ause._) Ah, well, this is a different home-coming from that I fancied
when I left the letter: I dreamed to grow rich. Charles, you remind me
of your sainted mother.

CHARLES. I trust, sir, you do not think yourself less welcome for your
poverty.

MACAIRE. Nay, nay--more welcome, more welcome. O, I know
your--(_business_) backs! Besides, my poverty is noble. Political....
Dumont, what are your politics?

DUMONT. A plain old republican, my lord.

MACAIRE. And yours, my good Goriot?

GORIOT. I be a royalist, I be, and so be my daater.

MACAIRE. How strange is the coincidence! The party that I sought to
found combined the peculiarities of both; a patriotic enterprise in
which I fell. This humble fellow ... have I introduced him? You behold
in us the embodiment of aristocracy and democracy. Bertrand, shake hands
with my family. (_BERTRAND is rebuffed by one and the other in dead
silence._)

BERTRAND. Sold again!

MACAIRE. Charles, to my arms! (_Business._)

ERNESTINE. Well, but now that he has a father of some kind, cannot the
marriage go on?

MACAIRE. Angel, this very night: I burn to take my grandchild on my
knees.

GORIOT. Be you that young man's veyther?

MACAIRE. Ay, and what a father!

GORIOT. Then all I've got to say is, I shan't and I wun't.

MACAIRE. Ah, friends, friends, what a satisfaction it is, what a sight
is virtue! I came among you in this poor attire to test you; how nobly
have you borne the test! But my disguise begins to irk me: who will lend
me a good suit? (_Business._)

SCENE III

_To these, the MARQUIS, L.C._

MARQUIS. Is this the house of John Paul Dumont, once of Lyons?

DUMONT. It is, sir, and I am he, at your disposal.

MARQUIS. I am the Marquis Villers-Cotterets de la Cherte de Medoc.
(_Sensation._)

MARCAIRE. Marquis, delighted, I am sure.

MARQUIS (_to DUMONT_). I come, as you perceive, unfollowed; my errand,
therefore, is discreet. I come (_producing notes from breast-pocket_)
equipped with thirty thousand francs; my errand, therefore, must be
generous. Can you not guess?

DUMONT. Not I, my lord.

MARQUIS (_repeating_). "Preserve this letter," etc.

MARCAIRE. Bitten!

BERTRAND. Sold again! (_Aside._) (_A pause._)

ALINE. Well, I never did!

DUMONT. Two fathers!

MARQUIS. Two? Impossible.

DUMONT. Not at all. This is the other.

MARQUIS. This man?

MARCAIRE. This is the man, my lord; here stands the father. Charles, to
my arms! (_CHARLES backs._