"We
must all leave them this evening, I suppose."
"Yes, but to-morrow you must come and dine with me," she answered,
with an eloquent glance. "It is our night at the Italiens."
"I shall go to the pit," said her father.
It was midnight. Mme. de Nucingen's carriage was waiting for her, and
Father Goriot and the student walked back to the Maison Vauquer,
talking of Delphine, and warming over their talk till there grew up a
curious rivalry between the two violent passions. Eugene could not
help seeing that the father's self-less love was deeper and more
steadfast than his own. For this worshiper Delphine was always pure
and fair, and her father's adoration drew its fervor from a whole past
as well as a future of love.
They found Mme. Vauquer by the stove, with Sylvie and Christophe to
keep her company; the old landlady, sitting like Marius among the
ruins of Carthage, was waiting for the two lodgers that yet remained
to her, and bemoaning her lot with the sympathetic Sylvie. Tasso's
lamentations as recorded in Byron's poem are undoubtedly eloquent, but
for sheer force of truth they fall far short of the widow's cry from
the depths.
"Only three cups of coffee in the morning, Sylvie! Oh dear! to have
your house emptied in this way is enough to break your heart.
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