"My angels," murmured Goriot faintly. "Oh, why should it be trouble
that draws you together?"

This warm and palpitating affection seemed to give the Countess
courage.

"To save Maxime's life," she said, "to save all my own happiness, I
went to the money-lender you know of, a man of iron forged in
hell-fire; nothing can melt him; I took all the family diamonds that
M. de Restaud is so proud of--his and mine too--and sold them to that
M. Gobseck. _Sold them!_ Do you understand? I saved Maxime, but I am
lost. Restaud found it all out."

"How? Who told him? I will kill him," cried Goriot.

"Yesterday he sent to tell me to come to his room. I went.
. . . 'Anastasie,' he said in a voice--oh! such a voice; that was
enough, it told me everything--'where are your diamonds?'--'In my
room----'--'No,' he said, looking straight at me, 'there they are on
that chest of drawers----' and he lifted his handkerchief and showed
me the casket. 'Do you know where they came from?' he said. I fell at
his feet. . . . I cried; I besought him to tell me the death he wished
to see me die."

"You said that!" cried Goriot. "By God in heaven, whoever lays a hand
on either of you so long as I am alive may reckon on being roasted by
slow fires! Yes, I will cut him in pieces like . . ."

Goriot stopped; the words died away in his throat.