第 三十五 章 · 第35章

“Come, now, Mama Vauquer, a couple of bottles of champagne,” called

Vautrin.

“_Quien!_ just like you! Why not ask for the whole house at once. A

couple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! I shall never

see the money back again, I know! But if M. Eugene has a mind to pay for

it, I have some currant cordial.”

“That currant cordial of hers is as bad as a black draught,” muttered

the medical student.

“Shut up, Bianchon,” exclaimed Rastignac; “the very mention of black

draught makes me feel----. Yes, champagne, by all means; I will pay for

it,” he added.

“Sylvie,” called Mme. Vauquer, “bring in some biscuits, and the little

cakes.”

“Those little cakes are mouldy graybeards,” said Vautrin. “But trot out

the biscuits.”

The Bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner table became a livelier scene

than ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. Imitations of the cries

of various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the Museum official

having taken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like the

caterwauling of the animal in question, eight voices simultaneously

struck up with the following variations:

“Scissors to grind!”

“Chick-weeds for singing bir-ds!”

“Brandy-snaps, ladies!”

“China to mend!”

“Boat ahoy!”

“Sticks to beat your wives or your clothes!”

“Old clo’!”

“Cherries all ripe!”

But the palm was awarded to Bianchon for the nasal accent with which he

rendered the cry of “Umbrellas to me-end!”

A few seconds later, and there was a head-splitting racket in the

room, a storm of tomfoolery, a sort of cats’ concert, with Vautrin

as conductor of the orchestra, the latter keeping an eye the while on

Eugene and Father Goriot. The wine seemed to have gone to their heads

already. They leaned back in their chairs, looking at the general

confusion with an air of gravity, and drank but little; both of them

were absorbed in the thought of what lay before them to do that evening,

and yet neither of them felt able to rise and go. Vautrin gave a side

glance at them from time to time, and watched the change that came over

their faces, choosing the moment when their eyes drooped and seemed

about to close, to bend over Rastignac and to say in his ear:--

“My little lad, you are not quite shrewd enough to outwit Papa Vautrin

yet, and he is too fond of you to let you make a mess of your affairs.

When I have made up my mind to do a thing, no one short of Providence

can put me off. Aha! we were for going round to warn old Taillefer,

telling tales out of school! The oven is hot, the dough is kneaded, the

bread is ready for the oven; to-morrow we will eat it up and whisk away

the crumbs; and we are not going to spoil the baking? ... No, no, it is

all as good as done! We may suffer from a few conscientious scruples,

but they will be digested along with the bread. While we are having our

forty winks, Colonel Count Franchessini will clear the way to Michel

Taillefer’s inheritance with the point of his sword. Victorine will come

in for her brother’s money, a snug fifteen thousand francs a year. I

have made inquiries already, and I know that her late mother’s property

amounts to more than three hundred thousand----”

Eugene heard all this, and could not answer a word; his tongue seemed

to be glued to the roof of his mouth, an irresistible drowsiness was

creeping over him. He still saw the table and the faces round it, but it

was through a bright mist. Soon the noise began to subside, one by one

the boarders went. At last, when their numbers had so dwindled that the

party consisted of Mme. Vauquer, Mme. Couture, Mlle. Victorine, Vautrin,

and Father Goriot, Rastignac watched as though in a dream how Mme.

Vauquer busied herself by collecting the bottles, and drained the

remainder of the wine out of each to fill others.

“Oh! how uproarious they are! what a thing it is to be young!” said the

widow.

These were the last words that Eugene heard and understood.

“There is no one like M. Vautrin for a bit of fun like this,” said

Sylvie. “There, just hark at Christophe, he is snoring like a top.”

“Good-bye, mamma,” said Vautrin; “I am going to a theatre on the

boulevard to see M. Marty in _Le Mont Sauvage_, a fine play taken

from _Le Solitaire_.... If you like, I will take you and these two

ladies----”

“Thank you; I must decline,” said Mme. Couture.

“What! my good lady!” cried Mme. Vauquer, “decline to see a play founded

on the _Le Solitaire_, a work by Atala de Chateaubriand? We were so fond

of that book that we cried over it like Magdalens under the _line-trees_

last summer, and then it is an improving work that might edify your

young lady.”

“We are forbidden to go to the play,” answered Victorine.

“Just look, those two yonder have dropped off where they sit,” said

Vautrin, shaking the heads of the two sleepers in a comical way.

He altered the sleeping student’s position, settled his head more

comfortably on the back of his chair, kissed him warmly on the forehead,

and began to sing:

“Sleep, little darlings;

I watch while you slumber.”

“I am afraid he may be ill,” said Victorine.

“Then stop and take care of him,” returned Vautrin. “‘Tis your duty as

a meek and obedient wife,” he whispered in her ear. “The young fellow

worships you, and you will be his little wife--there’s your fortune for

you. In short,” he added aloud, “they lived happily ever afterwards,

were much looked up to in all the countryside, and had a numerous

family. That is how all the romances end.--Now, mamma,” he went on, as

he turned to Madame Vauquer and put his arm round her waist, “put on

your bonnet, your best flowered silk, and the countess’ scarf, while I

go out and call a cab--all my own self.”

