gin to talk to him
he pretends not to hear, and lies as if he were asleep instead of
answering, or if he opens his eyes he begins to groan. Some time this
morning he went out on foot in the streets, nobody knows where he went,
and he took everything that he had of any value with him. He has been
driving some confounded bargain, and it has been too much for his
strength. One of his daughters has been here."

"Was it the Countess?" asked Eugene. "A tall, dark-haired woman, with
large bright eyes, slender figure, and little feet?"

"Yes."

"Leave him to me for a bit," said Rastignac. "I will make him confess;
he will tell me all about it."

"And meanwhile I will get my dinner. But try not to excite him; there is
still some hope left."

"All right."

"How they will enjoy themselves to-morrow," said Father Goriot when they
were alone. "They are going to a grand ball."

"What were you doing this morning, papa, to make yourself so poorly this
evening that you have to stop in bed?"

"Nothing."

"Did not Anastasie come to see you?" demanded Rastignac.

"Yes," said Father Goriot.

"Well, then, don't keep anything from me. What more did she want of
you?"

"Oh, she was very miserable," he answered, gathering up all his strength
to speak. "It was this way, my boy. Since that affair of the diamonds,
Nasie has not had a penny of her own. For this ball she had ordered a
golden gown like a setting for a jewel. Her mantuamaker, a woman without
a conscience, would not give her credit, so Nasie's waiting-woman
advanced a thousand francs on account. Poor Nasie! reduced to such
shifts! It cut me to the heart to think of it! But when Nasie's maid
saw how things were between her master and mistress, she was afraid of
losing her money, and came to an understanding with the dressmaker, and
the woman refuses to send the ball-dress until the money is paid. The
gown is ready, and the ball is to-morrow night! Nasie was in despair.
She wanted to borrow my forks and spoons to pawn them. Her husband is
determined that she shall go and wear the diamonds, so as to contradict
the stories that are told all over Paris. How can she go to that
heartless scoundrel and say, 'I owe a thousand francs to my dressmaker;
pay her for me!' She cannot. I saw that myself. Delphine will be there
too in a superb toilette, and Anastasie ought not to be outshone by her
younger sister. And then--she was drowned in tears, poor girl! I felt
so humbled yesterda