e formidable power of the
lackey who can accuse or condemn his masters by a word; he coolly opened
the door by which the man had just entered the ante-chamber, meaning,
no doubt, to show these insolent flunkeys that he was familiar with the
house; but he found that he had thoughtlessly precipitated himself into
a small room full of dressers, where lamps were standing, and hot-water
pipes, on which towels were being dried; a dark passage and a back
staircase lay beyond it. Stifled laughter from the ante-chamber added to
his confusion.

"This way to the drawing-room, sir," said the servant, with the
exaggerated respect which seemed to be one more jest at his expense.

Eugene turned so quickly that he stumbled against a bath. By good luck,
he managed to keep his hat on his head, and saved it from immersion in
the water; but just as he turned, a door opened at the further end of
the dark passage, dimly lighted by a small lamp. Rastignac heard voices
and the sound of a kiss; one of the speakers was Mme. de Restaud,
the other was Father Goriot. Eugene followed the servant through the
dining-room into the drawing-room; he went to a window that looked
out into the courtyard, and stood there for a while. He meant to know
whether this Goriot was really the Goriot that he knew. His heart
beat unwontedly fast; he remembered Vautrin's hideous insinuations. A
well-dressed young man suddenly emerged from the room almost as Eugene
entered it, saying impatiently to the servant who stood at the door: "I
am going, Maurice. Tell Madame la Comtesse that I waited more than half
an hour for her."

Whereupon this insolent being, who, doubtless, had a right to be
insolent, sang an Italian trill, and went towards the window where
Eugene was standing, moved thereto quite as much by a desire to see the
student's face as by a wish to look out into the courtyard.

"But M. le Comte had better wait a moment longer; madame is disengaged,"
said Maurice, as he returned to the ante-chamber.

Just at that moment Father Goriot appeared close to the gate; he had
emerged from a door at the foot of the back staircase. The worthy soul
was preparing to open his umbrella regardless of the fact that the great
gate had opened to admit a tilbury, in which a young man with a ribbon
at his button-hole was seated. Father Goriot had scarcely time to start
back and save himself. The horse took fright at the umbrella, swerved,
and dashed forward towards the flight of