"I have only two," her boarder answered meekly, like a ruined man who
is broken in to all the cruel usage of misfortune.



Towards the end of the third year Father Goriot reduced his expenses
still further; he went up to the third story, and now paid forty-five
francs a month. He did without snuff, told his hairdresser that he no
longer required his services, and gave up wearing powder. When Goriot
appeared for the first time in this condition, an exclamation of
astonishment broke from his hostess at the color of his hair--a dingy
olive gray. He had grown sadder day by day under the influence of some
hidden trouble; among all the faces round the table, his was the most
woe-begone. There was no longer any doubt. Goriot was an elderly
libertine, whose eyes had only been preserved by the skill of the
physician from the malign influence of the remedies necessitated by
the state of his health. The disgusting color of his hair was a result
of his excesses and of the drugs which he had taken that he might
continue his career. The poor old man's mental and physical condition
afforded some grounds for the absurd rubbish talked about him. When
his outfit was worn out, he replaced the fine linen by calico at
fourteen _sous_ the ell. His diamonds, his gold snuff-box, watch-chain
and trinkets, disappeared one by one. He had left off wearing the
corn-flower blue coat, and was sumptuously arrayed, summer as well as
winter, in a coarse chestnut-brown coat, a plush waistcoat, and
doeskin breeches. He grew thinner and thinner; his legs were shrunken,
his cheeks, once so puffed out by contented bourgeois prosperity, were
covered with wrinkles, and the outlines of the jawbones were
distinctly visible; there were deep furrows in his forehead. In the