marriage. If you love your daughters, do not let them marry. A
son-in-law is a rascal who poisons a girl's mind and contaminates her
whole nature. Let us have no more marriages! It robs us of our
daughters; we are left alone upon our deathbeds, and they are not with
us then. They ought to pass a law for dying fathers. This is awful!
It cries for vengeance! They cannot come, because my sons-in-law
forbid them! . . . Kill them! . . . Restaud and the Alsatian, kill
them both! They have murdered me between them! . . . Death or my
daughters! . . . Ah! it is too late, I am dying, and they are not
here! . . . Dying without them! . . . Nasie! Fifine! Why do you not
come to me? Your papa is going----"

"Dear Father Goriot, calm yourself. There, there, lie quietly and
rest; don't worry yourself, don't think."

"I shall not see them. Oh! the agony of it!"

"You _shall_ see them."

"Really?" cried the old man, still wandering. "Oh! shall I see them; I
shall see them and hear their voices. I shall die happy. Ah! well,
after all, I do not wish to live; I cannot stand this much longer;
this pain that grows worse and worse. But, oh! to see them, to touch
their dresses--ah! nothing but their dresses, that is very little;
still, to feel something that belongs to them. Let me touch their hair
with my fingers . . . their hair . . ."

His head fell back on the pillow, as if a sudden heavy blow had struck
him down, but his hands groped feebly over the quilt, as if to find
his daughters' hair.