Possibly it was the
careless generosity with which Father Goriot allowed himself to be
overreached at this period of his life (they called him Monsieur
Goriot very respectfully then) that gave Mme. Vauquer the meanest
opinion of his business abilities; she looked on him as an imbecile
where money was concerned.
Goriot had brought with him a considerable wardrobe, the gorgeous
outfit of a retired tradesman who denies himself nothing. Mme.
Vauquer's astonished eyes beheld no less than eighteen
cambric-fronted shirts, the splendor of their fineness being enhanced
by a pair of pins each bearing a large diamond, and connected by a
short chain, an ornament which adorned the vermicelli-maker's shirt
front. He usually wore a coat of corn-flower blue; his rotund and
portly person was still further set off by a clean white waistcoat,
and a gold chain and seals which dangled over that broad expanse. When
his hostess accused him of being "a bit of a beau," he smiled with the
vanity of a citizen whose foible is gratified. His cupboards
(_ormoires_, as he called them in the popular dialect) were filled
with a quantity of plate that he brought with him.
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