Eugenie Grandet

Honore de Balzac

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I

There are houses in certain provincial townswhose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to thatcalled forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moor-lands, or the desolation of ruins. Within thesehouses there is, perhaps, the silence of the clois-ter, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton ofruins; life and movement are so stagnant therethat a stranger might think them uninhabited,were it not that he encounters suddenly thepale, cold glance of a motionless person, whosehalf-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiog-nomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Sau-mur which stands at the end of the steep streetleading to the chateau in the upper part of thetown. This street—now little frequented, hot insummer, cold in winter, dark in certain sec-

tions—is remarkable for the resonance of itslittle pebbly pavement, always clean and dry,for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, forthe peaceful stillness of its houses, which be-long to the Old town and are over-topped bythe ramparts. Houses three centuries old arestill solid, though built of wood, and their di-vers aspects add to the originality which com-mends this portion of Saumur to the attentionof artists and antiquaries.

It is difficult to pass these houses without ad-miring the enormous oaken beams, their endscarved into fantastic figures, which crown witha black bas-relief the lower floor of most ofthem. In one place these transverse timbers arecovered with slate and mark a bluish line alongthe frail wall of a dwelling covered by a roof encolombage which bends beneath the weight ofyears, and whose rotting shingles are twistedby the alternate action of sun and rain. In an-other place blackened, worn-out window-sills,

with delicate sculptures now scarcely discerni-ble, seem too weak to bear the brown clay potsfrom which springs the heart's-ease or the rose-bush of some poor working-woman. Farther onare doors studded with enormous nails, wherethe genius of our forefathers has traced domes-tic hieroglyphics, of which the meaning is nowlost forever. Here a Protestant attested his be-lief; there a Leaguer cursed Henry IV.; else-where some bourgeois has carved the insigniaof his noblesse de cloches, symbols of his long-forgotten magisterial glory. The whole historyof France is there.

Next to a tottering house with roughly plas-tered walls, where an artisan enshrines histools, rises the mansion of a country gentleman,on the stone arch of which above the door ves-tiges of armorial bearings may still be seen,battered by the many revolutions that haveshaken France since 1789. In this hilly street theground-floors of the merchants are neither

shops nor warehouses; lovers of the MiddleAges will here find the ouvrouere of our forefa-thers in all its naive simplicity. These lowrooms, which have no shop-frontage, no show-windows, in fact no glass at all, are deep anddark and without interior or exterior decora-tion. Their doors open in two parts, eachroughly iron-bound; the upper half is fastenedback within the room, the lower half, fittedwith a spring-bell, swings continually to andfro. Air and light reach the damp den within,either through the upper half of the door, orthrough an open space between the ceiling anda low front wall, breast-high, which is closed bysolid shutters that are taken down every morn-ing, put up every evening, and held in place byheavy iron bars.

This wall serves as a counter for the merchan-dise. No delusive display is there; only samplesof the business, whatever it may chance tobe,—such, for instance, as three or four tubs full

of codfish and salt, a few bundles of sail-cloth,cordage, copper wire hanging from the joistsabove, iron hoops for casks ranged along thewall, or a few pieces of cloth upon the shelves.Enter. A neat girl, glowing with youth, wearinga white kerchief, her arms red and bare, dropsher knitting and calls her father or her mother,one of whom comes forward and sells youwhat you want, phlegmatically, civilly, or arro-gantly, according to his or her individual char-acter, whether it be a matter of two sous' ortwenty thousand francs' worth of merchandise.You may see a cooper, for instance, sitting inhis doorway and twirling his thumbs as hetalks with a neighbor. To all appearance heowns nothing more than a few miserable boat-ribs and two or three bundles of laths; but be-low in the port his teeming wood-yard suppliesall the cooperage trade of Anjou. He knows to aplank how many casks are needed if the vin-tage is good. A hot season makes him rich, arainy season ruins him; in a single morning

puncheons worth eleven francs have beenknown to drop to six. In this country, as inTouraine, atmospheric vicissitudes controlcommercial life. Wine-growers, proprietors,wood-merchants, coopers, inn-keepers, mari-ners, all keep watch of the sun. They tremblewhen they go to bed lest they should hear inthe morning of a frost in the night; they dreadrain, wind, drought, and want water, heat, andclouds to suit their fancy. A perpetual duelgoes on between the heavens and their terres-trial interests. The barometer smooths, saddens,or makes merry their countenances, turn andturn about. From end to end of this street, for-merly the Grand'Rue de Saumur, the words:"Here's golden weather," are passed from doorto door; or each man calls to his neighbor: "Itrains louis," knowing well what a sunbeam orthe opportune rainfall is bringing him.

On Saturdays after midday, in the fine season,not one sou's worth of merchandise can be

bought from these worthy traders. Each has hisvineyard, his enclosure of fields, and all spendtwo days in the country. This being foreseen,and purchases, sales, and profits provided for,the merchants have ten or twelve hours tospend in parties of pleasure, in making obser-vations, in criticisms, and in continual spying.A housewife cannot buy a partridge withoutthe neighbors asking the husband if it werecooked to a turn. A young girl never puts herhead near a window that she is not seen byidling groups in the street. Consciences are heldin the light; and the houses, dark, silent, im-penetrable as they seem, hide no mysteries. Lifeis almost wholly in the open air; every house-hold sits at its own threshold, breakfasts, dines,and quarrels there. No one can pass along thestreet without being examined; in fact formerly,when a stranger entered a provincial town hewas bantered and made game of from door todoor. From this came many good stories, andthe nickname copieux, which was applied to the

inhabitants of Angers, who excelled in suchurban sarcasms.

The ancient mansions of the old town of Sau-mur are at the top of this hilly street, and wereformerly occupied by the nobility of theneighborhood. The melancholy dwelling wherethe events of the following history took place isone of these mansions,—venerable relics of acentury in which men and things bore the char-acteristics of simplicity which French mannersand customs are losing day by day. Follow thewindings of the picturesque thoroughfare,whose irregularities awaken recollections thatplunge the mind mechanically into reverie, andyou will see a somewhat dark recess, in thecentre of which is hidden the door of the houseof Monsieur Grandet. It is impossible to under-stand the force of this provincial expression—the house of Monsieur Grandet—without giv-ing the biography of Monsieur Grandet him-self.

Monsieur Grandet enjoyed a reputation inSaumur whose causes and effects can never befully understood by those who have not, at onetime or another, lived in the provinces. In 1789Monsieur Grandet—still called by certain per-sons le Pere Grandet, though the number ofsuch old persons has perceptibly diminished—was a master-cooper, able to read, write, andcipher. At the period when the French Republicoffered for sale the church property in the ar-rondissement of Saumur, the cooper, then fortyyears of age, had just married the daughter of arich wood-merchant. Supplied with the readymoney of his own fortune and his wife's dot, inall about two thousand louis-d'or, Grandetwent to the newly established "district," where,with the help of two hundred double louisgiven by his father-in-law to the surly republi-can who presided over the sales of the nationaldomain, he obtained for a song, legally if notlegitimately, one of the finest vineyards in thearrondissement, an old abbey, and several

farms. The inhabitants of Saumur were so littlerevolutionary that they thought Pere Grandet abold man, a republican, and a patriot with amind open to all the new ideas; though in pointof fact it was open only to vineyards. He wasappointed a member of the administration ofSaumur, and his pacific influence made itselffelt politically and commercially. Politically, heprotected the ci-devant nobles, and prevented,to the extent of his power, the sale of the landsand property of the emigres; commercially, hefurnished the Republican armies with two orthree thousand puncheons of white wine, andtook his pay in splendid fields belonging to acommunity of women whose lands had beenreserved for the last lot.

Under the Consulate Grandet became mayor,governed wisely, and harvested still betterpickings. Under the Empire he was called Mon-sieur Grandet. Napoleon, however, did not likerepublicans, and superseded Monsieur Grandet

(who was supposed to have worn the Phrygiancap) by a man of his own surroundings, a fu-ture baron of the Empire. Monsieur Grandetquitted office without regret. He had con-structed in the interests of the town certain fineroads which led to his own property; his houseand lands, very advantageously assessed, paidmoderate taxes; and since the registration of hisvarious estates, the vineyards, thanks to hisconstant care, had become the "head of thecountry,"—a local term used to denote thosethat produced the finest quality of wine. Hemight have asked for the cross of the Legion ofhonor.

This event occurred in 1806. Monsieur Grandetwas then fifty-seven years of age, his wifethirty-six, and an only daughter, the fruit oftheir legitimate love, was ten years old. Mon-sieur Grandet, whom Providence no doubt de-sired to compensate for the loss of his munici-pal honors, inherited three fortunes in the

course of this year,—that of Madame de laGaudiniere, born de la Bertelliere, the motherof Madame Grandet; that of old Monsieur de laBertelliere, her grandfather; and, lastly, that ofMadame Gentillet, her grandmother on themother's side: three inheritances, whoseamount was not known to any one. The avariceof the deceased persons was so keen that for along time they had hoarded their money for thepleasure of secretly looking at it. Old Monsieurde la Bertelliere called an investment an ex-travagance, and thought he got better interestfrom the sight of his gold than from the profitsof usury. The inhabitants of Saumur conse-quently estimated his savings according to "therevenues of the sun's wealth," as they said.

Monsieur Grandet thus obtained that moderntitle of nobility which our mania for equalitycan never rub out. He became the most impos-ing personage in the arrondissement. Heworked a hundred acres of vineyard, which in

fruitful years yielded seven or eight hundredhogsheads of wine. He owned thirteen farms,an old abbey, whose windows and arches hehad walled up for the sake of economy,—ameasure which preserved them,—also a hun-dred and twenty-seven acres of meadow-land,where three thousand poplars, planted in 1793,grew and flourished; and finally, the house inwhich he lived. Such was his visible estate; asto his other property, only two persons couldgive even a vague guess at its value: one wasMonsieur Cruchot, a notary employed in theusurious investments of Monsieur Grandet; theother was Monsieur des Grassins, the richestbanker in Saumur, in whose profits Grandethad a certain covenanted and secret share.

Although old Cruchot and Monsieur desGrassins were both gifted with the deep discre-tion which wealth and trust beget in the prov-inces, they publicly testified so much respect toMonsieur Grandet that observers estimated the

amount of his property by the obsequious at-tention which they bestowed upon him. In allSaumur there was no one not persuaded thatMonsieur Grandet had a private treasure, somehiding-place full of louis, where he nightly tookineffable delight in gazing upon great massesof gold. Avaricious people gathered proof ofthis when they looked at the eyes of the goodman, to which the yellow metal seemed to haveconveyed its tints. The glance of a man accus-tomed to draw enormous interest from hiscapital acquires, like that of the libertine, thegambler, or the sycophant, certain indefinablehabits,—furtive, eager, mysterious movements,which never escape the notice of his co-religionists. This secret language is in a certainway the freemasonry of the passions. MonsieurGrandet inspired the respectful esteem due toone who owed no man anything, who, skilfulcooper and experienced wine-grower that hewas, guessed with the precision of an astrono-mer whether he ought to manufacture a thou-

sand puncheons for his vintage, or only fivehundred, who never failed in any speculation,and always had casks for sale when casks wereworth more than the commodity that filledthem, who could store his whole vintage in hiscellars and bide his time to put the puncheonson the market at two hundred francs, when thelittle proprietors had been forced to sell theirsfor five louis. His famous vintage of 1811, judi-ciously stored and slowly disposed of, broughthim in more than two hundred and forty thou-sand francs.

