There was something awful and appalling in the sudden apparition of the Countess. She saw the bed of death by the dim light of the single candle, and her tears flowed at the sight of her father's passive features, from which the life has almost ebbed. Bianchon with thoughtful tact left the room. [Footnote 54: From the concluding chapter of "Old Goriot," as translated by Ellen Marriàge.] "I could not escape soon enough," she said to Rastignac. The student bowed sadly in reply. Mme. de Restaud took her father's hand and kissed it. "Forgive me, father! You used to say that my voice would call you back from the grave; ah! come back for one moment to bless your penitent daughter. Do you hear me? Oh! this is fearful! No one on earth will ever bless me henceforth; every one hates me; no one loves me but you in all the world. My own children will hate me. Take me with you, father; I will love you, I will take care of you. He does not hear me--I am mad--" She fell on her knees, and gazed wildly at the human wreck before her. "My cup of misery is full," she said, turning her eyes upon Eugene. "M. de Trailles has fled, leaving enormous debts behind him, and I have found out that he was deceiving me. My husband will never forgive me, and I have left my fortune in his hands. I have lost all my illusions. Alas! I have forsaken the one heart that loved me (she pointed to her father as she spoke), and for whom? I have held his kindness cheap, and slighted his affection; many and many a time I have given him pain, ungrateful wretch that I am!" "He knew it," said Rastignac. Just then Goriot's eyelids unclosed; it was only a muscular contraction, but the Countess's sudden start of reviving hope was no less dreadful than the dying eyes. "Is it possible that he can hear me?" cried the Countess. "No," she answered herself, and sat down beside the bed. As Mme. De Restaud seemed to wish to sit by her father, Eugene went down to take a little food. The boarders were already assembled. "Well," remarked the painter, as he joined them, "it seems that there is to be a death-drama up-stairs." "Charles, I think you might find something less painful to joke about," said Eugene. "So we may not laugh here?" returned the painter. "What harm does it do? Bianchon said that the old man was quite insensible." "Well, then," said the employé from the Museum, "he will die as he has lived." "My father is dead!" shrieked the Countess. The terrible cry brought Sylvie, Rastignac, and Bianchon; Mme. de Restaud had fainted away, When she recovered they carried her down-stairs, and put her into the cab that stood waiting at the door. Eugene sent Therese with her, and bade the maid take the Countess to Mme. de Nucingen. Bianchon came down to them. "Yes, he is dead," he said. "Come, sit down to dinner, gentlemen," said Mme. Vauquer, "or the soup will be cold." The two students sat down together. "What is the next thing to be done?" Eugene asked of Bianchon.