, a fine play taken
from _Le Solitaire_.... If you like, I will take you and these two
ladies----"

"Thank you; I must decline," said Mme. Couture.

"What! my good lady!" cried Mme. Vauquer, "decline to see a play founded
on the _Le Solitaire_, a work by Atala de Chateaubriand? We were so fond
of that book that we cried over it like Magdalens under the _line-trees_
last summer, and then it is an improving work that might edify your
young lady."

"We are forbidden to go to the play," answered Victorine.

"Just look, those two yonder have dropped off where they sit," said
Vautrin, shaking the heads of the two sleepers in a comical way.

He altered the sleeping student's position, settled his head more
comfortably on the back of his chair, kissed him warmly on the forehead,
and began to sing:

"Sleep, little darlings;
I watch while you slumber."

"I am afraid he may be ill," said Victorine.

"Then stop and take care of him," returned Vautrin. "'Tis your duty as
a meek and obedient wife," he whispered in her ear. "The young fellow
worships you, and you will be his little wife--there's your fortune for
you. In short," he added aloud, "they lived happily ever afterwards,
were much looked up to in all the countryside, and had a numerous
family. That is how all the romances end.--Now, mamma," he went on, as
he turned to Madame Vauquer and put his arm round her waist, "put on
your bonnet, your best flowered silk, and the countess' scarf, while I
go out and call a cab--all my own self."

And he started out, singing as he went:

"Oh! sun! divine sun!
Ripening the pumpkins every one."

"My goodness! Well, I'm sure! Mme. Couture, I could live happily in a
garret with a man like that.--There, now!" she added, looking round for
the old vermicelli maker, "there is that Father Goriot half seas over.
_He_ never thought of taking me anywhere, the old skinflint. But he will
measure his length somewhere. My word! it is disgraceful to lose his
senses like that, at his age! You will be telling me that he couldn't
lose what he hadn't got--Sylvie, just take him up to his room!"

Sylvie took him by the arm, supported him upstairs, and flung him just
as he was, like a package, across the bed.

"Poor young fellow!" said Mme. Couture, putting back Eugene's hair that
had fallen over his eyes; "he is like a young girl, he does not know
what dissipation is."

"Well, I can tell you this, I know," said Mme. Vauqu