Financially speaking, Monsieur Grandet wassomething between a tiger and a boa-constrictor. He could crouch and lie low, watchhis prey a long while, spring upon it, open hisjaws, swallow a mass of louis, and then resttranquilly like a snake in process of digestion,impassible, methodical, and cold. No one sawhim pass without a feeling of admiration min-gled with respect and fear; had not every man

in Saumur felt the rending of those polishedsteel claws? For this one, Maitre Cruchot hadprocured the money required for the purchaseof a domain, but at eleven per cent. For thatone, Monsieur des Grassins discounted bills ofexchange, but at a frightful deduction of inter-est. Few days ever passed that MonsieurGrandet's name was not mentioned either inthe markets or in social conversations at theevening gatherings. To some the fortune of theold wine-grower was an object of patrioticpride. More than one merchant, more than oneinnkeeper, said to strangers with a certaincomplacency: "Monsieur, we have two or threemillionaire establishments; but as for MonsieurGrandet, he does not himself know how muchhe is worth."

In 1816 the best reckoners in Saumur estimatedthe landed property of the worthy man atnearly four millions; but as, on an average, hehad made yearly, from 1793 to 1817, a hundred

thousand francs out of that property, it was fairto presume that he possessed in actual money asum nearly equal to the value of his estate. Sothat when, after a game of boston or an eveningdiscussion on the matter of vines, the talk fellupon Monsieur Grandet, knowing people said:"Le Pere Grandet? le Pere Grandet must have atleast five or six millions."

"You are cleverer than I am; I have never beenable to find out the amount," answered Mon-sieur Cruchot or Monsieur des Grassins, wheneither chanced to overhear the remark.

If some Parisian mentioned Rothschild or Mon-sieur Lafitte, the people of Saumur asked if hewere as rich as Monsieur Grandet. When theParisian, with a smile, tossed them a disdainfulaffirmative, they looked at each other andshook their heads with an incredulous air. Solarge a fortune covered with a golden mantleall the actions of this man. If in early days somepeculiarities of his life gave occasion for laugh-

ter or ridicule, laughter and ridicule had longsince died away. His least important actionshad the authority of results repeatedly shown.His speech, his clothing, his gestures, the blink-ing of his eyes, were law to the country-side,where every one, after studying him as a natu-ralist studies the result of instinct in the loweranimals, had come to understand the deepmute wisdom of his slightest actions.

"It will be a hard winter," said one; "PereGrandet has put on his fur gloves."

"Pere Grandet is buying quantities of staves;there will be plenty of wine this year."

Monsieur Grandet never bought either bread ormeat. His farmers supplied him weekly with asufficiency of capons, chickens, eggs, butter,and his tithe of wheat. He owned a mill; andthe tenant was bound, over and above his rent,to take a certain quantity of grain and returnhim the flour and bran. La Grande Nanon, his

only servant, though she was no longer young,baked the bread of the household herself everySaturday. Monsieur Grandet arranged withkitchen-gardeners who were his tenants tosupply him with vegetables. As to fruits, hegathered such quantities that he sold thegreater part in the market. His fire-wood wascut from his own hedgerows or taken from thehalf-rotten old sheds which he built at the cor-ners of his fields, and whose planks the farmerscarted into town for him, all cut up, and oblig-ingly stacked in his wood-house, receiving inreturn his thanks. His only known expendi-tures were for the consecrated bread, the cloth-ing of his wife and daughter, the hire of theirchairs in church, the wages of la Grand Nanon,the tinning of the saucepans, lights, taxes, re-pairs on his buildings, and the costs of his vari-ous industries. He had six hundred acres ofwoodland, lately purchased, which he induceda neighbor's keeper to watch, under the prom-

ise of an indemnity. After the acquisition of thisproperty he ate game for the first time.

Monsieur Grandet's manners were very simple.He spoke little. He usually expressed his mean-ing by short sententious phrases uttered in asoft voice. After the Revolution, the epoch atwhich he first came into notice, the good manstuttered in a wearisome way as soon as he wasrequired to speak at length or to maintain anargument. This stammering, the incoherence ofhis language, the flux of words in which hedrowned his thought, his apparent lack oflogic, attributed to defects of education, were inreality assumed, and will be sufficiently ex-plained by certain events in the following his-tory. Four sentences, precise as algebraic for-mulas, sufficed him usually to grasp and solveall difficulties of life and commerce: "I don'tknow; I cannot; I will not; I will see about it."He never said yes, or no, and never committedhimself to writing. If people talked to him he

listened coldly, holding his chin in his righthand and resting his right elbow in the back ofhis left hand, forming in his own mind opin-ions on all matters, from which he never re-ceded. He reflected long before making anybusiness agreement. When his opponent, aftercareful conversation, avowed the secret of hisown purposes, confident that he had securedhis listener's assent, Grandet answered: "I candecide nothing without consulting my wife."His wife, whom he had reduced to a state ofhelpless slavery, was a useful screen to him inbusiness. He went nowhere among friends; heneither gave nor accepted dinners; he made nostir or noise, seeming to economize in every-thing, even movement. He never disturbed ordisarranged the things of other people, out ofrespect for the rights of property. Nevertheless,in spite of his soft voice, in spite of his circum-spect bearing, the language and habits of acoarse nature came to the surface, especially in

his own home, where he controlled himself lessthan elsewhere.

Physically, Grandet was a man five feet high,thick-set, square-built, with calves twelveinches in circumference, knotted knee-joints,and broad shoulders; his face was round,tanned, and pitted by the small-pox; his chinwas straight, his lips had no curves, his teethwere white; his eyes had that calm, devouringexpression which people attribute to the basi-lisk; his forehead, full of transverse wrinkles,was not without certain significant protuber-ances; his yellow-grayish hair was said to besilver and gold by certain young people whodid not realize the impropriety of making a jestabout Monsieur Grandet. His nose, thick at theend, bore a veined wen, which the commonpeople said, not without reason, was full ofmalice. The whole countenance showed a dan-gerous cunning, an integrity without warmth,the egotism of a man long used to concentrate

every feeling upon the enjoyments of avariceand upon the only human being who was any-thing whatever to him,—his daughter and soleheiress, Eugenie. Attitude, manners, bearing,everything about him, in short, testified to thatbelief in himself which the habit of succeedingin all enterprises never fails to give to a man.

Thus, though his manners were unctuous andsoft outwardly, Monsieur Grandet's nature wasof iron. His dress never varied; and those whosaw him to-day saw him such as he had beensince 1791. His stout shoes were tied withleathern thongs; he wore, in all weathers, thickwoollen stockings, short breeches of coarse ma-roon cloth with silver buckles, a velvet waist-coat, in alternate stripes of yellow and puce,buttoned squarely, a large maroon coat withwide flaps, a black cravat, and a quaker's hat.His gloves, thick as those of a gendarme, lastedhim twenty months; to preserve them, he al-ways laid them methodically on the brim of his

hat in one particular spot. Saumur knew noth-ing further about this personage.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance toMonsieur Grandet's house. The most importantof the first three was a nephew of MonsieurCruchot. Since his appointment as president ofthe Civil courts of Saumur this young man hadadded the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot.He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Anylitigant so ill-advised as to call him MonsieurCruchot would soon be made to feel his folly incourt. The magistrate protected those whocalled him Monsieur le president, but he fa-vored with gracious smiles those who ad-dressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieurle president was thirty-three years old, andpossessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis),worth seven thousand francs a year; he ex-pected to inherit the property of his uncle thenotary and that of another uncle, the AbbeCruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-

Martin de Tours, both of whom were thoughtto be very rich. These three Cruchots, backedby a goodly number of cousins, and allied totwenty families in the town, formed a party,like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, theCruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to playcards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marryher dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie.Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorouslypromoted the schemes of his wife by means ofsecret services constantly rendered to the oldmiser, and always arrived in time upon thefield of battle. The three des Grassins likewisehad their adherents, their cousins, their faithfulallies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talley-rand of the family, well backed-up by hisbrother the notary, sharply contested everyinch of ground with his female adversary, and

tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephewthe president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots anddes Grassins, the prize thereof being the handin marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the vari-ous social circles of Saumur in violent agitation.Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieurle president or Monsieur Adolphe desGrassins? To this problem some replied thatMonsieur Grandet would never give his daugh-ter to the one or to the other. The old cooper,eaten up with ambition, was looking, they said,for a peer of France, to whom an income ofthree hundred thousand francs would make allthe past, present, and future casks of theGrandets acceptable. Others replied that Mon-sieur and Madame des Grassins were nobles,and exceedingly rich; that Adolphe was a per-sonable young fellow; and that unless the oldman had a nephew of the pope at his beck andcall, such a suitable alliance ought to satisfy a

man who came from nothing,—a man whomSaumur remembered with an adze in his hand,and who had, moreover, worn the bonnet rouge.Certain wise heads called attention to the factthat Monsieur Cruchot de Bonfons had theright of entry to the house at all times, whereashis rival was received only on Sundays. Others,however, maintained that Madame desGrassins was more intimate with the women ofthe house of Grandet than the Cruchots were,and could put into their minds certain ideaswhich would lead, sooner or later, to success.To this the former retorted that the AbbeCruchot was the most insinuating man in theworld: pit a woman against a monk, and thestruggle was even. "It is diamond cut dia-mond," said a Saumur wit.

The oldest inhabitants, wiser than their fellows,declared that the Grandets knew better than tolet the property go out of the family, and thatMademoiselle Eugenie Grandet of Saumur

would be married to the son of MonsieurGrandet of Paris, a wealthy wholesale wine-merchant. To this the Cruchotines and theGrassinists replied: "In the first place, the twobrothers have seen each other only twice inthirty years; and next, Monsieur Grandet ofParis has ambitious designs for his son. He ismayor of an arrondissement, a deputy, colonelof the National Guard, judge in the commercialcourts; he disowns the Grandets of Saumur,and means to ally himself with some ducalfamily,—ducal under favor of Napoleon." Inshort, was there anything not said of an heiresswho was talked of through a circumference offifty miles, and even in the public conveyancesfrom Angers to Blois, inclusively!

At the beginning of 1811, the Cruchotines wona signal advantage over the Grassinists. Theestate of Froidfond, remarkable for its park, itsmansion, its farms, streams, ponds, forests, andworth about three millions, was put up for sale

by the young Marquis de Froidfond, who wasobliged to liquidate his possessions. MaitreCruchot, the president, and the abbe, aided bytheir adherents, were able to prevent the sale ofthe estate in little lots. The notary concluded abargain with the young man for the wholeproperty, payable in gold, persuading him thatsuits without number would have to bebrought against the purchasers of small lotsbefore he could get the money for them; it wasbetter, therefore, to sell the whole to MonsieurGrandet, who was solvent and able to pay forthe estate in ready money. The fine marquisateof Froidfond was accordingly conveyed downthe gullet of Monsieur Grandet, who, to thegreat astonishment of Saumur, paid for it, un-der proper discount, with the usual formalities.

This affair echoed from Nantes to Orleans.Monsieur Grandet took advantage of a cartreturning by way of Froidfond to go and see hischateau. Having cast a master's eye over the

whole property, he returned to Saumur, satis-fied that he had invested his money at five percent, and seized by the stupendous thought ofextending and increasing the marquisate ofFroidfond by concentrating all his propertythere. Then, to fill up his coffers, now nearlyempty, he resolved to thin out his woods andhis forests, and to sell off the poplars in themeadows.

