Chapter 123

_To these_, _the_ MARQUIS, _L. C._

MARQUIS. Is this the house of John Paul Dumont, once of Lyons?

DUMONT. It is, sir, and I am he, at your disposal.

MARQUIS. I am the Marquis Villers-Cotterêts de la Cherté de Médoc. (_Sensation_.)

MACAIRE. Marquis, delighted, I am sure.

MARQUIS (_to_ DUMONT). I come, as you perceive, unfollowed; my errand, therefore, is discreet. I come (_producing notes from breast-pocket_) equipped with thirty thousand francs; my errand, therefore, must be generous. Can you not guess?

DUMONT. Not I, my lord.

MARQUIS (_repeating_). ‘Preserve this letter,’ etc.

MACAIRE. Bitten.

BERTRAND. Sold again (_aside_). (_A pause_.)

ALINE. Well, I never did!

DUMONT. Two fathers!

MARQUIS. Two? Impossible.

DUMONT. Not at all. This is the other.

MARQUIS. This man?

MACAIRE. This is the man, my lord; here stands the father; Charles, to my arms! (CHARLES _backs_.)

DUMONT. He knew the letter.

MARQUIS. Well, but so did I.

CURATE. The judgment of Solomon.

GORIOT. What did I tell ’ee? he can’t marry.

ERNESTINE. Couldn’t they both consent?

MARQUIS. But he’s my living image.

MACAIRE. Mine, Marquis, mine.

MARQUIS. My figure, I think?

MACAIRE. Ah, Charles, Charles!

CURATE. We used to think his physiognomy resembled Dumont’s.

DUMONT. Come to look at him, he’s really like Goriot.

ERNESTINE. O papa, I hope he’s not my brother.

GORIOT. What be talking of? I tell ’ee, he’s like our Curate.

CHARLES. Gentlemen, my head aches.

MARQUIS. I have it: the involuntary voice of nature. Look at me, my son.

MACAIRE. Nay, Charles, but look at me.

CHARLES. Gentlemen, I am unconscious of the smallest natural inclination for either.

MARQUIS. Another thought: what was his mother’s name?

MACAIRE. What was the name of his mother by you?

MARQUIS. Sir, you are silenced.

MACAIRE. Silenced by honour. I had rather lose my boy than compromise his sainted mother.

MARQUIS. A thought: twins might explain it: had you not two foundlings?

DUMONT. Nay, sir, one only; and judging by the miseries of this evening, I should say, thank God!

MACAIRE. My friends, leave me alone with the Marquis. It is only a father that can understand a father’s heart. Bertrand, follow the members of my family. (_They troop out_, _L. U. E. and R. U. E._, _the fiddlers playing_. _Air_: ‘_O dear_, _what can the matter be_?’)