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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Yes," echoed Poiret; "you must go and call on Mme. de Restaud." "And perhaps you will find Father Goriot there, who will take payment for the assistance he politely rendered." Eugene looked disgusted. "Why, then, this Paris of yours is a slough." "And an uncommonly queer slough, too," replied Vautrin.
Rastignac made up his mind that he must learn the whole of Goriot's previous history; he would come to his bearings before attempting to board the Maison de Nucingen. The results of his inquiries may be given briefly as follows: In the days before the Revolution, Jean-Joachim Goriot was simply a workman in the employ of a vermicelli maker.
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 future author of the "Père Goriot" was at this time but twenty years of age, and in the way of symptoms of genius had nothing but a very robust self-confidence to show. His family, who had to contribute to his support while his masterpieces were a-making, appear to have regretted, the absence of further guarantees.
Then she looked round the room, and gathering up, as it were, into one single thought all the untold bliss of that day, she made a picture of her memories, and dwelt upon it until she slept, the happiest creature in Paris. That evening's merry-making, in the course of which Vautrin had given the drugged wine to Eugene and Father Goriot, was his own ruin.
It often happens that the woman does not care for them at all, and treats them cruelly; they buy their morsels of satisfaction very dear; but no matter, the fools are never tired of it; they will take their last blanket to the pawnbroker's to give their last five-franc piece to her. Father Goriot here is one of that sort. He is discreet, so the Countess exploits him just the way of the gay world.
How had you the heart to go and risk her poor little hundred francs at play? This is heart-breaking work. You see what it is to have sons-in-law. Oh! if I had hold of them, I would wring their necks. Mon Dieu! crying! Did you say she was crying?" "With her head on my waistcoat," said Eugene. "Oh! give it to me," said Father Goriot.
He had picked up some colloquial German, and once when laid up in hospital, had set himself to read Balzac's PERE GORIOT with the aid of a dictionary. Thus he had acquired a fairly extensive if somewhat archaic vocabulary.
Couture, who doesn't look twice at every penny, there's no one in the house that doesn't try to get back with the left hand all that they give with the right at New Year," said Sylvie. "And, after all," said Christophe, "what do they give you? A miserable five-franc piece. There is Father Goriot, who has cleaned his shoes himself these two years past.
"Is my father in?" she asked of Sylvie. This accident was luckily timed for Eugene, whose one idea had been to throw himself down on the bed and pretend to be asleep. "Oh, father, have you heard about Anastasie?" said Delphine, when she heard her sister speak. "It looks as though some strange things had happened in that family." "What sort of things?" asked Goriot.
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