II

It is now easy to understand the full meaningof the term, "the house of Monsieur Grandet,"—that cold, silent, pallid dwelling, standingabove the town and sheltered by the ruins ofthe ramparts. The two pillars and the arch,which made the porte-cochere on which the

door opened, were built, like the house itself, oftufa,—a white stone peculiar to the shores ofthe Loire, and so soft that it lasts hardly morethan two centuries. Numberless irregular holes,capriciously bored or eaten out by the inclem-ency of the weather, gave an appearance of thevermiculated stonework of French architectureto the arch and the side walls of this entrance,which bore some resemblance to the gateway ofa jail. Above the arch was a long bas-relief, inhard stone, representing the four seasons, thefaces already crumbling away and blackened.This bas-relief was surmounted by a projectingplinth, upon which a variety of chance growthshad sprung up,—yellow pellitory, bindweed,convolvuli, nettles, plantain, and even a littlecherry-tree, already grown to some height.

The door of the archway was made of solidoak, brown, shrunken, and split in manyplaces; though frail in appearance, it was firmlyheld in place by a system of iron bolts arranged

in symmetrical patterns. A small square grat-ing, with close bars red with rust, filled up themiddle panel and made, as it were, a motive forthe knocker, fastened to it by a ring, whichstruck upon the grinning head of a huge nail.This knocker, of the oblong shape and kindwhich our ancestors called jaquemart, lookedlike a huge note of exclamation; an antiquarywho examined it attentively might have foundindications of the figure, essentially burlesque,which it once represented, and which long us-age had now effaced. Through this little grat-ing—intended in olden times for the recogni-tion of friends in times of civil war—inquisitivepersons could perceive, at the farther end of thedark and slimy vault, a few broken steps whichled to a garden, picturesquely shut in by wallsthat were thick and damp, and through whichoozed a moisture that nourished tufts of sicklyherbage. These walls were the ruins of theramparts, under which ranged the gardens ofseveral neighboring houses.

The most important room on the ground-floorof the house was a large hall, entered directlyfrom beneath the vault of the porte-cochere.Few people know the importance of a hall inthe little towns of Anjou, Touraine, and Berry.The hall is at one and the same time antecham-ber, salon, office, boudoir, and dining-room; itis the theatre of domestic life, the common liv-ing-room. There the barber of the neighbor-hood came, twice a year, to cut MonsieurGrandet's hair; there the farmers, the cure, theunder-prefect, and the miller's boy came onbusiness. This room, with two windows look-ing on the street, was entirely of wood. Graypanels with ancient mouldings covered thewalls from top to bottom; the ceiling showed allits beams, which were likewise painted gray,while the space between them had beenwashed over in white, now yellow with age.An old brass clock, inlaid with arabesques,adorned the mantel of the ill-cut white stonechimney-piece, above which was a greenish

mirror, whose edges, bevelled to show thethickness of the glass, reflected a thread of lightthe whole length of a gothic frame in damas-cened steel-work. The two copper-gilt candela-bra which decorated the corners of the chim-ney-piece served a double purpose: by takingoff the side-branches, each of which held asocket, the main stem—which was fastened to apedestal of bluish marble tipped with copper—made a candlestick for one candle, which wassufficient for ordinary occasions. The chairs,antique in shape, were covered with tapestryrepresenting the fables of La Fontaine; it wasnecessary, however, to know that writer well toguess at the subjects, for the faded colors andthe figures, blurred by much darning, weredifficult to distinguish.

At the four corners of the hall were closets, orrather buffets, surmounted by dirty shelves. Anold card-table in marquetry, of which the upperpart was a chess-board, stood in the space be-

tween the two windows. Above this table wasan oval barometer with a black border enli-vened with gilt bands, on which the flies had solicentiously disported themselves that the gild-ing had become problematical. On the panelopposite to the chimney-piece were two por-traits in pastel, supposed to represent thegrandfather of Madame Grandet, old Monsieurde la Bertelliere, as a lieutenant in the Frenchguard, and the deceased Madame Gentillet inthe guise of a shepherdess. The windows weredraped with curtains of red gros de Tours heldback by silken cords with ecclesiastical tassels.This luxurious decoration, little in keeping withthe habits of Monsieur Grandet, had been, to-gether with the steel pier-glass, the tapestries,and the buffets, which were of rose-wood, in-cluded in the purchase of the house.

By the window nearest to the door stood astraw chair, whose legs were raised on castorsto lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a

height from which she could see the passers-by.A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled upthe embrasure, and the little armchair ofEugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spotthe lives had flowed peacefully onward forfifteen years, in a round of constant work fromthe month of April to the month of November.On the first day of the latter month they tooktheir winter station by the chimney. Not untilthat day did Grandet permit a fire to be lighted;and on the thirty-first of March it was extin-guished, without regard either to the chills ofthe early spring or to those of a wintry autumn.A foot-warmer, filled with embers from thekitchen fire, which la Grande Nanon contrivedto save for them, enabled Madame and Made-moiselle Grandet to bear the chilly morningsand evenings of April and October. Mother anddaughter took charge of the family linen, andspent their days so conscientiously upon a la-bor properly that of working-women, that ifEugenie wished to embroider a collar for her

mother she was forced to take the time fromsleep, and deceive her father to obtain the nec-essary light. For a long time the miser hadgiven out the tallow candle to his daughter andla Grande Nanon just as he gave out everymorning the bread and other necessaries for thedaily consumption.

La Grande Nanon was perhaps the only humanbeing capable of accepting willingly the despot-ism of her master. The whole town enviedMonsieur and Madame Grandet the possessionof her. La Grande Nanon, so called on accountof her height, which was five feet eight inches,had lived with Monsieur Grandet for thirty-fiveyears. Though she received only sixty francs ayear in wages, she was supposed to be one ofthe richest serving-women in Saumur. Thosesixty francs, accumulating through thirty-fiveyears, had recently enabled her to invest fourthousand francs in an annuity with MaitreCruchot. This result of her long and persistent

economy seemed gigantic. Every servant in thetown, seeing that the poor sexagenarian wassure of bread for her old age, was jealous ofher, and never thought of the hard slaverythrough which it had been won.

At twenty-two years of age the poor girl hadbeen unable to find a situation, so repulsivewas her face to almost every one. Yet the feel-ing was certainly unjust: the face would havebeen much admired on the shoulders of agrenadier of the guard; but all things, so theysay, should be in keeping. Forced to leave afarm where she kept the cows, because thedwelling-house was burned down, she came toSaumur to find a place, full of the robust cour-age that shrinks from no labor. Le Pere Grandetwas at that time thinking of marriage and aboutto set up his household. He espied the girl, re-jected as she was from door to door. A goodjudge of corporeal strength in his trade as acooper, he guessed the work that might be got

out of a female creature shaped like a Hercules,as firm on her feet as an oak sixty years old onits roots, strong in the hips, square in the back,with the hands of a cartman and an honesty assound as her unblemished virtue. Neither thewarts which adorned her martial visage, northe red-brick tints of her skin, nor the sinewyarms, nor the ragged garments of la GrandeNanon, dismayed the cooper, who was at thattime still of an age when the heart shudders. Hefed, shod, and clothed the poor girl, gave herwages, and put her to work without treatingher too roughly. Seeing herself thus welcomed,la Grande Nanon wept secretly tears of joy, andattached herself in all sincerity to her master,who from that day ruled her and worked herwith feudal authority. Nanon did everything.She cooked, she made the lye, she washed thelinen in the Loire and brought it home on hershoulders; she got up early, she went to bedlate; she prepared the food of the vine-dressersduring the harvest, kept watch upon the mar-

ket-people, protected the property of her mas-ter like a faithful dog, and even, full of blindconfidence, obeyed without a murmur his mostabsurd exactions.

In the famous year of 1811, when the grapeswere gathered with unheard-of difficulty,Grandet resolved to give Nanon his oldwatch,—the first present he had made her dur-ing twenty years of service. Though he turnedover to her his old shoes (which fitted her), it isimpossible to consider that quarterly benefit asa gift, for the shoes were always thoroughlyworn-out. Necessity had made the poor girl soniggardly that Grandet had grown to love heras we love a dog, and Nanon had let him fastena spiked collar round her throat, whose spikesno longer pricked her. If Grandet cut the breadwith rather too much parsimony, she made nocomplaint; she gaily shared the hygienic bene-fits derived from the severe regime of thehousehold, in which no one was ever ill. Nanon

was, in fact, one of the family; she laughedwhen Grandet laughed, felt gloomy or chilly,warmed herself, and toiled as he did. Whatpleasant compensations there were in suchequality! Never did the master have occasion tofind fault with the servant for pilfering thegrapes, nor for the plums and nectarines eatenunder the trees. "Come, fall-to, Nanon!" hewould say in years when the branches bentunder the fruit and the farmers were obliged togive it to the pigs.

To the poor peasant who in her youth hadearned nothing but harsh treatment, to thepauper girl picked up by charity, Grandet'sambiguous laugh was like a sunbeam. More-over, Nanon's simple heart and narrow headcould hold only one feeling and one idea. Forthirty-five years she had never ceased to seeherself standing before the wood-yard of Mon-sieur Grandet, ragged and barefooted, and tohear him say: "What do you want, young one?"

Her gratitude was ever new. SometimesGrandet, reflecting that the poor creature hadnever heard a flattering word, that she wasignorant of all the tender sentiments inspiredby women, that she might some day appearbefore the throne of God even more chaste thanthe Virgin Mary herself,—Grandet, struck withpity, would say as he looked at her, "PoorNanon!" The exclamation was always followedby an undefinable look cast upon him in returnby the old servant. The words, uttered fromtime to time, formed a chain of friendship thatnothing ever parted, and to which each excla-mation added a link. Such compassion arisingin the heart of the miser, and accepted grate-fully by the old spinster, had something incon-ceivably horrible about it. This cruel pity, re-calling, as it did, a thousand pleasures to theheart of the old cooper, was for Nanon the sumtotal of happiness. Who does not likewise say,"Poor Nanon!" God will recognize his angels by

the inflexions of their voices and by their secretsighs.

There were very many households in Saumurwhere the servants were better treated, butwhere the masters received far less satisfactionin return. Thus it was often said: "What havethe Grandets ever done to make their GrandeNanon so attached to them? She would gothrough fire and water for their sake!" Herkitchen, whose barred windows looked into thecourt, was always clean, neat, cold,—a truemiser's kitchen, where nothing went to waste.When Nanon had washed her dishes, lockedup the remains of the dinner, and put out herfire, she left the kitchen, which was separatedby a passage from the living-room, and went tospin hemp beside her masters. One tallow can-dle sufficed the family for the evening. Theservant slept at the end of the passage in a spe-cies of closet lighted only by a fan-light. Herrobust health enabled her to live in this hole

with impunity; there she could hear the slight-est noise through the deep silence whichreigned night and day in that dreary house.Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open,and took her rest with a mind alert.

A description of the other parts of the dwellingwill be found connected with the events of thishistory, though the foregoing sketch of the hall,where the whole luxury of the household ap-pears, may enable the reader to surmise thenakedness of the upper floors.

