This morning he went out with all the spoons
and forks he has left, I don't know why. He had got himself up to look
quite young, and--Lord, forgive me--but I thought he had rouge on his
cheeks; he looked quite young again."
"I will be responsible," said Eugene, shuddering with horror, for he
foresaw the end.
He climbed the stairs and reached Father Goriot's room. The old man
was tossing on his bed. Bianchon was with him.
"Good-evening, father," said Eugene.
The old man turned his glassy eyes on him, smiled gently, and said:
"How is _she_?"
"She is quite well. But how are you?"
"There is nothing much the matter."
"Don't tire him," said Bianchon, drawing Eugene into a corner of the
room.
"Well?" asked Rastignac.
"Nothing but a miracle can save him now. Serous congestion has set in;
I have put on mustard plasters, and luckily he can feel them, they are
acting."
"Is it possible to move him?"
"Quite out of the question. He must stay where he is, and be kept as
quiet as possible----"
"Dear Bianchon," said Eugene, "we will nurse him between us."
"I have had the head physician round from my hospital to see him."
"And what did he say?"
"He will give no opinion till to-morrow evening.
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