would not have pictured it full of
success? His wondering thoughts took wings; he was transported out
of the present into that blissful future; he was sitting by Mme. de
Restaud's side, when a sort of sigh, like the grunt of an overburdened
St. Joseph, broke the silence of the night. It vibrated through the
student, who took the sound for a death groan. He opened his door
noiselessly, went out upon the landing, and saw a thin streak of light
under Father Goriot's door. Eugene feared that his neighbor had been
taken ill; he went over and looked through the keyhole; the old man
was busily engaged in an occupation so singular and so suspicious that
Rastignac thought he was only doing a piece of necessary service
to society to watch the self-styled vermicelli maker's nocturnal
industries.

The table was upturned, and Goriot had doubtless in some way secured a
silver plate and cup to the bar before knotting a thick rope round them;
he was pulling at this rope with such enormous force that they were
being crushed and twisted out of shape; to all appearance he meant to
convert the richly wrought metal into ingots.

"_Peste!_ what a man!" said Rastignac, as he watched Goriot's muscular
arms; there was not a sound in the room while the old man, with the aid
of the rope, was kneading the silver like dough. "Was he then, indeed,
a thief, or a receiver of stolen goods, who affected imbecility and
decrepitude, and lived like a beggar that he might carry on his pursuits
the more securely?" Eugene stood for a moment revolving these questions,
then he looked again through the keyhole.

Father Goriot had unwound his coil of rope; he had covered the table
with a blanket, and was now employed in rolling the flattened mass
of silver into a bar, an operation which he performed with marvelous
dexterity.

"Why, he must be as strong as Augustus, King of Poland!" said Eugene to
himself when the bar was nearly finished.

Father Goriot looked sadly at his handiwork, tears fell from his
eyes, he blew out the dip which had served him for a light while he
manipulated the silver, and Eugene heard him sigh as he lay down again.

"He is mad," thought the student.

"_Poor child!_" Father Goriot said aloud. Rastignac, hearing those
words, concluded to keep silence; he would not hastily condemn his
neighbor. He was just in the doorway of his room when a strange sound
from the staircase below reached his ears; it might have been made
by two men co