"Perhaps, after all, it is one of those absurd reports that people set
in circulation here."

"We shall know the truth to-morrow."

Eugene did not return to the Maison Vauquer. He could not forego the
pleasure of occupying his new rooms in the Rue d'Artois. Yesterday
evening he had been obliged to leave Delphine soon after midnight, but
that night it was Delphine who stayed with him until two o'clock in
the morning. He rose late, and waited for Mme. de Nucingen, who came
about noon to breakfast with him. Youth snatches eagerly at these rosy
moments of happiness, and Eugene had almost forgotten Goriot's
existence. The pretty things that surrounded him were growing
familiar; this domestication in itself was one long festival for him,
and Mme. de Nucingen was there to glorify it all by her presence. It
was four o'clock before they thought of Goriot, and of how he had
looked forward to the new life in that house. Eugene said that the old
man ought to be moved at once, lest he should grow too ill to move. He
left Delphine and hurried back to the lodging-house. Neither Father
Goriot nor young Bianchon was in the dining-room with the others.

"Aha!" said the painter as Eugene came in, "Father Goriot has broken
down at last. Bianchon is upstairs with him. One of his daughters--the
Comtesse de Restaurama--came to see the old gentleman, and he would
get up and go out, and made himself worse. Society is about to lose
one of its brightest ornaments."

Rastignac sprang to the staircase.

"Hey! Monsieur Eugene!"