In 1819, at the beginning of an evening in themiddle of November, la Grande Nanon lightedthe fire for the first time. The autumn had beenvery fine. This particular day was a fete-daywell known to the Cruchotines and the Grassin-ists. The six antagonists, armed at all points,were making ready to meet at the Grandets andsurpass each other in testimonials of friendship.That morning all Saumur had seen Madameand Mademoiselle Grandet, accompanied by

Nanon, on their way to hear Mass at the parishchurch, and every one remembered that theday was the anniversary of MademoiselleEugenie's birth. Calculating the hour at whichthe family dinner would be over, MaitreCruchot, the Abbe Cruchot, and Monsieur C.de Bonfons hastened to arrive before the desGrassins, and be the first to pay their compli-ments to Mademoiselle Eugenie. All threebrought enormous bouquets, gathered in theirlittle green-houses. The stalks of the flowerswhich the president intended to present wereingeniously wound round with a white satinribbon adorned with gold fringe. In the morn-ing Monsieur Grandet, following his usual cus-tom on the days that commemorated the birthand the fete of Eugenie, went to her bedsideand solemnly presented her with his paternalgift,—which for the last thirteen years had con-sisted regularly of a curious gold-piece. Ma-dame Grandet gave her daughter a winterdress or a summer dress, as the case might be.

These two dresses and the gold-pieces, ofwhich she received two others on New Year'sday and on her father's fete-day, gave Eugeniea little revenue of a hundred crowns or there-abouts, which Grandet loved to see her amass.Was it not putting his money from one strong-box to another, and, as it were, training the par-simony of his heiress? from whom he some-times demanded an account of her treasure(formerly increased by the gifts of the Bertel-lieres), saying: "It is to be your marriagedozen."

The "marriage dozen" is an old custom sacredlypreserved and still in force in many parts ofcentral France. In Berry and in Anjou, when ayoung girl marries, her family, or that of thehusband, must give her a purse, in which theyplace, according to their means, twelve pieces,or twelve dozen pieces, or twelve hundredpieces of gold. The poorest shepherd-girl nevermarries without her dozen, be it only a dozen

coppers. They still tell in Issoudun of a certain"dozen" presented to a rich heiress, which con-tained a hundred and forty-four portugaisesd'or. Pope Clement VII., uncle of Catherine de'Medici, gave her when he married her to HenriII. a dozen antique gold medals of pricelessvalue.

During dinner the father, delighted to see hisEugenie looking well in a new gown, ex-claimed: "As it is Eugenie's birthday let us havea fire; it will be a good omen."

"Mademoiselle will be married this year, that'scertain," said la Grande Nanon, carrying awaythe remains of the goose,—the pheasant oftradesmen.

"I don't see any one suitable for her in Saumur,"said Madame Grandet, glancing at her husbandwith a timid look which, considering her years,revealed the conjugal slavery under which thepoor woman languished.

Grandet looked at his daughter and exclaimedgaily,—

"She is twenty-three years old to-day, the child;we must soon begin to think of it."

Eugenie and her mother silently exchanged aglance of intelligence.

Madame Grandet was a dry, thin woman, asyellow as a quince, awkward, slow, one ofthose women who are born to be down-trodden. She had big bones, a big nose, a bigforehead, big eyes, and presented at first sight avague resemblance to those mealy fruits thathave neither savor nor succulence. Her teethwere black and few in number, her mouth waswrinkled, her chin long and pointed. She wasan excellent woman, a true la Bertelliere. L'abbeCruchot found occasional opportunity to tellher that she had not done ill; and she believedhim. Angelic sweetness, the resignation of aninsect tortured by children, a rare piety, a good

heart, an unalterable equanimity of soul, madeher universally pitied and respected. Her hus-band never gave her more than six francs at atime for her personal expenses. Ridiculous as itmay seem, this woman, who by her own for-tune and her various inheritances brought PereGrandet more than three hundred thousandfrancs, had always felt so profoundly humili-ated by her dependence and the slavery inwhich she lived, against which the gentlenessof her spirit prevented her from revolting, thatshe had never asked for one penny or made asingle remark on the deeds which MaitreCruchot brought for her signature. This foolishsecret pride, this nobility of soul perpetuallymisunderstood and wounded by Grandet,ruled the whole conduct of the wife.

Madame Grandet was attired habitually in agown of greenish levantine silk, endeavoring tomake it last nearly a year; with it she wore alarge kerchief of white cotton cloth, a bonnet

made of plaited straws sewn together, and al-most always a black-silk apron. As she seldomleft the house she wore out very few shoes. Shenever asked anything for herself. Grandet,seized with occasional remorse when he re-membered how long a time had elapsed sincehe gave her the last six francs, always stipu-lated for the "wife's pin-money" when he soldhis yearly vintage. The four or five louis pre-sented by the Belgian or the Dutchman whopurchased the wine were the chief visible signsof Madame Grandet's annual revenues. Butafter she had received the five louis, her hus-band would often say to her, as though theirpurse were held in common: "Can you lend mea few sous?" and the poor woman, glad to beable to do something for a man whom her con-fessor held up to her as her lord and master,returned him in the course of the winter severalcrowns out of the "pin-money." When Grandetdrew from his pocket the five-franc piece whichhe allowed monthly for the minor expenses,—

thread, needles, and toilet,—of his daughter, henever failed to say as he buttoned his breeches'pocket: "And you, mother, do you want any-thing?"

"My friend," Madame Grandet would answer,moved by a sense of maternal dignity, "we willsee about that later."

Wasted dignity! Grandet thought himself verygenerous to his wife. Philosophers who meetthe like of Nanon, of Madame Grandet, ofEugenie, have surely a right to say that irony isat the bottom of the ways of Providence.

After the dinner at which for the first time allu-sion had been made to Eugenie's marriage,Nanon went to fetch a bottle of black-currantratafia from Monsieur Grandet's bed-chamber,and nearly fell as she came down the stairs.

"You great stupid!" said her master; "are yougoing to tumble about like other people, hey?"

"Monsieur, it was that step on your staircasewhich has given way."

"She is right," said Madame Grandet; "it oughtto have been mended long ago. YesterdayEugenie nearly twisted her ankle."

"Here," said Grandet to Nanon, seeing that shelooked quite pale, "as it is Eugenie's birthday,and you came near falling, take a little glass ofratafia to set you right."

"Faith! I've earned it," said Nanon; "most peo-ple would have broken the bottle; but I'dsooner have broken my elbow holding it uphigh."

"Poor Nanon!" said Grandet, filling a glass.

"Did you hurt yourself?" asked Eugenie, look-ing kindly at her.

"No, I didn't fall; I threw myself back on myhaunches."

"Well! as it is Eugenie's birthday," said Grandet,"I'll have the step mended. You people don'tknow how to set your foot in the corner wherethe wood is still firm."

Grandet took the candle, leaving his wife,daughter, and servant without any other lightthan that from the hearth, where the flameswere lively, and went into the bakehouse tofetch planks, nails, and tools.

"Can I help you?" cried Nanon, hearing himhammer on the stairs.

"No, no! I'm an old hand at it," answered theformer cooper.

At the moment when Grandet was mending hisworm-eaten staircase and whistling with all hismight, in remembrance of the days of hisyouth, the three Cruchots knocked at the door.

"Is it you, Monsieur Cruchot?" asked Nanon,peeping through the little grating.

"Yes," answered the president.

Nanon opened the door, and the light from thehearth, reflected on the ceiling, enabled thethree Cruchots to find their way into the room.

"Ha! you've come a-greeting," said Nanon,smelling the flowers.

"Excuse me, messieurs," cried Grandet, recog-nizing their voices; "I'll be with you in a mo-ment. I'm not proud; I am patching up a step onmy staircase."

"Go on, go on, Monsieur Grandet; a man'shouse is his castle," said the president senten-tiously.

Madame and Mademoiselle Grandet rose. Thepresident, profiting by the darkness, said toEugenie:

"Will you permit me, mademoiselle, to wishyou, on this the day of your birth, a series ofhappy years and the continuance of the healthwhich you now enjoy?"

He offered her a huge bouquet of choice flow-ers which were rare in Saumur; then, taking theheiress by the elbows, he kissed her on eachside of her neck with a complacency that madeher blush. The president, who looked like arusty iron nail, felt that his courtship was pro-gressing.

"Don't stand on ceremony," said Grandet, en-tering. "How well you do things on fete-days,Monsieur le president!"

"When it concerns mademoiselle," said theabbe, armed with his own bouquet, "every dayis a fete-day for my nephew."

The abbe kissed Eugenie's hand. As for MaitreCruchot, he boldly kissed her on both cheeks,

remarking: "How we sprout up, to be sure!Every year is twelve months."

As he replaced the candlestick beside the clock,Grandet, who never forgot his own jokes, andrepeated them to satiety when he thought themfunny, said,—

"As this is Eugenie's birthday let us illuminate."

He carefully took off the branches of the cande-labra, put a socket on each pedestal, took fromNanon a new tallow candle with paper twistedround the end of it, put it into the hollow, madeit firm, lit it, and then sat down beside his wife,looking alternately at his friends, his daughter,and the two candles. The Abbe Cruchot, aplump, puffy little man, with a red wig plas-tered down and a face like an old female gam-bler, said as he stretched out his feet, well shodin stout shoes with silver buckles: "The desGrassins have not come?"

"Not yet," said Grandet.

"But are they coming?" asked the old notary,twisting his face, which had as many holes as acollander, into a queer grimace.

"I think so," answered Madame Grandet.

"Are your vintages all finished?" said Monsieurde Bonfons to Grandet.

"Yes, all of them," said the old man, rising towalk up and down the room, his chest swellingwith pride as he said the words, "all of them."Through the door of the passage which led tothe kitchen he saw la Grande Nanon sittingbeside her fire with a candle and preparing tospin there, so as not to intrude among theguests.

"Nanon," he said, going into the passage, "putout that fire and that candle, and come and sitwith us. Pardieu! the hall is big enough for all."

"But monsieur, you are to have the great peo-ple."

"Are not you as good as they? They are de-scended from Adam, and so are you."

Grandet came back to the president and said,—

"Have you sold your vintage?"

"No, not I; I shall keep it. If the wine is goodthis year, it will be better two years hence. Theproprietors, you know, have made an agree-ment to keep up the price; and this year theBelgians won't get the better of us. Supposethey are sent off empty-handed for once, faith!they'll come back."

"Yes, but let us mind what we are about," saidGrandet in a tone which made the presidenttremble.

"Is he driving some bargain?" thought Cruchot.

At this moment the knocker announced the desGrassins family, and their arrival interrupted aconversation which had begun between Ma-dame Grandet and the abbe.

Madame des Grassins was one of those lively,plump little women, with pink-and-whiteskins, who, thanks to the claustral calm of theprovinces and the habits of a virtuous life, keeptheir youth until they are past forty. She waslike the last rose of autumn,—pleasant to theeye, though the petals have a certain frostiness,and their perfume is slight. She dressed well,got her fashions from Paris, set the tone toSaumur, and gave parties. Her husband, for-merly a quartermaster in the Imperial guard,who had been desperately wounded at Auster-litz, and had since retired, still retained, in spiteof his respect for Grandet, the seeming frank-ness of an old soldier.

"Good evening, Grandet," he said, holding outhis hand and affecting a sort of superiority,

with which he always crushed the Cruchots."Mademoiselle," he added, turning to Eugenie,after bowing to Madame Grandet, "you arealways beautiful and good, and truly I do notknow what to wish you." So saying, he offeredher a little box which his servant had broughtand which contained a Cape heather,—a flowerlately imported into Europe and very rare.

Madame des Grassins kissed Eugenie very af-fectionately, pressed her hand, and said: "Ad-olphe wishes to make you my little offering."

