Her words broke the spell. Every one had been too much excited, too much moved by very various feelings to speak. —
But now the lodgers began to look at each other, and then all eyes were turned at once on Mlle. Michonneau, a thin, shriveled, deadalive, mummy-like figure, crouching by the stove; —
her eyes were downcast, as if she feared that the green eye-shade could not shut out the expression of those faces from her. —
This figure and the feeling of repulsion she had so long excited were explained all at once. —
A smothered murmur filled the room; it was so unanimous, that it seemed as if the same feeling of loathing had pitched all the voices in one key. —
Mlle. Michonneau heard it, and did not stir. It was Bianchon who was the first to move; —
he bent over his neighbor, and said in a low voice, “If that creature is going to stop here, and have dinner with us, I shall clear out.”
In the twinkling of an eye it was clear that every one in the room, save Poiret, was of the medical student’s opinion, so that the latter, strong in the support of the majority, went up to that elderly person.
“You are more intimate with Mlle. Michonneau than the rest of us,” he said; —
“speak to her, make her understand that she must go, and go at once.”
“At once!” echoed Poiret in amazement.
Then he went across to the crouching figure, and spoke a few words in her ear.
“I have paid beforehand for the quarter; I have as much right to be here as any one else,” she said, with a viperous look at the boarders.
“Never mind that! we will club together and pay you the money back,” said Rastignac.
“Monsieur is taking Collin’s part” she said, with a questioning, malignant glance at the law student; —
“it is not difficult to guess why.”
Eugene started forward at the words, as if he meant to spring upon her and wring her neck. —
That glance, and the depths of treachery that it revealed, had been a hideous enlightenment.
“Let her alone!” cried the boarders.
Rastignac folded his arms and was silent.
“Let us have no more of Mlle. Judas,” said the painter, turning to Mme. Vauquer. —
“If you don’t show the Michonneau the door, madame, we shall all leave your shop, and wherever we go we shall say that there are only convicts and spies left there. —
If you do the other thing, we will hold our tongues about the business; —
for when all is said and done, it might happen in the best society until they brand them on the forehead, when they send them to the hulks. —
They ought not to let convicts go about Paris disguised like decent citizens, so as to carry on their antics like a set of rascally humbugs, which they are.”
At this Mme. Vauquer recovered miraculously. She sat up and folded her arms; —
her eyes were wide open now, and there was no sign of tears in them.
“Why, do you really mean to be the ruin of my establishment, my dear sir? —
There is M. Vautrin—-Goodness,” she cried, interrupting herself, “I can’t help calling him by the name he passed himself off by for an honest man! —
There is one room to let already, and you want me to turn out two more lodgers in the middle of the season, when no one is moving—-”
“Gentlemen, let us take our hats and go and dine at Flicoteaux’s in the Place Sorbonne,” cried Bianchon.
Mme. Vauquer glanced round, and saw in a moment on which side her interest lay. —
She waddled across to Mlle. Michonneau.
“Come, now,” she said; “you would not be the ruin of my establishment, would you, eh? —
There’s a dear, kind soul. You see what a pass these gentlemen have brought me to; —
just go up to your room for this evening.”
“Never a bit of it!” cried the boarders. “She must go, and go this minute!”
“But the poor lady has had no dinner,” said Poiret, with piteous entreaty.
“She can go and dine where she likes,” shouted several voices.
“Turn her out, the spy!”
“Turn them both out! Spies!”
“Gentlemen,” cried Poiret, his heart swelling with the courage that love gives to the ovine male, “respect the weaker sex.”
“Spies are of no sex!” said the painter.
“A precious sexorama!”
“Turn her into the streetorama!”
“Gentlemen, this is not manners! If you turn people out of the house, it ought not to be done so unceremoniously and with no notice at all. —
We have paid our money, and we are not going,” said Poiret, putting on his cap, and taking a chair beside Mlle. Michonneau, with whom Mme. Vauquer was remonstrating.
“Naughty boy!” said the painter, with a comical look; “run away, naughty little boy!”
“Look here,” said Bianchon; “if you do not go, all the rest of us will,” and the boarders, to a man, made for the sitting-roomdoor.
“Oh! mademoiselle, what is to be done?” cried Mme. Vauquer. “I am a ruined woman. —
You can’t stay here; they will go further, do something violent.”
Mlle. Michonneau rose to her feet.
“She is going!–She is not going!–She is going!–No, she isn’t.”
These alternate exclamations, and a suggestion of hostile intentions, borne out by the behavior of the insurgents, compelled Mlle. Michonneau to take her departure. —
She made some stipulations, speaking in a low voice in her hostess’ ear, and then–“I shall go to Mme. Buneaud’s,” she said, with a threatening look.
“Go where you please, mademoiselle,” said Mme. Vauquer, who regarded this choice of an opposition establishment as an atrocious insult. —
“Go and lodge with the Buneaud; the wine would give a cat the colic, and the food is cheap and nasty.”
The boarders stood aside in two rows to let her pass; not a word was spoken. —
Poiret looked so wistfully after Mlle. Michonneau, and so artlessly revealed that he was in two minds whether to go or stay, that the boarders, in their joy at being quit of Mlle. Michonneau, burst out laughing at the sight of him.
“Hist!–st!–st! Poiret,” shouted the painter. “Hallo! —
I say, Poiret, hallo!” The employe from the Museum began to sing:
“Partant pour la Syrie, Le jeune et beau Dunois …”
“Get along with you; you must be dying to go, trahit sua quemque voluptas!” said Bianchon.
“Every one to his taste–free rendering from Virgil,” said the tutor.
