en at first in their houses without daring to come out, now
escaped from them, carrying away what was most dear to them--women
their children, men their infirm parents.

HONORE DE BALZAC

Born in France in 1799, died in 1850; educated at Tours and
Paris; became a lawyer's clerk; wrote short stories and
novels anonymously and became seriously involved in a
publishing venture; his first novel of merit, "Le Dernier
Chonan ou la Bretagne," published in 1829, "Eugenie Grandet"
in 1833, "Pere Goriot" in 1835, "Cesar Birotteau" in 1838;
married in 1850 Madame Hanska of a noble Polish family.

I

THE DEATH OF PERE GORIOT[54]

There was something awful and appalling in the sudden apparition of
the Countess. She saw the bed of death by the dim light of the single
candle, and her tears flowed at the sight of her father's passive
features, from which the life has almost ebbed. Bianchon with
thoughtful tact left the room.

[Footnote 54: From the concluding chapter of "Old Goriot," as
translated by Ellen Marriage.]

"I could not escape soon enough," she said to Rastignac.

The student bowed sadly in reply. Mme. de Restaud took her father's
hand and kissed it.

"Forgive me, father! You used to say that my voice would call you back
from the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless your penitent
daughter. Do you hear me? Oh! this is fearful! No one on earth will
ever bless me henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you
in all the world. My own children will hate me. Take me with you,
father; I will love you, I will take care of you. He does not hear
me--I am mad--"

She fell on her knees, and gazed wildly at the human wreck before her.

"My cup of misery is full," she said, turning her eyes upon Eugene.
"M. de Trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, and I
have found out that he was deceiving me. My husband will never forgive
me, and I have left my fortune in his hands. I have lost all my
illusions. Alas! I have forsaken the one heart that loved me (she
pointed to her father as she spoke), and for whom? I have held his
kindness cheap, and slighted his affection; many and many a time I
have given him pain, ungrateful wretch that I am!"

"He knew it," said Rastignac.

Just then Goriot's eyelids unclosed; it was only a muscular
contraction, but the Countess's sudden start of reviving hope was no
less dreadful than the dying eyes.

"Is it possi