A tall, blond young man, pale and slight, withtolerable manners and seemingly rather shy,although he had just spent eight or ten thou-sand francs over his allowance in Paris, wherehe had been sent to study law, now came for-ward and kissed Eugenie on both cheeks, offer-ing her a workbox with utensils in silver-gilt,—mere show-case trumpery, in spite of themonogram E.G. in gothic letters rather wellengraved, which belonged properly to some-

thing in better taste. As she opened it, Eugenieexperienced one of those unexpected and per-fect delights which make a young girl blushand quiver and tremble with pleasure. Sheturned her eyes to her father as if to ask per-mission to accept it, and Monsieur Grandetreplied: "Take it, my daughter," in a tone whichwould have made an actor illustrious.

The three Cruchots felt crushed as they saw thejoyous, animated look cast upon Adolphe desGrassins by the heiress, to whom such richeswere unheard-of. Monsieur des Grassins of-fered Grandet a pinch of snuff, took one him-self, shook off the grains as they fell on the rib-bon of the Legion of honor which was attachedto the button-hole of his blue surtout; then helooked at the Cruchots with an air that seemedto say, "Parry that thrust if you can!" Madamedes Grassins cast her eyes on the blue vaseswhich held the Cruchot bouquets, looking atthe enemy's gifts with the pretended interest of

a satirical woman. At this delicate juncture theAbbe Cruchot left the company seated in a cir-cle round the fire and joined Grandet at thelower end of the hall. As the two men reachedthe embrasure of the farthest window the priestsaid in the miser's ear: "Those people throwmoney out of the windows."

"What does that matter if it gets into my cellar?"retorted the old wine-grower.

"If you want to give gilt scissors to your daugh-ter, you have the means," said the abbe.

"I give her something better than scissors," an-swered Grandet.

"My nephew is a blockhead," thought the abbeas he looked at the president, whose rumpledhair added to the ill grace of his brown counte-nance. "Couldn't he have found some little triflewhich cost money?"

"We will join you at cards, Madame Grandet,"said Madame des Grassins.

"We might have two tables, as we are all here."

"As it is Eugenie's birthday you had better playloto all together," said Pere Grandet: "the twoyoung ones can join"; and the old cooper, whonever played any game, motioned to hisdaughter and Adolphe. "Come, Nanon, set thetables."

"We will help you, Mademoiselle Nanon," saidMadame des Grassins gaily, quite joyous at thejoy she had given Eugenie.

"I have never in my life been so pleased," theheiress said to her; "I have never seen anythingso pretty."

"Adolphe brought it from Paris, and he choseit," Madame des Grassins whispered in her ear.

"Go on! go on! damned intriguing thing!"thought the president. "If you ever have a suitin court, you or your husband, it shall go hardwith you."

The notary, sitting in his corner, looked calmlyat the abbe, saying to himself: "The desGrassins may do what they like; my propertyand my brother's and that of my nephewamount in all to eleven hundred thousandfrancs. The des Grassins, at the most, have nothalf that; besides, they have a daughter. Theymay give what presents they like; heiress andpresents too will be ours one of these days."

At half-past eight in the evening the two card-tables were set out. Madame des Grassins suc-ceeded in putting her son beside Eugenie. Theactors in this scene, so full of interest, com-monplace as it seems, were provided with bitsof pasteboard striped in many colors and num-bered, and with counters of blue glass, and theyappeared to be listening to the jokes of the no-

tary, who never drew a number without mak-ing a remark, while in fact they were all think-ing of Monsieur Grandet's millions. The oldcooper, with inward self-conceit, was contem-plating the pink feathers and the fresh toilet ofMadame des Grassins, the martial head of thebanker, the faces of Adolphe, the president, theabbe, and the notary, saying to himself:—

"They are all after my money. Hey! neither theone nor the other shall have my daughter; butthey are useful—useful as harpoons to fishwith."

This family gaiety in the old gray room dimlylighted by two tallow candles; this laughter,accompanied by the whirr of Nanon's spinning-wheel, sincere only upon the lips of Eugenie orher mother; this triviality mingled with impor-tant interests; this young girl, who, like certainbirds made victims of the price put upon them,was now lured and trapped by proofs offriendship of which she was the dupe,—all

these things contributed to make the scene amelancholy comedy. Is it not, moreover, adrama of all times and all places, though herebrought down to its simplest expression? Thefigure of Grandet, playing his own game withthe false friendship of the two families and get-ting enormous profits from it, dominates thescene and throws light upon it. The moderngod,—the only god in whom faith is pre-served,—money, is here, in all its power, mani-fested in a single countenance. The tender sen-timents of life hold here but a secondary place;only the three pure, simple hearts of Nanon, ofEugenie, and of her mother were inspired bythem. And how much of ignorance there was inthe simplicity of these poor women! Eugenieand her mother knew nothing of Grandet'swealth; they could only estimate the things oflife by the glimmer of their pale ideas, and theyneither valued nor despised money, becausethey were accustomed to do without it. Theirfeelings, bruised, though they did not know it,

but ever-living, were the secret spring of theirexistence, and made them curious exceptions inthe midst of these other people whose liveswere purely material. Frightful condition of thehuman race! there is no one of its joys that doesnot come from some species of ignorance.

At the moment when Madame Grandet hadwon a loto of sixteen sous,—the largest everpooled in that house,—and while la GrandeNanon was laughing with delight as shewatched madame pocketing her riches, theknocker resounded on the house-door withsuch a noise that the women all jumped in theirchairs.

"There is no man in Saumur who would knocklike that," said the notary.

"How can they bang in that way!" exclaimedNanon; "do they want to break in the door?"

"Who the devil is it?" cried Grandet.

III

Nanon took one of the candles and went toopen the door, followed by her master.

"Grandet! Grandet!" cried his wife, moved by asudden impulse of fear, and running to thedoor of the room.

All the players looked at each other.

"Suppose we all go?" said Monsieur desGrassins; "that knock strikes me as evil-intentioned."

Hardly was Monsieur des Grassins allowed tosee the figure of a young man, accompanied bya porter from the coach-office carrying two

large trunks and dragging a carpet-bag afterhim, than Monsieur Grandet turned roughly onhis wife and said,—

"Madame Grandet, go back to your loto; leaveme to speak with monsieur."

Then he pulled the door quickly to, and theexcited players returned to their seats, but didnot continue the game.

"Is it any one belonging to Saumur, Monsieurdes Grassins?" asked his wife.

"No, it is a traveller."

"He must have come from Paris."

"Just so," said the notary, pulling out his watch,which was two inches thick and looked like aDutch man-of-war; "it's nine o'clock; the dili-gence of the Grand Bureau is never late."

"Is the gentleman young?" inquired the AbbeCruchot.

"Yes," answered Monsieur des Grassins, "andhe has brought luggage which must weighnearly three tons."

"Nanon does not come back," said Eugenie.

"It must be one of your relations," remarked thepresident.

"Let us go on with our game," said MadameGrandet gently. "I know from MonsieurGrandet's tone of voice that he is annoyed; per-haps he would not like to find us talking of hisaffairs."

"Mademoiselle," said Adolphe to his neighbor,"it is no doubt your cousin Grandet,—a verygood-looking young man; I met him at the ballof Monsieur de Nucingen." Adolphe did not goon, for his mother trod on his toes; and then,

asking him aloud for two sous to put on herstake, she whispered: "Will you hold yourtongue, you great goose!"

At this moment Grandet returned, without laGrande Nanon, whose steps, together withthose of the porter, echoed up the staircase; andhe was followed by the traveller who had ex-cited such curiosity and so filled the livelyimaginations of those present that his arrival atthis dwelling, and his sudden fall into themidst of this assembly, can only be likened tothat of a snail into a beehive, or the introduc-tion of a peacock into some village poultry-yard.

"Sit down near the fire," said Grandet.

Before seating himself, the young stranger sa-luted the assembled company very gracefully.The men rose to answer by a courteous inclina-tion, and the women made a ceremonious bow.

"You are cold, no doubt, monsieur," said Ma-dame Grandet; "you have, perhaps, travelledfrom—"

"Just like all women!" said the old wine-grower,looking up from a letter he was reading. "Do letmonsieur rest himself!"

"But, father, perhaps monsieur would like totake something," said Eugenie.

"He has got a tongue," said the old man sternly.

The stranger was the only person surprised bythis scene; all the others were well-used to thedespotic ways of the master. However, after thetwo questions and the two replies had beenexchanged, the newcomer rose, turned his backtowards the fire, lifted one foot so as to warmthe sole of its boot, and said to Eugenie,—

"Thank you, my cousin, but I dined at Tours.And," he added, looking at Grandet, "I neednothing; I am not even tired."

"Monsieur has come from the capital?" askedMadame des Grassins.

Monsieur Charles,—such was the name of theson of Monsieur Grandet of Paris,—hearinghimself addressed, took a little eye-glass, sus-pended by a chain from his neck, applied it tohis right eye to examine what was on the table,and also the persons sitting round it. He ogledMadame des Grassins with much impertinence,and said to her, after he had observed all hewished,—

"Yes, madame. You are playing at loto, aunt,"he added. "Do not let me interrupt you, I beg;go on with your game: it is too amusing toleave."

"I was certain it was the cousin," thought Ma-dame des Grassins, casting repeated glances athim.

"Forty-seven!" cried the old abbe. "Mark itdown, Madame des Grassins. Isn't that yournumber?"

Monsieur des Grassins put a counter on hiswife's card, who sat watching first the cousinfrom Paris and then Eugenie, without thinkingof her loto, a prey to mournful presentiments.From time to time the young the heiressglanced furtively at her cousin, and thebanker's wife easily detected a crescendo of sur-prise and curiosity in her mind.

Monsieur Charles Grandet, a handsome youngman of twenty-two, presented at this moment asingular contrast to the worthy provincials,who, considerably disgusted by his aristocraticmanners, were all studying him with sarcasticintent. This needs an explanation. At twenty-

two, young people are still so near childhoodthat they often conduct themselves childishly.In all probability, out of every hundred of themfully ninety-nine would have behaved preciselyas Monsieur Charles Grandet was now behav-ing.

Some days earlier than this his father had toldhim to go and spend several months with hisuncle at Saumur. Perhaps Monsieur Grandetwas thinking of Eugenie. Charles, sent for thefirst time in his life into the provinces, took afancy to make his appearance with the superi-ority of a man of fashion, to reduce the wholearrondissement to despair by his luxury, and tomake his visit an epoch, importing into thosecountry regions all the refinements of Parisianlife. In short, to explain it in one word, he meanto pass more time at Saumur in brushing hisnails than he ever thought of doing in Paris,and to assume the extra nicety and elegance ofdress which a young man of fashion often lays

aside for a certain negligence which in itself isnot devoid of grace. Charles therefore broughtwith him a complete hunting-costume, the fin-est gun, the best hunting-knife in the prettiestsheath to be found in all Paris. He brought hiswhole collection of waistcoats. They were of allkinds,—gray, black, white, scarabaeus-colored:some were shot with gold, some spangled,some chined; some were double-breasted andcrossed like a shawl, others were straight in thecollar; some had turned-over collars, some but-toned up to the top with gilt buttons. Hebrought every variety of collar and cravat infashion at that epoch. He brought two of Buis-son's coats and all his finest linen He broughthis pretty gold toilet-set,—a present from hismother. He brought all his dandy knick-knacks,not forgetting a ravishing little desk presentedto him by the most amiable of women,—amiable for him, at least,—a fine lady whom hecalled Annette and who at this moment wastravelling, matrimonially and wearily, in Scot-

land, a victim to certain suspicions which re-quired a passing sacrifice of happiness; in thedesk was much pretty note-paper on which towrite to her once a fortnight.

