the
room, and the laughter that followed was the more uproarious because
poor Father Goriot stared at the others with a puzzled look, like a
foreigner trying to catch the meaning of words in a language which he
does not understand.

"Corn?..." he said, turning to Vautrin, his next neighbor.

"Corn on your foot, old man!" said Vautrin, and he drove Father Goriot's
cap down over his eyes by a blow on the crown.

The poor old man thus suddenly attacked was for a moment too bewildered
to do anything. Christophe carried off his plate, thinking that he had
finished his soup, so that when Goriot had pushed back his cap from his
eyes his spoon encountered the table. Every one burst out laughing. "You
are a disagreeable joker, sir," said the old man, "and if you take any
further liberties with me----"

"Well, what then, old boy?" Vautrin interrupted.

"Well, then, you shall pay dearly for it some day----"

"Down below, eh?" said the artist, "in the little dark corner where they
put naughty boys."

"Well, mademoiselle," Vautrin said, turning to Victorine, "you are
eating nothing. So papa was refractory, was he?"

"A monster!" said Mme. Couture.

"Mademoiselle might make application for aliment pending her suit; she
is not eating anything. Eh! eh! just see how Father Goriot is staring at
Mlle. Victorine."

The old man had forgotten his dinner, he was so absorbed in gazing at
the poor girl; the sorrow in her face was unmistakable,--the slighted
love of a child whose father would not recognize her.

"We are mistaken about Father Goriot, my dear boy," said Eugene in a low
voice. "He is not an idiot, nor wanting in energy. Try your Gall system
on him, and let me know what you think. I saw him crush a silver dish
last night as if it had been made of wax; there seems to be something
extraordinary going on in his mind just now, to judge by his face. His
life is so mysterious that it must be worth studying. Oh! you may laugh,
Bianchon; I am not joking."

"The man is a subject, is he?" said Bianchon; "all right! I will dissect
him, if he will give me the chance."

"No; feel his bumps."

"Hm!--his stupidity might perhaps be contagious."

The next day Rastignac dressed himself very elegantly, and about three
o'clock in the afternoon went to call on Mme. de Restaud. On the way
thither he indulged in the wild intoxicating dreams which fill a young
head so full of delicious excitement. Young men at his age take
no accou