"Ah! if I were rich still, if I had kept my money, if I had not given
all to them, they would be with me now; they would fawn on me and
cover my cheeks with their kisses! I should be living in a great
mansion; I should have grand apartments and servants and a fire in my
room; and _they_ would be about me all in tears, and their husbands
and their children. I should have had all that; now--I have nothing.
Money brings everything to you; even your daughters. My money. Oh!
where is my money? If I had plenty of money to leave behind me, they
would nurse me and tend me; I should hear their voices, I should see
their faces. Ah, God! who knows? They both of them have hearts of
stone. I loved them too much; it was not likely that they should love
me. A father ought always to be rich; he ought to keep his children
well in hand, like unruly horses. I have gone down on my knees to
them. Wretches! this is the crowning act that brings the last ten
years to a proper close. If you but knew how much they made of me just
after they were married. (Oh! this is cruel torture!) I had just given
them each eight hundred thousand francs; they were bound to be civil
to me after that, and their husbands too were civil. I used to go to
their houses: it was 'My kind father' here, 'My dear father' there.
There was always a place for me at their tables. I used to dine with
their husbands now and then, and they were very respectful to me. I
was still worth something, they thought. How should they know? I had
not said anything about my affairs. It is worth while to be civil to a
man who has given his daughters eight hundred thousand francs apiece;
and they showed me every attention then--but it was all for my money.
Grand people are not great. I found that out by experience! I went to
the theatre with them in their carriage; I might stay as long as I
cared to stay at their evening parties. In fact, they acknowledged me
their father; publicly they owned that they were my daughters. But I