your mother a Mlle. O'Flaharty?"



"Yes," said Raphael mechanically enough; "Barbara Marie."

"Have you your certificate of birth about you," Cardot went on, "and



Mme. de Valentin's as well?"

"I believe so."



"Very well then, monsieur; you are the sole heir of Major O'Flaharty,

who died in August 1828 at Calcutta."



"An incalcuttable fortune," said the critic.

"The Major having bequeathed several amounts to public institutions in



his will, the French Government sent in a claim for the remainder to

the East India Company," the notary continued. "The estate is clear



and ready to be transferred at this moment. I have been looking in

vain for the heirs and assigns of Mlle. Barbara Marie O'Flaharty for a



fortnight past, when yesterday at dinner----"

Just then Raphael suddenly staggered to his feet; he looked like a man



who has just received a blow. Acclamation took the form of silence,

for stifled envy had been the first feeling in every breast, and all



eyes devoured him like flames. Then a murmur rose, and grew like the

voice of a discontentedaudience, or the first mutterings of a riot,






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