And he started out, singing as he went:

“Oh! sun! divine sun!

Ripening the pumpkins every one.”

“My goodness! Well, I’m sure! Mme. Couture, I could live happily in a

garret with a man like that.--There, now!” she added, looking round for

the old vermicelli maker, “there is that Father Goriot half seas over.

_He_ never thought of taking me anywhere, the old skinflint. But he will

measure his length somewhere. My word! it is disgraceful to lose his

senses like that, at his age! You will be telling me that he couldn’t

lose what he hadn’t got--Sylvie, just take him up to his room!”

Sylvie took him by the arm, supported him upstairs, and flung him just

as he was, like a package, across the bed.

“Poor young fellow!” said Mme. Couture, putting back Eugene’s hair that

had fallen over his eyes; “he is like a young girl, he does not know

what dissipation is.”

“Well, I can tell you this, I know,” said Mme. Vauquer, “I have taken

lodgers these thirty years, and a good many have passed through my

hands, as the saying is, but I have never seen a nicer nor a more

aristocratic looking young man than M. Eugene. How handsome he looks

sleeping! Just let his head rest on your shoulder, Mme. Couture. Pshaw!

he falls over towards Mlle. Victorine. There’s a special providence for

young things. A little more, and he would have broken his head against

the knob of the chair. They’d make a pretty pair those two would!”

“Hush, my good neighbor,” cried Mme. Couture, “you are saying such

things----”

“Pooh!” put in Mme. Vauquer, “he does not hear.--Here, Sylvie! come and

help me to dress. I shall put on my best stays.”

“What! your best stays just after dinner, madame?” said Sylvie. “No, you

can get some one else to lace you. I am not going to be your murderer.

It’s a rash thing to do, and might cost you your life.”

“I don’t care, I must do honor to M. Vautrin.”

“Are you so fond of your heirs as all that?”

“Come, Sylvie, don’t argue,” said the widow, as she left the room.

“At her age, too!” said the cook to Victorine, pointing to her mistress

as she spoke.

Mme. Couture and her ward were left in the dining-room, and Eugene

slept on Victorine’s shoulder. The sound of Christophe’s snoring echoed

through the silent house; Eugene’s quiet breathing seemed all the

quieter by force of contrast, he was sleeping as peacefully as a child.

Victorine was very happy; she was free to perform one of those acts of

charity which form an innocent outlet for all the overflowing sentiments

of a woman’s nature; he was so close to her that she could feel the

throbbing of his heart; there was a look of almost maternal protection

and conscious pride in Victorine’s face. Among the countless thoughts

that crowded up in her young innocent heart, there was a wild flutter of

joy at this close contact.

“Poor, dear child!” said Mme. Couture, squeezing her hand.

The old lady looked at the girl. Victorine’s innocent, pathetic face,

so radiant with the new happiness that had befallen her, called to

mind some naive work of mediaeval art, when the painter neglected the

accessories, reserving all the magic of his brush for the quiet,

austere outlines and ivory tints of the face, which seems to have caught

something of the golden glory of heaven.

“After all, he only took two glasses, mamma,” said Victorine, passing

her fingers through Eugene’s hair.

“Indeed, if he had been a dissipated young man, child, he would have

carried his wine like the rest of them. His drowsiness does him credit.”

There was a sound of wheels outside in the street.

“There is M. Vautrin, mamma,” said the girl. “Just take M. Eugene. I

would rather not have that man see me like this; there are some ways of

looking at you that seem to sully your soul and make you feel as though

you had nothing on.”

“Oh, no, you are wrong!” said Mme. Couture. “M. Vautrin is a worthy man;

he reminds me a little of my late husband, poor dear M. Couture, rough

but kind-hearted; his bark is worse than his bite.”

Vautrin came in while she was speaking; he did not make a sound, but

looked for a while at the picture of the two young faces--the lamplight

falling full upon them seemed to caress them.

“Well,” he remarked, folding his arms, “here is a picture! It would have

suggested some pleasing pages to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (good

soul), who wrote _Paul et Virginie_. Youth is very charming, Mme.

Couture!--Sleep on, poor boy,” he added, looking at Eugene, “luck

sometimes comes while you are sleeping.--There is something touching and

attractive to me about this young man, madame,” he continued; “I know

that his nature is in harmony with his face. Just look, the head of

a cherub on an angel’s shoulder! He deserves to be loved. If I were a

woman, I would die (no--not such a fool), I would live for him.” He

bent lower and spoke in the widow’s ear. “When I see those two together,

madame, I cannot help thinking that Providence meant them for each

other; He works by secret ways, and tries the reins and the heart,” he

said in a loud voice. “And when I see you, my children, thus united by

a like purity and by all human affections, I say to myself that it is

quite impossible that the future should separate you. God is just.”--He

turned to Victorine. “It seems to me,” he said, “that I have seen the

line of success in your hand. Let me look at it, Mlle. Victorine; I am

well up in palmistry, and I have told fortunes many a time. Come, now,

don’t be frightened. Ah! what do I see? Upon my word, you will be one of

the richest heiresses in Paris before very long. You will heap riches

on the man who loves you. Your father will want you to go and live with

him. You will marry a young and handsome man with a title, and he will

idolize you.”