Mlle. Michonneau made a movement as if to take Poiret’s arm, with an appealing glance that he could not resist. —
The two went out together, the old maid leaning upon him, and there was a burst of applause, followed by peals of laughter.
“Bravo, Poiret!”
“Who would have thought it of old Poiret!”
“Apollo Poiret!”
“Mars Poiret!”
“Intrepid Poiret!”
A messenger came in at that moment with a letter for Mme. Vauquer, who read it through, and collapsed in her chair.
“The house might as well be burned down at once,” cried she, “if there are to be any more of these thunderbolts! —
Young Taillefer died at three o’clock this afternoon. —
It serves me right for wishing well to those ladies at that poor man’s expense. —
Mme. Couture and Victorine want me to send their things, because they are going to live with her father. —
M. Taillefer allows his daughter to keep old Mme. Couture as her lady companion. —
Four rooms to let! and five lodgers gone! …”
She sat up, and seemed about to burst into tears.
“Bad luck has come to lodge here, I think,” she cried.
Once more there came a sound of wheels from the street outside.
“What! another windfall for somebody!” was Sylvie’s comment.
But it was Goriot who came in, looking so radiant, so flushed with happiness, that he seemed to have grown young again.
“Goriot in a cab!” cried the boarders; “the world is coming to an end.”
The good soul made straight for Eugene, who was standing wrapped in thought in a corner, and laid a hand on the young man’s arm.
“Come,” he said, with gladness in his eyes.
“Then you haven’t heard the news?” said Eugene. “Vautrin was an escaped convict; —
they have just arrested him; and young Taillefer is dead.”
“Very well, but what business is it of ours?” replied Father Goriot. —
“I am going to dine with my daughter in YOUR HOUSE, do you understand? —
She is expecting you. Come!”
He carried off Rastignac with him by main force, and they departed in as great a hurry as a pair of eloping lovers.
“Now, let us have dinner,” cried the painter, and every one drew his chair to the table.
“Well, I never,” said the portly Sylvie. “Nothing goes right today! —
The haricot mutton has caught! Bah! you will have to eat it, burned as it is, more’s the pity!”
Mme. Vauquer was so dispirited that she could not say a word as she looked round the table and saw only ten people where eighteen should be; —
but every one tried to comfort and cheer her. —
At first the dinner contingent, as was natural, talked about Vautrin and the day’s events; —
but the conversation wound round to such topics of interest as duels, jails, justice, prison life, and alterations that ought to be made in the laws. —
They soon wandered miles away from Jacques Collin and Victorine and her brother. —
There might be only ten of them, but they made noise enough for twenty; —
indeed, there seemed to be more of them than usual; —
that was the only difference between yesterday and to-day. —
Indifference to the fate of others is a matter of course in this selfish world, which, on the morrow of tragedy, seeks among the events of Paris for a fresh sensation for its daily renewed appetite, and this indifference soon gained the upper hand. —
Mme. Vauquer herself grew calmer under the soothing influence of hope, and the mouthpiece of hope was the portly Sylvie.
That day had gone by like a dream for Eugene, and the sense of unreality lasted into the evening; —
so that, in spite of his energetic character and clear-headedness, his ideas were a chaos as he sat beside Goriot in the cab. —
The old man’s voice was full of unwonted happiness, but Eugene had been shaken by so many emotions that the words sounded in his ears like words spoken in a dream.
“It was finished this morning! All three of us are going to dine there together, together! —
Do you understand? I have not dined with my Delphine, my little Delphine, these four years, and I shall have her for a whole evening! —
We have been at your lodging the whole time since morning. —
I have been working like a porter in my shirt sleeves, helping to carry in the furniture. Aha! —
you don’t know what pretty ways she has; —
at table she will look after me, ‘Here, papa, just try this, it is nice.’ —
And I shall not be able to eat. Oh, it is a long while since I have been with her in quiet every-day life as we shall have her.”
“It really seems as if the world has been turned upside down.”
“Upside down?” repeated Father Goriot. “Why, the world has never been so right-side up. —
I see none but smiling faces in the streets, people who shake hands cordially and embrace each other, people who all look as happy as if they were going to dine with their daughter, and gobble down a nice little dinner that she went with me to order of the chef at the Cafe des Anglais. —
But, pshaw! with her beside you gall and wormwood would be as sweet as honey.”
“I feel as if I were coming back to life again,” said Eugene.
“Why, hurry up there!” cried Father Goriot, letting down the window in front. “Get on faster; —
I will give you five francs if you get to the place I told you of in ten minutes time.”
With this prospect before him the cabman crossed Paris with miraculous celerity.
“How that fellow crawls!” said Father Goriot.
“But where are you taking me?” Eugene asked him.
“To your own house,” said Goriot.
The cab stopped in the Rue d’Artois. Father Goriot stepped out first and flung ten francs to the man with the recklessness of a widower returning to bachelor ways.
“Come along upstairs,” he said to Rastignac. —
They crossed a courtyard, and climbed up to the third floor of a new and handsome house. —
There they stopped before a door; but before Goriot could ring, it was opened by Therese, Mme. de Nucingen’s maid. —
Eugene found himself in a charming set of chambers; —
an ante-room, a little drawing-room, a bedroom, and a study, looking out upon a garden. —
The furniture and the decorations of the little drawing-room were of the most daintily charming description, the room was full of soft light, and Delphine rose up from a low chair by the fire and stood before him. —
She set her fire-screen down on the chimney-piece, and spoke with tenderness in every tone of her voice.
“So we had to go in search of you, sir, you who are so slow to understand!”