Goriot. Then help the soup.
Dumont. Give me leave: I must have all happy. Shall these poor gentlemen upon a day like this drink ordinary wine? Not so: I shall drink it. (To Macaire, who is just about to fill his glass) Don’t touch it, sir! Aline, give me that gentleman’s bottle and take him mine: with old Dumont’s compliments.
Macaire. What?
Bertrand. Change the bottle?
Macaire (aside). Bitten!
Bertrand (aside). Sold again.
Dumont. Yes, all shall be happy.
Goriot. I tell ’ee, help the soup!
Dumont (begins to help soup. Then, dropping ladle.) One word: a matter of detail: Charles is not my son. (All exclaim.) O no, he is not my son. Perhaps I should have mentioned it before.
Charles. I am not your son, sir?