sunniest hours of the day in the Jardin des
Plantes.

"Well, those two are as good as married," was the portly Sylvie's
comment. "They are going out together to-day for the first time. They
are such a couple of dry sticks that if they happen to strike against
each other they will draw sparks like flint and steel."

"Keep clear of Mlle. Michonneau's shawl, then," said Mme. Vauquer,
laughing; "it would flare up like tinder."

At four o'clock that evening, when Goriot came in, he saw, by the light
of two smoky lamps, that Victorine's eyes were red. Mme. Vauquer was
listening to the history of the visit made that morning to M. Taillefer;
it had been made in vain. Taillefer was tired of the annual application
made by his daughter and her elderly friend; he gave them a personal
interview in order to arrive at an understanding with them.

"My dear lady," said Mme. Couture, addressing Mme. Vauquer, "just
imagine it; he did not even ask Victorine to sit down, she was standing
the whole time. He said to me quite coolly, without putting himself in a
passion, that we might spare ourselves the trouble of going there; that
the young lady (he would not call her his daughter) was injuring her
cause by importuning him (_importuning!_ once a year, the wretch!); that
as Victorine's mother had nothing when he married her, Victorine ought
not to expect anything from him; in fact, he said the most cruel things,
that made the poor child burst out crying. The little thing threw
herself at her father's feet and spoke up bravely; she said that she
only persevered in her visits for her mother's sake; that she would
obey him without a murmur, but that she begged him to read her poor dead
mother's farewell letter. She took it up and gave it to him, saying the
most beautiful things in the world, most beautifully expressed; I do not
know where she learned them; God must have put them into her head, for
the poor child was inspired to speak so nicely that it made me cry like
a fool to hear her talk. And what do you think the monster was doing all
the time? Cutting his nails! He took the letter that poor Mme. Taillefer
had soaked with tears, and flung it on to the chimney-piece. 'That is
all right,' he said. He held out his hands to raise his daughter, but
she covered them with kisses, and he drew them away again. Scandalous,
isn't it? And his great booby of a son came in and took no notice of his
sister."

"What inhuman wretches they must be!" sai