"But is flesh and blood worth nothing?" cried the old man in his despair. "I would give body and soul to save you, Nasie. I would do a murder for the man who would rescue you. I would do, as Vautrin did, go to the hulks, go----" he stopped as if struck by a thunderbolt, and put both hands to his head. "Nothing left!" he cried, tearing his hair. "If I only knew of a way to steal money, but it is so hard to do it, and then you can't set to work by yourself, and it takes time to rob a bank. Yes, it is time I was dead; there is nothing left me to do but to die. I am no good in the world; I am no longer a father! No. She has come to me in her extremity, and, wretch that I am, I have nothing to give her. Ah! you put your money into a life annuity, old scoundrel; and had you not daughters? You did not love them. Die, die in a ditch, like the dog that you are! Yes, I am worse than a dog; a beast would not have done as I have done! Oh! my head . . . it throbs as if it would burst."
"Papa!" cried both the young women at once, "do, pray, be reasonable!" and they clung to him to prevent him from dashing his head against the wall. There was a sound of sobbing.
Eugene, greatly alarmed, took the bill that bore Vautrin's signature, saw that the stamp would suffice for a larger sum, altered the figures, made it into a regular bill for twelve thousand francs, payable to Goriot's order, and went to his neighbor's room.
"Here is the money, madame," he said, handing the piece of paper to her. "I was asleep; your conversation awoke me, and by this means I learned all that I owed to M. Goriot. This bill can be discounted, and I shall meet it punctually at the due date."
The Countess stood motionless and speechless, but she held the bill in her fingers.
"Delphine," she said, with a white face, and her whole frame quivering with indignation, anger, and rage, "I forgave you everything; God is my witness that I forgave you, but I cannot forgive this! So this gentleman was there all the time, and you knew it! Your petty spite has let you to wreak your vengeance on me by betraying my secrets, my life, my children's lives, my shame, my honor! There, you are nothing to me any longer. I hate you. I will do all that I can to injure you. I will . . ."
Anger paralyzed her; the words died in her dry parched throat.
"Why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother, your preserver!" cried Goriot. "Kiss his hand, Nasie! Stay, I will embrace him myself," he said, straining Eugene to his breast in a frenzied clasp. "Oh my boy! I will be more than a father to you; if I had God's power, I would fling worlds at your feet. Why don't you kiss him, Nasie? He is not a man, but an angel, a angel out of heaven."
"Never mind her, father; she is mad just now."
"Mad! am I? And what are you?" cried Mme. de Restaud.
"Children, children, I shall die if you go on like this," cried the old man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet had struck him.--"They are killing me between them," he said to himself.
The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugene, who stood stock still; all his faculties were numbed by this violent scene.
"Sir? . . ." she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and bearing; she took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine, who was hastily unfastening his waistcoat.
"Madame," said Eugene, answering the question before it was asked, "I will meet the bill, and keep silence about it."
"You have killed our father, Nasie!" said Delphine, pointing to Goriot, who lay unconscious on the bed. The Countess fled.
"I freely forgive her," said the old man, opening his eyes; "her position is horrible; it would turn an older head than hers.
Comfort Nasie, and be nice to her, Delphine; promise it to your poor father before he dies," he asked, holding Delphine's hand in a convulsive clasp.
"Oh! what ails you, father?" she cried in real alarm.
"Nothing, nothing," said Goriot; "it will go off. There is something heavy pressing on my forehead, a little headache. . . .
Ah! poor Nasie, what a life lies before her!"
Just as he spoke, the Countess came back again and flung herself on her knees before him. "Forgive me!" she cried.
"Come," said her father, "you are hurting me still more."
"Monsieur," the Countess said, turning to Rastignac, "misery made me unjust to you. You will be a brother to me, will you not?" and she held out her hand. Her eyes were full of tears as she spoke.
"Nasie," cried Delphine, flinging her arms round her sister, "my little Nasie, let us forget and forgive."
"No, no," cried Nasie; "I shall never forget!"
"Dear angels," cried Goriot, "it is as if a dark curtain over my eyes had been raised; your voices have called me back to life.
Kiss each other once more. Well, now, Nasie, that bill will save you, won't it?"
"I hope so. I say, papa, will you write your name on it?"
"There! how stupid of me to forget that! But I am not feeling at all well, Nasie, so you must not remember it against me. Send and let me know as soon as you are out of your strait. No, I will go to you. No, after all, I will not go; I might meet your husband, and I should kill him on the spot. And as for signing away your property, I shall have a word to say about that. Quick, my child, and keep Maxime in order in future."
Eugene was too bewildered to speak.
"Poor Anastasie, she always had a violent temper," said Mme. de Nucingen, "but she has a good heart."
"She came back for the endorsement," said Eugene in Delphine's ear.
"Do you think so?"
"I only wish I could think otherwise. Do not trust her," he answered, raising his eyes as if he confided to heaven the thoughts that he did not venture to express.
"Yes. She is always acting a part to some extent."
"How do you feel now, dear Father Goriot?" asked Rastignac.
"I should like to go to sleep," he replied.
Eugene helped him to bed, and Delphine sat by the bedside, holding his hand until he fell asleep. Then she went.
