Bab Bab 49 · 第49章

She stood for a moment. Then she covered her eyes with her hands for

an instant, dashed away the tears, bathed her face with cold water, and

took the student’s arm.

“Let us go!” she said.

This suffering, endured with such noble fortitude, shook Eugene with

a more violent emotion than he had felt before. They went back to the

ballroom, and Mme. de Beauseant went through the rooms on Eugene’s

arm--the last delicately gracious act of a gracious woman. In another

moment he saw the sisters, Mme. de Restaud and Mme. de Nucingen. The

Countess shone in all the glory of her magnificent diamonds; every stone

must have scorched like fire, she was never to wear them again. Strong

as love and pride might be in her, she found it difficult to meet her

husband’s eyes. The sight of her was scarcely calculated to lighten

Rastignac’s sad thoughts; through the blaze of those diamonds he seemed

to see the wretched pallet-bed on which Father Goriot was lying. The

Vicomtesse misread his melancholy; she withdrew her hand from his arm.

“Come,” she said, “I must not deprive you of a pleasure.”

Eugene was soon claimed by Delphine. She was delighted by the impression

that she had made, and eager to lay at her lover’s feet the homage

she had received in this new world in which she hoped to live and move

henceforth.

“What do you think of Nasie?” she asked him.

“She has discounted everything, even her own father’s death,” said

Rastignac.

Towards four o’clock in the morning the rooms began to empty. A little

later the music ceased, and the Duchesse de Langeais and Rastignac were

left in the great ballroom. The Vicomtesse, who thought to find the

student there alone, came back there at last. She had taken leave of M.

de Beauseant, who had gone off to bed, saying again as he went, “It is

a great pity, my dear, to shut yourself up at your age! Pray stay among

us.”

Mme. de Beauseant saw the Duchesse, and, in spite of herself, an

exclamation broke from her.

“I saw how it was, Clara,” said Mme. de Langeais. “You are going from

among us, and you will never come back. But you must not go until you

have heard me, until we have understood each other.”

She took her friend’s arm, and they went together into the next room.

There the Duchess looked at her with tears in her eyes; she held her

friend in close embrace and kissed her cheek.

“I could not let you go without a word, dearest; the remorse would have

been too hard to bear. You can count upon me as surely as upon yourself.

You have shown yourself great this evening; I feel that I am worthy

of our friendship, and I mean to prove myself worthy of it. I have not

always been kind; I was in the wrong; forgive me, dearest; I wish I

could unsay anything that may have hurt you; I take back those words.

One common sorrow has brought us together again, for I do not know which

of us is the more miserable. M. de Montriveau was not here to-night;

do you understand what that means?--None of those who saw you to-night,

Clara, will ever forget you. I mean to make one last effort. If I fail,

I shall go into a convent. Clara, where are you going?”

“Into Normandy, to Courcelles. I shall love and pray there until the day

when God shall take me from this world.--M. de Rastignac!” called the

Vicomtesse, in a tremulous voice, remembering that the young man was

waiting there.

The student knelt to kiss his cousin’s hand.

“Good-bye, Antoinette!” said Mme. de Beauseant. “May you be happy.”--She

turned to the student. “You are young,” she said; “you have some beliefs

still left. I have been privileged, like some dying people, to find

sincere and reverent feeling in those about me as I take my leave of

this world.”

It was nearly five o’clock that morning when Rastignac came away. He had

put Mme. de Beauseant into her traveling carriage, and received her last

farewells, spoken amid fast-falling tears; for no greatness is so great

that it can rise above the laws of human affection, or live beyond

the jurisdiction of pain, as certain demagogues would have the people

believe. Eugene returned on foot to the Maison Vauquer through the cold

and darkness. His education was nearly complete.

“There is no hope for poor Father Goriot,” said Bianchon, as Rastignac

came into the room. Eugene looked for a while at the sleeping man, then

he turned to his friend. “Dear fellow, you are content with the modest

career you have marked out for yourself; keep to it. I am in hell, and

I must stay there. Believe everything that you hear said of the world,

nothing is too impossibly bad. No Juvenal could paint the horrors hidden

away under the covering of gems and gold.”

At two o’clock in the afternoon Bianchon came to wake Rastignac, and

begged him to take charge of Goriot, who had grown worse as the day wore

on. The medical student was obliged to go out.

