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?