I hate you. I will do all that I can to injure you.
I will . . ."
Anger paralyzed her; the words died in her dry parched throat.
"Why, he is my son, my child; he is your brother, your preserver!"
cried Goriot. "Kiss his hand, Nasie! Stay, I will embrace him myself,"
he said, straining Eugene to his breast in a frenzied clasp. "Oh my
boy! I will be more than a father to you; if I had God's power, I
would fling worlds at your feet. Why don't you kiss him, Nasie? He is
not a man, but an angel, a angel out of heaven."
"Never mind her, father; she is mad just now."
"Mad! am I? And what are you?" cried Mme. de Restaud.
"Children, children, I shall die if you go on like this," cried the
old man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet had
struck him.--"They are killing me between them," he said to himself.
The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugene, who stood stock still; all his
faculties were numbed by this violent scene.
"Sir? . . ." she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and
bearing; she took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine, who was
hastily unfastening his waistcoat.
"Madame," said Eugene, answering the question before it was asked, "I
will meet the bill, and keep silence about it.
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