Macaire. I perceive I must reveal myself.
Dumont. God bless me, no!
Macaire. My friends, I had meant to preserve a strict incognito, for I was ashamed (I own it!) of this poor accoutrement; but when I see a face that I can render happy, say, my old Dumont, should I hesitate to work the change? Hear me, then, and you (to the others) prepare a smiling countenance. (Repeating.) ‘Preserve this letter secretly; its terms are only known to you and me; hence when the time comes, I shall repeat them, and my son will recognise his father.—Your Unknown Benefactor.’
Dumont. The words! the letter! Charles, alas! it is your father!
Charles. Good Lord! (General consternation.)
Bertrand (aside: smiling his brow). I see it now; sublime!
Curate. A highly singular eventuality.
Goriot. Him? O well, then, I wun’t. (Goes up.)
Macaire. Charles, to my arms! (Business.) Ernestine, your second father waits to welcome you. (Business.) Goriot, noble old man, I grasp your hand. (He doesn’t.) And you, Dumont, how shall your unknown benefactor thank you for your kindness to his boy? (A dead Pause.) Charles, to my arms!
Charles. My father, you are still something of a stranger. I hope—er—in the course of time—I hope that may be somewhat mended. But I confess that I have so long regarded Mr. Dumont—