In short, it was as complete a cargo of Parisianfrivolities as it was possible for him to get to-gether,—a collection of all the implements ofhusbandry with which the youth of leisure tillshis life, from the little whip which helps to be-gin a duel, to the handsomely chased pistolswhich end it. His father having told him totravel alone and modestly, he had taken thecoupe of the diligence all to himself, ratherpleased at not having to damage a delightfultravelling-carriage ordered for a journey onwhich he was to meet his Annette, the greatlady who, etc.,—whom he intended to rejoin atBaden in the following June. Charles expectedto meet scores of people at his uncle's house, tohunt in his uncle's forests,—to live, in short, theusual chateau life; he did not know that his

uncle was in Saumur, and had only inquiredabout him incidentally when asking the way toFroidfond. Hearing that he was in town, hesupposed that he should find him in a suitablemansion.

In order that he might make a becoming firstappearance before his uncle either at Saumur orat Froidfond, he had put on his most eleganttravelling attire, simple yet exquisite,—"adorable," to use the word which in those dayssummed up the special perfections of a man ora thing. At Tours a hairdresser had re-curledhis beautiful chestnut locks; there he changedhis linen and put on a black satin cravat, which,combined with a round shirt-collar, framed hisfair and smiling countenance agreeably. Atravelling great-coat, only half buttoned up,nipped in his waist and disclosed a cashmerewaistcoat crossed in front, beneath which wasanother waistcoat of white material. His watch,negligently slipped into a pocket, was fastened

by a short gold chain to a buttonhole. His graytrousers, buttoned up at the sides, were set offat the seams with patterns of black silk embroi-dery. He gracefully twirled a cane, whosechased gold knob did not mar the freshness ofhis gray gloves. And to complete all, his capwas in excellent taste. None but a Parisian, anda Parisian of the upper spheres, could thus ar-ray himself without appearing ridiculous; noneother could give the harmony of self-conceit toall these fopperies, which were carried off,however, with a dashing air,—the air of ayoung man who has fine pistols, a sure aim,and Annette.

Now if you wish to understand the mutualamazement of the provincial party and theyoung Parisian; if you would clearly see thebrilliance which the traveller's elegance castamong the gray shadows of the room and uponthe faces of this family group,—endeavor topicture to your minds the Cruchots. All three

took snuff, and had long ceased to repress thehabit of snivelling or to remove the brownblotches which strewed the frills of their dingyshirts and the yellowing creases of their crum-pled collars. Their flabby cravats were twistedinto ropes as soon as they wound them abouttheir throats. The enormous quantity of linenwhich allowed these people to have their cloth-ing washed only once in six months, and tokeep it during that time in the depths of theirclosets, also enabled time to lay its grimy anddecaying stains upon it. There was perfect uni-son of ill-grace and senility about them; theirfaces, as faded as their threadbare coats, ascreased as their trousers, were worn-out, shriv-elled-up, and puckered. As for the others, thegeneral negligence of their dress, which wasincomplete and wanting in freshness,—like thetoilet of all country places, where insensiblypeople cease to dress for others and come tothink seriously of the price of a pair ofgloves,—was in keeping with the negligence of

the Cruchots. A horror of fashion was the onlypoint on which the Grassinists and theCruchotines agreed.

When the Parisian took up his eye-glass to ex-amine the strange accessories of this dwell-ing,—the joists of the ceiling, the color of thewoodwork, and the specks which the flies hadleft there in sufficient number to punctuate the"Moniteur" and the "Encyclopaedia of Sci-ences,"—the loto-players lifted their noses andlooked at him with as much curiosity as theymight have felt about a giraffe. Monsieur desGrassins and his son, to whom the appearanceof a man of fashion was not wholly unknown,were nevertheless as much astonished as theirneighbors, whether it was that they fell underthe indefinable influence of the general feeling,or that they really shared it as with satiricalglances they seemed to say to their compatri-ots,—

"That is what you see in Paris!"

They were able to examine Charles at their lei-sure without fearing to displease the master ofthe house. Grandet was absorbed in the longletter which he held in his hand; and to read ithe had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or theirpleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of per-fection, whether of dress or of person, was ab-solutely unknown, thought she beheld in hercousin a being descended from seraphicspheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrancewafted from the graceful curls of that brillianthead. She would have liked to touch the softkid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charleshis small hands, his complexion, the freshnessand refinement of his features. In short,—if it ispossible to sum up the effect this elegant beingproduced upon an ignorant young girl per-petually employed in darning stockings or inmending her father's clothes, and whose lifeflowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeingnone but occasional passers along the silent

street,—this vision of her cousin roused in hersoul an emotion of delicate desire like that in-spired in a young man by the fanciful picturesof women drawn by Westall for the English"Keepsakes," and that engraved by the Findenswith so clever a tool that we fear, as we breatheupon the paper, that the celestial apparitionsmay be wafted away. Charles drew from hispocket a handkerchief embroidered by thegreat lady now travelling in Scotland. AsEugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done inthe vacant hours which were lost to love, shelooked at her cousin to see if it were possiblethat he meant to make use of it. The manners ofthe young man, his gestures, the way in whichhe took up his eye-glass, his affected supercili-ousness, his contemptuous glance at the cofferwhich had just given so much pleasure to therich heiress, and which he evidently regardedas without value, or even as ridiculous,—allthese things, which shocked the Cruchots andthe des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply

that before she slept she dreamed long dreamsof her phoenix cousin.

The loto-numbers were drawn very slowly, andpresently the game came suddenly to an end.La Grand Nanon entered and said aloud: "Ma-dame, I want the sheets for monsieur's bed."

Madame Grandet followed her out. Madamedes Grassins said in a low voice: "Let us keepour sous and stop playing." Each took his or hertwo sous from the chipped saucer in whichthey had been put; then the party moved in abody toward the fire.

"Have you finished your game?" said Grandet,without looking up from his letter.

"Yes, yes!" replied Madame des Grassins, tak-ing a seat near Charles.

Eugenie, prompted by a thought often born inthe heart of a young girl when sentiment enters

it for the first time, left the room to go and helpher mother and Nanon. Had an able confessorthen questioned her she would, no doubt, haveavowed to him that she thought neither of hermother nor of Nanon, but was pricked by apoignant desire to look after her cousin's roomand concern herself with her cousin; to supplywhat might be needed, to remedy any forget-fulness, to see that all was done to make it, asfar as possible, suitable and elegant; and, infact, she arrived in time to prove to her motherand Nanon that everything still remained to bedone. She put into Nanon's head the notion ofpassing a warming-pan between the sheets. Sheherself covered the old table with a cloth andrequested Nanon to change it every morning;she convinced her mother that it was necessaryto light a good fire, and persuaded Nanon tobring up a great pile of wood into the corridorwithout saying anything to her father. She ranto get, from one of the corner-shelves of thehall, a tray of old lacquer which was part of the

inheritance of the late Monsieur de la Bertel-liere, catching up at the same time a six-sidedcrystal goblet, a little tarnished gilt spoon, anantique flask engraved with cupids, all ofwhich she put triumphantly on the corner ofher cousin's chimney-piece. More ideas surgedthrough her head in one quarter of an hourthan she had ever had since she came into theworld.

"Mamma," she said, "my cousin will never bearthe smell of a tallow candle; suppose we buy awax one?" And she darted, swift as a bird, toget the five-franc piece which she had just re-ceived for her monthly expenses. "Here,Nanon," she cried, "quick!"

"What will your father say?" This terrible re-monstrance was uttered by Madame Grandetas she beheld her daughter armed with an oldSevres sugar-basin which Grandet had broughthome from the chateau of Froidfond. "Andwhere will you get the sugar? Are you crazy?"

"Mamma, Nanon can buy some sugar as well asthe candle."

"But your father?"

"Surely his nephew ought not to go without aglass of eau sucree? Besides, he will not noticeit."

"Your father sees everything," said MadameGrandet, shaking her head.

Nanon hesitated; she knew her master.

"Come, Nanon, go,—because it is my birthday."

Nanon gave a loud laugh as she heard the firstlittle jest her young mistress had ever made,and then obeyed her.

While Eugenie and her mother were trying toembellish the bedroom assigned by MonsieurGrandet for his nephew, Charles himself wasthe object of Madame des Grassins' attentions;

to all appearances she was setting her cap athim.

"You are very courageous, monsieur," she saidto the young dandy, "to leave the pleasures ofthe capital at this season and take up yourabode in Saumur. But if we do not frighten youaway, you will find there are some amusementseven here."

She threw him the ogling glance of the prov-inces, where women put so much prudenceand reserve into their eyes that they impart tothem the prudish concupiscence peculiar tocertain ecclesiastics to whom all pleasure iseither a theft or an error. Charles was so com-pletely out of his element in this abode, and sofar from the vast chateau and the sumptuouslife with which his fancy had endowed his un-cle, that as he looked at Madame des Grassinshe perceived a dim likeness to Parisian faces.He gracefully responded to the species of invi-tation addressed to him, and began very natu-

rally a conversation, in which Madame desGrassins gradually lowered her voice so as tobring it into harmony with the nature of theconfidences she was making. With her, as withCharles, there was the need of conference; soafter a few moments spent in coquettishphrases and a little serious jesting, the cleverprovincial said, thinking herself unheard by theothers, who were discussing the sale of wineswhich at that season filled the heads of everyone in Saumur,—

"Monsieur if you will do us the honor to comeand see us, you will give as much pleasure tomy husband as to myself. Our salon is the onlyone in Saumur where you will find the higherbusiness circles mingling with the nobility. Webelong to both societies, who meet at our housesimply because they find it amusing. My hus-band—I say it with pride—is as much valuedby the one class as by the other. We will try torelieve the monotony of your visit here. If you

stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, goodheavens! what will become of you? Your uncleis a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but hisvines; your aunt is a pious soul who can't puttwo ideas together; and your cousin is a littlefool, without education, perfectly common, nofortune, who will spend her life in darningtowels."

"She is really very nice, this woman," thoughtCharles Grandet as he duly responded to Ma-dame des Grassins' coquetries.

"It seems to me, wife, that you are taking pos-session of monsieur," said the stout banker,laughing.

On this remark the notary and the presidentsaid a few words that were more or less signifi-cant; but the abbe, looking at them slyly,brought their thoughts to a focus by taking apinch of snuff and saying as he handed round

his snuff-box: "Who can do the honors of Sau-mur for monsieur so well as madame?"

"Ah! what do you mean by that, monsieurl'abbe?" demanded Monsieur des Grassins.

"I mean it in the best possible sense for you, formadame, for the town of Saumur, and for mon-sieur," said the wily old man, turning toCharles.

The Abbe Cruchot had guessed the conversa-tion between Charles and Madame desGrassins without seeming to pay attention to it.

"Monsieur," said Adolphe to Charles with anair which he tried to make free and easy, "Idon't know whether you remember me, but Ihad the honor of dancing as your vis-a-vis at aball given by the Baron de Nucingen, and—"

"Perfectly; I remember perfectly, monsieur,"answered Charles, pleased to find himself theobject of general attention.

"Monsieur is your son?" he said to Madame desGrassins.

The abbe looked at her maliciously.

"Yes, monsieur," she answered.

