dear M. Eugene, the next thing is to borrow money of the Jews,
isn't it?"

"There is positively no help for it," said Eugene.

"All right, I will give you credit," said the other, drawing out a cheap
leather pocket-book, much the worse for wear. "I have turned Jew myself;
I paid for everything; here are the invoices. You do not owe a penny
for anything here. It did not come to very much--five thousand francs at
most, and I am going to lend you the money myself. I am not a woman--you
can refuse me. You shall give me a receipt on a scrap of paper, and you
can return it some time or other."

Delphine and Eugene looked at each other in amazement, tears sprang to
their eyes. Rastignac held out his hand and grasped Goriot's warmly.

"Well, what is all this about? Are you not my children?"

"Oh! my poor father," said Mme. de Nucingen, "how did you do it?"

"Ah! now you ask me. When I made up my mind to move him nearer to you,
and saw you buying things as if they were wedding presents, I said to
myself, 'She will never be able to pay for them.' The attorney says that
those law proceedings will last quite six months before your husband can
be made to disgorge your fortune. Well and good. I sold out my property
in the funds that brought in thirteen hundred and fifty livres a year,
and bought a safe annuity of twelve hundred francs a year for fifteen
thousand francs. Then I paid your tradesmen out of the rest of the
capital. As for me, children, I have a room upstairs for which I pay
fifty crowns a year; I can live like a prince on two francs a day, and
still have something left over. I shall not have to spend anything much
on clothes, for I never wear anything out. This fortnight past I have
been laughing in my sleeve, thinking to myself, 'How happy they are
going to be!' and--well, now, are you not happy?"

"Oh papa! papa!" cried Mme. de Nucingen, springing to her father, who
took her on his knee. She covered him with kisses, her fair hair brushed
his cheek, her tears fell on the withered face that had grown so bright
and radiant.

"Dear father, what a father you are! No, there is not another father
like you under the sun. If Eugene loved you before, what must he feel
for you now?"

"Why, children, why Delphinette!" cried Goriot, who had not felt his
daughter's heart beat against his breast for ten years, "do you want me
to die of joy? My poor heart will break! Come, Monsieur Eugene, we are
quits already." And the old