stranger in this painful
scene, will you permit a gentleman and a traveller to interject one
word? There sits the young man, full, I am sure, of pleasing qualities;
here the young maiden, by her own confession bashfully consenting to the
match; there sits that dear old gentleman, a lover of bright faces like
myself, his own now dimmed with sorrow; and here--(may I be allowed to
add?)--here sits this noble Roman, a father like myself, and like myself
the slave of duty. Last you have me--Baron Henri-Frederic de Latour de
Main de la Tonnerre de Brest, the man of the world and the man of
delicacy. I find you all--permit me the expression--gravelled. A
marriage and an obstacle. Now, what is marriage? The union of two souls,
and, what is possibly more romantic, the fusion of two dowries. What is
an obstacle? the devil. And this obstacle? to me, as a man of family,
the obstacle seems grave; but to me, as a man and a brother, what is it
but a word? O my friend (_to GORIOT_), you whom I single out as the
victim of the same noble failings with myself of pride of birth, of
pride of honesty--O my friend, reflect. Go now apart with your
dishevelled daughter, your tearful son-in-law, and let their plaints
constrain you. Believe me, when you come to die, you will recall with
pride this amiable weakness.

GORIOT. I shan't, and what's more I wun't. (_CHARLES and ERNESTINE lead
him up stage, protesting. All rise except NOTARY._)

DUMONT (_front R., shaking hands with MACAIRE_). Sir, you have a noble
nature. (_MACAIRE picks his pocket._) Dear, me, dear me, and you are
rich.

MACAIRE. I own, sir, I deceived you: I feared some wounding offer, and
my pride replied. But to be quite frank with you, you behold me here,
the Baron Henri-Frederic de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest, and
between my simple manhood and the infinite, these rags are all.

DUMONT. Dear me, and with this noble pride, my gratitude is useless. For
I, too, have delicacy. I understand you could not stoop to take a gift.

MACAIRE. A gift? a small one? never!

DUMONT. And I will never wound you by the offer.

MACAIRE. Bitten! \
> _Aside._
BERTRAND. Sold again! /

GORIOT (_taking the stage_). But, look 'ee here, he can't marry.

MACAIRE. Hey? \
|
DUMONT. Ah! |
|
ALINE. Heyday! |
> _Together._
CURATE. Wherefore? |
|
ERNESTINE. O! |