"Then you were very young when you were inParis?" said Charles, addressing Adolphe.

"You must know, monsieur," said the abbe,"that we send them to Babylon as soon as theyare weaned."

Madame des Grassins examined the abbe witha glance of extreme penetration.

"It is only in the provinces," he continued, "thatyou will find women of thirty and more yearsas fresh as madame, here, with a son about to

take his degree. I almost fancy myself back inthe days when the young men stood on chairsin the ball-room to see you dance, madame,"said the abbe, turning to his female adversary."To me, your triumphs are but of yesterday—"

"The old rogue!" thought Madame Grassins;"can he have guessed my intentions?"

"It seems that I shall have a good deal of suc-cess in Saumur," thought Charles as he unbut-toned his great-coat, put a hand into his waist-coat, and cast a glance into the far distance, toimitate the attitude which Chantrey has givento Lord Byron.

The inattention of Pere Grandet, or, to speakmore truly, the preoccupation of mind intowhich the reading of the letter had plungedhim, did not escape the vigilance of the notaryand the president, who tried to guess the con-tents of the letter by the almost imperceptiblemotions of the miser's face, which was then

under the full light of the candle. He main-tained the habitual calm of his features withevident difficulty; we may, in fact, picture toourselves the countenance such a man endeav-ored to preserve as he read the fatal letterwhich here follows:—

My Brother,—It is almost twenty-three yearssince we have seen each other. My marriage was the occasion ofour last interview, after which we parted, and both of us werehappy. Assuredly I could not then foresee that you would one daybe the prop of the family whose prosperity you then predicted.

When you hold this letter within your hands Ishall be no longer living. In the position I now hold I cannot sur-vive the disgrace of bankruptcy. I have waited on the edge ofthe gulf until the

last moment, hoping to save myself. The endhas come, I must sink into it. The double bankruptcies of my brokerand of Roguin, my notary, have carried off my last resources andleft me nothing. I have the bitterness of owing nearly four mil-lions, with assets not more than twenty-five per cent in value to paythem. The wines in my warehouses suffer from the fall in pricescaused by the abundance and quality of your vintage. Inthree days Paris will cry out: "Monsieur Grandet was a knave!" andI, an honest man, shall be lying in my winding-sheet of infamy.I deprive my son of a good name, which I have stained, and thefortune of his mother, which I have lost. He knows nothing of allthis,—my unfortunate

child whom I idolize! We parted tenderly. Hewas ignorant, happily, that the last beatings of my heartwere spent in that farewell. Will he not some day curse me? Mybrother, my brother! the curses of our children are horrible; theycan appeal against ours, but theirs are irrevocable. Grandet, youare my elder brother, you owe me your protection; act forme so that Charles may cast no bitter words upon my grave! Mybrother, if I were writing with my blood, with my tears, nogreater anguish could I put into this letter,—nor as great, for then Ishould weep, I should bleed, I should die, I should suffer nomore, but now I suffer and look at death with dry eyes.

From henceforth you are my son's father; hehas no relations, as you well know, on his mother's side. Why didI not consider social prejudices? Why did I yield to love? Why did Imarry the natural daughter of a great lord? Charles has no fam-ily. Oh, my unhappy son! my son! Listen, Grandet! I implore noth-ing for myself, —besides, your property may not be largeenough to carry a mortgage of three millions,—but for my son! Brother,my suppliant hands are clasped as I think of you; behold them!Grandet, I confide my son to you in dying, and I look at the means ofdeath with less pain as I think that you will be to him a father.He loved me well, my Charles; I was good to him, I neverthwarted him; he will

not curse me. Ah, you see! he is gentle, he islike his mother, he will cause you no grief. Poor boy! accustomedto all the enjoyments of luxury, he knows nothing of theprivations to which you and I were condemned by the poverty ofour youth. And I leave him ruined! alone! Yes, all my friends willavoid him, and it is I who have brought this humiliation upon him!Would that I had the force to send him with one thrust into theheavens to his mother's side! Madness! I come back to my disaster—tohis. I send him to you that you may tell him in some fitting wayof my death, of his future fate. Be a father to him, but a good fa-ther. Do not tear him all at once from his idle life, it would killhim. I beg him

on my knees to renounce all rights that, as hismother's heir, he may have on my estate. But the prayer is su-perfluous; he is honorable, and he will feel that he must notappear among my creditors. Bring him to see this at the righttime; reveal to him the hard conditions of the life I have made forhim: and if he still has tender thoughts of me, tell him in myname that all is not lost for him. Yes, work, labor, which savedus both, may give him back the fortune of which I have deprivedhim; and if he listens to his father's voice as it reaches himfrom the grave, he will go the Indies. My brother, Charles is anupright and courageous young man; give him the where-withal to make his

venture; he will die sooner than not repay youthe funds which you may lend him. Grandet! if you will not do this,you will lay up for yourself remorse. Ah, should my child findneither tenderness nor succor in you, I would call down thevengeance of God upon your cruelty!

If I had been able to save something from thewreck, I might have had the right to leave him at least a portion ofhis mother's property; but my last monthly payments haveabsorbed everything. I did not wish to die uncertain of my child'sfate; I hoped to feel a sacred promise in a clasp of your handwhich might have warmed my heart: but time fails me. While Charles isjourneying to you I

shall be preparing my assignment. I shall en-deavor to show by the order and good faith of my accounts that mydisaster comes neither from a faulty life nor from dishonesty. It is formy son's sake that I strive to do this.

Farewell, my brother! May the blessing of Godbe yours for the generous guardianship I lay upon you, andwhich, I doubt not, you will accept. A voice will henceforth and for-ever pray for you in that world where we must all go, and where Iam now as you read these lines.

Victor-Ange-Guillaume Grandet.

"So you are talking?" said Pere Grandet as hecarefully folded the letter in its original creasesand put it into his waistcoat-pocket. He looked

at his nephew with a humble, timid air, be-neath which he hid his feelings and his calcula-tions. "Have you warmed yourself?" he said tohim.

"Thoroughly, my dear uncle."

"Well, where are the women?" said his uncle,already forgetting that his nephew was to sleepat the house. At this moment Eugenie and Ma-dame Grandet returned.

"Is the room all ready?" said Grandet, recover-ing his composure.

"Yes, father."

"Well then, my nephew, if you are tired, Nanonshall show you your room. It isn't a dandy'sroom; but you will excuse a poor wine-growerwho never has a penny to spare. Taxes swallowup everything."

"We do not wish to intrude, Grandet," said thebanker; "you may want to talk to your nephew,and therefore we will bid you good-night."

At these words the assembly rose, and eachmade a parting bow in keeping with his or herown character. The old notary went to the doorto fetch his lantern and came back to light it,offering to accompany the des Grassins on theirway. Madame des Grassins had not foreseenthe incident which brought the evening prema-turely to an end, her servant therefore had notarrived.

"Will you do me the honor to take my arm,madame?" said the abbe.

"Thank you, monsieur l'abbe, but I have myson," she answered dryly.

"Ladies cannot compromise themselves withme," said the abbe.

"Take Monsieur Cruchot's arm," said her hus-band.

The abbe walked off with the pretty lady soquickly that they were soon some distance inadvance of the caravan.

"That is a good-looking young man, madame,"he said, pressing her arm. "Good-by to thegrapes, the vintage is done. It is all over withus. We may as well say adieu to MademoiselleGrandet. Eugenie will belong to the dandy.Unless this cousin is enamoured of some Pari-sian woman, your son Adolphe will find an-other rival in—"

"Not at all, monsieur l'abbe. This young mancannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—agirl without the least freshness. Did you noticeher to-night? She was as yellow as a quince."

"Perhaps you made the cousin notice it?"

"I did not take the trouble—"

"Place yourself always beside Eugenie, ma-dame, and you need never take the trouble tosay anything to the young man against hiscousin; he will make his own comparisons,which—"

"Well, he has promised to dine with me the dayafter to-morrow."

"Ah! if you only would, madame—" said theabbe.

"What is it that you wish me to do, monsieurl'abbe? Do you mean to offer me bad advice? Ihave not reached the age of thirty-nine, withouta stain upon my reputation, thank God! tocompromise myself now, even for the empireof the Great Mogul. You and I are of an agewhen we both know the meaning of words. Foran ecclesiastic, you certainly have ideas that arevery incongruous. Fie! it is worthy of Faublas!"

"You have read Faublas?"

"No, monsieur l'abbe; I meant to say the Liai-sons dangereuses."

"Ah! that book is infinitely more moral," saidthe abbe, laughing. "But you make me out aswicked as a young man of the present day; Ionly meant—"

"Do you dare to tell me you were not thinkingof putting wicked things into my head? Isn't itperfectly clear? If this young man—who I ad-mit is very good-looking—were to make love tome, he would not think of his cousin. In Paris, Iknow, good mothers do devote themselves inthis way to the happiness and welfare of theirchildren; but we live in the provinces, monsieurl'abbe."

"Yes, madame."

"And," she continued, "I do not want, and Ad-olphe himself would not want, a hundred mil-lions brought at such a price."

"Madame, I said nothing about a hundred mil-lions; that temptation might be too great foreither of us to withstand. Only, I do think thatan honest woman may permit herself, in allhonor, certain harmless little coquetries, whichare, in fact, part of her social duty and which—"

"Do you think so?"

"Are we not bound, madame, to make our-selves agreeable to each other?—Permit me toblow my nose.—I assure you, madame," heresumed, "that the young gentleman ogled youthrough his glass in a more flattering mannerthan he put on when he looked at me; but Iforgive him for doing homage to beauty inpreference to old age—"

"It is quite apparent," said the president in hisloud voice, "that Monsieur Grandet of Paris hassent his son to Saumur with extremely matri-monial intentions."

"But in that case the cousin wouldn't havefallen among us like a cannon-ball," answeredthe notary.

"That doesn't prove anything," said Monsieurdes Grassins; "the old miser is always makingmysteries."

"Des Grassins, my friend, I have invited theyoung man to dinner. You must go and askMonsieur and Madame de Larsonniere and thedu Hautoys, with the beautiful demoiselle duHautoy, of course. I hope she will be properlydressed; that jealous mother of hers does makesuch a fright of her! Gentlemen, I trust that youwill all do us the honor to come," she added,stopping the procession to address the twoCruchots.

"Here you are at home, madame," said the no-tary.

After bowing to the three des Grassins, thethree Cruchots returned home, applying theirprovincial genius for analysis to studying, un-der all its aspects, the great event of the eve-ning, which undoubtedly changed the respec-tive positions of Grassinists and Cruchotines.The admirable common-sense which guided allthe actions of these great machinators madeeach side feel the necessity of a momentaryalliance against a common enemy. Must theynot mutually hinder Eugenie from loving hercousin, and the cousin from thinking ofEugenie? Could the Parisian resist the influenceof treacherous insinuations, soft-spoken cal-umnies, slanders full of faint praise and artlessdenials, which should be made to circle inces-santly about him and deceive him?

IV

When the four relations were left alone, Mon-sieur Grandet said to his nephew,—

"We must go to bed. It is too late to talk aboutthe matters which have brought you here; to-morrow we will take a suitable moment. Webreakfast at eight o'clock; at midday we eat alittle fruit or a bit of bread, and drink a glass ofwhite wine; and we dine, like the Parisians, atfive o'clock. That's the order of the day. If youlike to go and see the town and the environsyou are free to do so. You will excuse me if myoccupations do not permit me to accompanyyou. You may perhaps hear people say that Iam rich,—Monsieur Grandet this, Monsieur

Grandet that. I let them talk; their gossip doesnot hurt my credit. But I have not a penny; Iwork in my old age like an apprentice whoseworldly goods are a bad plane and two goodarms. Perhaps you'll soon know yourself whata franc costs when you have got to sweat for it.Nanon, where are the candles?"

