he said; "he is gone for your cab."

Then he looked at the patient, and raised the closed eyelids with his
fingers. The two students saw how dead and lustreless the eyes beneath
had grown.

"He will not get over this, I am sure," said Bianchon. He felt the old
man's pulse, and laid a hand over his heart.

"The machinery works still; more is the pity, in his state it would be
better for him to die."

"Ah! my word, it would!"

"What is the matter with you? You are as pale as death."

"Dear fellow, the moans and cries that I have just heard.... There is
a God! Ah! yes, yes, there is a God, and He has made a better world for
us, or this world of ours would be a nightmare. I could have cried like
a child; but this is too tragical, and I am sick at heart.

"We want a lot of things, you know; and where is the money to come
from?"

Rastignac took out his watch.

"There, be quick and pawn it. I do not want to stop on the way to the
Rue du Helder; there is not a moment to lose, I am afraid, and I must
wait here till Christophe comes back. I have not a farthing; I shall
have to pay the cabman when I get home again."

Rastignac rushed down the stairs, and drove off to the Rue du Helder.
The awful scene through which he had just passed quickened his
imagination, and he grew fiercely indignant. He reached Mme. de
Restaud's house only to be told by the servant that his mistress could
see no one.

"But I have brought a message from her father, who is dying," Rastignac
told the man.

"The Count has given us the strictest orders, sir----"

"If it is M. de Restaud who has given the orders, tell him that his
father-in-law is dying, and that I am here, and must speak with him at
once."

The man went out.

Eugene waited for a long while. "Perhaps her father is dying at this
moment," he thought.

Then the man came back, and Eugene followed him to the little
drawing-room. M. de Restaud was standing before the fireless grate, and
did not ask his visitor to seat himself.

"Monsieur le Comte," said Rastignac, "M. Goriot, your father-in-law, is
lying at the point of death in a squalid den in the Latin Quarter.
He has not a penny to pay for firewood; he is expected to die at any
moment, and keeps calling for his daughter----"

"I feel very little affection for M. Goriot, sir, as you probably are
aware," the Count answered coolly. "His character has been compromised
in connection with Mme. de Restaud; he is the author of th