ctions are just
as fully satisfied by the smallest circle as they can be by a vast
circumference. Napoleon himself could only dine once, and he could not
have more mistresses than a house student at the Capuchins. Happiness,
old man, depends on what lies between the sole of your foot and the
crown of your head; and whether it costs a million or a hundred louis,
the actual amount of pleasure that you receive rests entirely with you,
and is just exactly the same in any case. I am for letting that Chinaman
live."

"Thank you, Bianchon; you have done me good. We will always be friends."

"I say," remarked the medical student, as they came to the end of a
broad walk in the Jardin des Plantes, "I saw the Michonneau and Poiret a
few minutes ago on a bench chatting with a gentleman whom I used to see
in last year's troubles hanging about the Chamber of Deputies; he seems
to me, in fact, to be a detective dressed up like a decent retired
tradesman. Let us keep an eye on that couple; I will tell you why some
time. Good-bye; it is nearly four o'clock, and I must be in to answer to
my name."

When Eugene reached the lodging-house, he found Father Goriot waiting
for him.

"Here," cried the old man, "here is a letter from her. Pretty
handwriting, eh?"

Eugene broke the seal and read:--

"Sir,--I have heard from my father that you are fond of Italian
music. I shall be delighted if you will do me the pleasure of
accepting a seat in my box. La Fodor and Pellegrini will sing on
Saturday, so I am sure that you will not refuse me. M. de Nucingen
and I shall be pleased if you will dine with us; we shall be quite
by ourselves. If you will come and be my escort, my husband will
be glad to be relieved from his conjugal duties. Do not answer,
but simply come.--Yours sincerely, D. DE N."

"Let me see it," said Father Goriot, when Eugene had read the letter.
"You are going, aren't you?" he added, when he had smelled the
writing-paper. "How nice it smells! Her fingers have touched it, that is
certain."

"A woman does not fling herself at a man's head in this way," the
student was thinking. "She wants to use me to bring back de Marsay;
nothing but pique makes a woman do a thing like this."

"Well," said Father Goriot, "what are you thinking about?"

Eugene did not know the fever or vanity that possessed some women in
those days; how should he imagine that to open a door in the Faubourg
Saint-Germain a banker's wife