the young, beautiful, and wealthy woman of fashion had only seventy
francs in her private purse. He climbed the stairs and found Bianchon
supporting Goriot, while the house surgeon from the hospital was
applying moxas to the patient's back--under the direction of the
physician, it was the last expedient of science, and it was tried in
vain.

"Can you feel them?" asked the physician. But Goriot had caught sight
of Rastignac, and answered, "They are coming, are they not?"

"There is hope yet," said the surgeon; "he can speak."

"Yes," said Eugene, "Delphine is coming."

"Oh! that is nothing!" said Bianchon; "he has been talking about his
daughters all the time. He calls for them as a man impaled calls for
water, they say----"

"We may as well give up," said the physician, addressing the surgeon.
"Nothing more can be done now; the case is hopeless."

Bianchon and the house surgeon stretched the dying man out again on
his loathsome bed.

"But the sheets ought to be changed," added the physician. "Even if
there is no hope left, something is due to human nature. I shall come
back again, Bianchon," he said, turning to the medical student. "If he
complains again, rub some laudanum over the diaphragm."

He went, and the house surgeon went with him.