“Poor old man, he has not two days to live, maybe not many hours,” he

said; “but we must do our utmost, all the same, to fight the disease. It

will be a very troublesome case, and we shall want money. We can nurse

him between us, of course, but, for my own part, I have not a penny. I

have turned out his pockets, and rummaged through his drawers--result,

nix. I asked him about it while his mind was clear, and he told me he

had not a farthing of his own. What have you?”

“I have twenty francs left,” said Rastignac; “but I will take them to

the roulette table, I shall be sure to win.”

“And if you lose?”

“Then I shall go to his sons-in-law and his daughters and ask them for

money.”

“And suppose they refuse?” Bianchon retorted. “The most pressing thing

just now is not really money; we must put mustard poultices, as hot as

they can be made, on his feet and legs. If he calls out, there is still

some hope for him. You know how to set about doing it, and besides,

Christophe will help you. I am going round to the dispensary to persuade

them to let us have the things we want on credit. It is a pity that

we could not move him to the hospital; poor fellow, he would be better

there. Well, come along, I leave you in charge; you must stay with him

till I come back.”

The two young men went back to the room where the old man was lying.

Eugene was startled at the change in Goriot’s face, so livid, distorted,

and feeble.

“How are you, papa?” he said, bending over the pallet-bed. Goriot

turned his dull eyes upon Eugene, looked at him attentively, and did not

recognize him. It was more than the student could bear; the tears came

into his eyes.

“Bianchon, ought we to have the curtains put up in the windows?”

“No, the temperature and the light do not affect him now. It would be a

good thing for him if he felt heat or cold; but we must have a fire in

any case to make tisanes and heat the other things. I will send round a

few sticks; they will last till we can have in some firewood. I burned

all the bark fuel you had left, as well as his, poor man, yesterday and

during the night. The place is so damp that the water stood in drops on

the walls; I could hardly get the room dry. Christophe came in and swept

the floor, but the place is like a stable; I had to burn juniper, the

smell was something horrible.

“_Mon Dieu!_” said Rastignac. “To think of those daughters of his.”

“One moment, if he asks for something to drink, give him this,” said the

house student, pointing to a large white jar. “If he begins to groan,

and the belly feels hot and hard to the touch, you know what to do; get

Christophe to help you. If he should happen to grow much excited, and

begin to talk a good deal and even to ramble in his talk, do not be

alarmed. It would not be a bad symptom. But send Christophe to the

Hospice Cochin. Our doctor, my chum, or I will come and apply moxas. We

had a great consultation this morning while you were asleep. A surgeon,

a pupil of Gall’s came, and our house surgeon, and the head physician

from the Hotel-Dieu. Those gentlemen considered that the symptoms were

very unusual and interesting; the case must be carefully watched, for

it throws a light on several obscure and rather important scientific

problems. One of the authorities says that if there is more pressure of

serum on one or other portion of the brain, it should affect his mental

capacities in such and such directions. So if he should talk, notice

very carefully what kind of ideas his mind seems to run on; whether

memory, or penetration, or the reasoning faculties are exercised;

whether sentiments or practical questions fill his thoughts; whether he

makes forecasts or dwells on the past; in fact; you must be prepared

to give an accurate report of him. It is quite likely that the

extravasation fills the whole brain, in which case he will die in the

imbecile state in which he is lying now. You cannot tell anything about

these mysterious nervous diseases. Suppose the crash came here,” said

Bianchon, touching the back of the head, “very strange things have been

known to happen; the brain sometimes partially recovers, and death is

delayed. Or the congested matter may pass out of the brain altogether

through channels which can only be determined by a post-mortem

examination. There is an old man at the Hospital for Incurables, an

imbecile patient, in his case the effusion has followed the direction of

the spinal cord; he suffers horrid agonies, but he lives.”

“Did they enjoy themselves?” It was Father Goriot who spoke. He had

recognized Eugene.

“Oh! he thinks of nothing but his daughters,” said Bianchon. “Scores

of times last night he said to me, ‘They are dancing now! She has her

dress.’ He called them by their names. He made me cry, the devil take

it, calling with that tone in his voice, for ‘Delphine! my little

Delphine! and Nasie!’ Upon my word,” said the medical student, “it was

enough to make any one burst out crying.”

“Delphine,” said the old man, “she is there, isn’t she? I knew she was

there,” and his eyes sought the door.

“I am going down now to tell Sylvie to get the poultices ready,” said

Bianchon. “They ought to go on at once.”

Rastignac was left alone with the old man. He sat at the foot of the

bed, and gazed at the face before him, so horribly changed that it was

shocking to see.