"I trust, my nephew, that you will find all youwant," said Madame Grandet; "but if youshould need anything else, you can callNanon."

"My dear aunt, I shall need nothing; I have, Ibelieve, brought everything with me. Permitme to bid you good-night, and my youngcousin also."

Charles took a lighted wax candle fromNanon's hand,—an Anjou candle, very yellowin color, and so shopworn that it looked liketallow and deceived Monsieur Grandet, who,

incapable of suspecting its presence under hisroof, did not perceive this magnificence.

"I will show you the way," he said.

Instead of leaving the hall by the door whichopened under the archway, Grandet ceremoni-ously went through the passage which dividedthe hall from the kitchen. A swing-door, fur-nished with a large oval pane of glass, shut thispassage from the staircase, so as to fend off thecold air which rushed through it. But the northwind whistled none the less keenly in winter,and, in spite of the sand-bags at the bottom ofthe doors of the living-room, the temperaturewithin could scarcely be kept at a properheight. Nanon went to bolt the outer door; thenshe closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog,whose bark was so strangled that he seemed tohave laryngitis. This animal, noted for his fe-rocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the twountutored children of the fields understoodeach other.

When Charles saw the yellow, smoke-stainedwalls of the well of the staircase, where eachworm-eaten step shook under the heavy foot-fall of his uncle, his expectations began to sobermore and more. He fancied himself in a hen-roost. His aunt and cousin, to whom he turnedan inquiring look, were so used to the staircasethat they did not guess the cause of his amaze-ment, and took the glance for an expression offriendliness, which they answered by a smilethat made him desperate.

"Why the devil did my father send me to such aplace?" he said to himself.

When they reached the first landing he sawthree doors painted in Etruscan red and with-out casings,—doors sunk in the dusty wallsand provided with iron bars, which in fact werebolts, each ending with the pattern of a flame,as did both ends of the long sheath of the lock.The first door at the top of the staircase, whichopened into a room directly above the kitchen,

was evidently walled up. In fact, the only en-trance to that room was through Grandet's bed-chamber; the room itself was his office. Thesingle window which lighted it, on the side ofthe court, was protected by a lattice of strongiron bars. No one, not even Madame Grandet,had permission to enter it. The old man choseto be alone, like an alchemist in his laboratory.There, no doubt, some hiding-place had beeningeniously constructed; there the title-deeds ofproperty were stored; there hung the scales onwhich to weigh the louis; there were devised,by night and secretly, the estimates, the profits,the receipts, so that business men, findingGrandet prepared at all points, imagined thathe got his cue from fairies or demons; there, nodoubt, while Nanon's loud snoring shook therafters, while the wolf-dog watched andyawned in the courtyard, while Madame andMademoiselle Grandet were quietly sleeping,came the old cooper to cuddle, to con over, tocaress and clutch and clasp his gold. The walls

were thick, the screens sure. He alone had thekey of this laboratory, where—so people de-clared—he studied the maps on which his fruit-trees were marked, and calculated his profits toa vine, and almost to a twig.

The door of Eugenie's chamber was opposite tothe walled-up entrance to this room. At theother end of the landing were the appartementsof the married pair, which occupied the wholefront of the house. Madame Grandet had aroom next to that of Eugenie, which was en-tered through a glass door. The master's cham-ber was separated from that of his wife by apartition, and from the mysterious strong-roomby a thick wall. Pere Grandet lodged hisnephew on the second floor, in the high man-sarde attic which was above his own bedroom,so that he might hear him if the young mantook it into his head to go and come. WhenEugenie and her mother reached the middle ofthe landing they kissed each other for good-

night; then with a few words of adieu toCharles, cold upon the lips, but certainly verywarm in the heart of the young girl, they with-drew into their own chambers.

"Here you are in your room, my nephew," saidPere Grandet as he opened the door. "If youneed to go out, call Nanon; without her, be-ware! the dog would eat you up without aword. Sleep well. Good-night. Ha! why, theyhave made you a fire!" he cried.

At this moment Nanon appeared with thewarming pan.

"Here's something more!" said MonsieurGrandet. "Do you take my nephew for a lying-in woman? Carry off your brazier, Nanon!"

"But, monsieur, the sheets are damp, and thisgentleman is as delicate as a woman."

"Well, go on, as you've taken it into your head,"said Grandet, pushing her by the shoulders;"but don't set things on fire." So saying, the mi-ser went down-stairs, grumbling indistinct sen-tences.

Charles stood aghast in the midst of his trunks.After casting his eyes on the attic-walls coveredwith that yellow paper sprinkled with bou-quets so well known in dance-houses, on thefireplace of ribbed stone whose very look waschilling, on the chairs of yellow wood withvarnished cane seats that seemed to have morethan the usual four angles, on the open night-table capacious enough to hold a small ser-geant-at-arms, on the meagre bit of rag-carpetbeside the bed, on the tester whose cloth val-ance shook as if, devoured by moths, it wasabout to fall, he turned gravely to la GrandeNanon and said,—

"Look here! my dear woman, just tell me, am Iin the house of Monsieur Grandet, formerly

mayor of Saumur, and brother to MonsieurGrandet of Paris?"

"Yes, monsieur; and a very good, a very kind, avery perfect gentleman. Shall I help you to un-pack your trunks?"

"Faith! yes, if you will, my old trooper. Didn'tyou serve in the marines of the ImperialGuard?"

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Nanon. "What's that,—the marines of the guard? Is it salt? Does it goin the water?"

"Here, get me my dressing-gown out of thatvalise; there's the key."

Nanon was wonder-struck by the sight of adressing-gown made of green silk, brocadedwith gold flowers of an antique design.

"Are you going to put that on to go to bedwith?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Holy Virgin! what a beautiful altar-cloth itwould make for the parish church! My deardarling monsieur, give it to the church, andyou'll save your soul; if you don't, you'll lose it.Oh, how nice you look in it! I must call made-moiselle to see you."

"Come, Nanon, if Nanon you are, hold yourtongue; let me go to bed. I'll arrange my thingsto-morrow. If my dressing-gown pleases you somuch, you shall save your soul. I'm too good aChristian not to give it to you when I go away,and you can do what you like with it."

Nanon stood rooted to the ground, gazing atCharles and unable to put faith into his words.

"Good night, Nanon."

"What in the world have I come here for?"thought Charles as he went to sleep. "My father

is not a fool; my journey must have some ob-ject. Pshaw! put off serious thought till the mor-row, as some Greek idiot said."

"Blessed Virgin! how charming he is, mycousin!" Eugenie was saying, interrupting herprayers, which that night at least were neverfinished.

Madame Grandet had no thoughts at all as shewent to bed. She heard the miser walking upand down his room through the door of com-munication which was in the middle of the par-tition. Like all timid women, she had studiedthe character of her lord. Just as the petrel fore-sees the storm, she knew by imperceptiblesigns when an inward tempest shook her hus-band; and at such times, to use an expression ofher own, she "feigned dead."

Grandet gazed at the door lined with sheet-ironwhich he lately put to his sanctum, and said tohimself,—

"What a crazy idea of my brother to bequeathhis son to me! A fine legacy! I have not fiftyfrancs to give him. What are fifty francs to adandy who looked at my barometer as if hemeant to make firewood of it!"

In thinking over the consequences of that leg-acy of anguish Grandet was perhaps more agi-tated than his brother had been at the momentof writing it.

"I shall have that golden robe," thought Nanon,who went to sleep tricked out in her altar-cloth,dreaming for the first time in her life of flowers,embroidery, and damask, just as Eugenie wasdreaming of love.

In the pure and monotonous life of young girlsthere comes a delicious hour when the sunsheds its rays into their soul, when the flowersexpress their thoughts, when the throbbings ofthe heart send upward to the brain their fertil-

izing warmth and melt all thoughts into avague desire,—day of innocent melancholy andof dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, theysmile; when a young girl first perceives thesentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiledwhen an infant. If light is the first love of life, isnot love a light to the heart? The moment to seewithin the veil of earthly things had come forEugenie.

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she wasup betimes and said her prayers, and then be-gan the business of dressing,—a businesswhich henceforth was to have a meaning. Firstshe brushed and smoothed her chestnut hairand twisted its heavy masses to the top of herhead with the utmost care, preventing the loosetresses from straying, and giving to her head asymmetry which heightened the timid candorof her face; for the simplicity of these accesso-ries accorded well with the innocent sincerity ofits lines. As she washed her hands again and

again in the cold water which hardened andreddened the skin, she looked at her handsomeround arms and asked herself what her cousindid to make his hands so softly white, his nailsso delicately curved. She put on new stockingsand her prettiest shoes. She laced her corsetstraight, without skipping a single eyelet. Andthen, wishing for the first time in her life toappear to advantage, she felt the joy of having anew gown, well made, which rendered her at-tractive.

As she finished her toilet the clock of the parishchurch struck the hour; to her astonishment, itwas only seven. The desire of having plenty oftime for dressing carefully had led her to get uptoo early. Ignorant of the art of retouchingevery curl and studying every effect, Eugeniesimply crossed her arms, sat down by the win-dow, and looked at the court-yard, the narrowgarden, and the high terraced walls that over-topped it: a dismal, hedged-in prospect, yet not

wholly devoid of those mysterious beautieswhich belong to solitary or uncultivated nature.Near the kitchen was a well surrounded by acurb, with a pulley fastened to a bent iron rodclasped by a vine whose leaves were withered,reddened, and shrivelled by the season. Fromthence the tortuous shoots straggled to thewall, clutched it, and ran the whole length ofthe house, ending near the wood-pile, wherethe logs were ranged with as much precision asthe books in a library. The pavement of thecourt-yard showed the black stains produced intime by lichens, herbage, and the absence of allmovement or friction. The thick walls wore acoating of green moss streaked with wavingbrown lines, and the eight stone steps at thebottom of the court-yard which led up to thegate of the garden were disjointed and hiddenbeneath tall plants, like the tomb of a knightburied by his widow in the days of the Cru-sades. Above a foundation of moss-grown,crumbling stones was a trellis of rotten wood,

half fallen from decay; over them clamberedand intertwined at will a mass of clusteringcreepers. On each side of the latticed gatestretched the crooked arms of two stunted ap-ple-trees. Three parallel walks, gravelled andseparated from each other by square beds,where the earth was held in by box-borders,made the garden, which terminated, beneath aterrace of the old walls, in a group of lindens.At the farther end were raspberry-bushes; atthe other, near the house, an immense walnut-tree drooped its branches almost into the win-dow of the miser's sanctum.

A clear day and the beautiful autumnal suncommon to the banks of the Loire was begin-ning to melt the hoar-frost which the night hadlaid on these picturesque objects, on the walls,and on the plants which swathed the court-yard. Eugenie found a novel charm in the as-pect of things lately so insignificant to her. Athousand confused thoughts came to birth in

her mind and grew there, as the sunbeamsgrew without along the wall. She felt that im-pulse of delight, vague, inexplicable, whichwraps the moral being as a cloud wraps thephysical body. Her thoughts were all in keep-ing with the details of this strange landscape,and the harmonies of her heart blended withthe harmonies of nature. When the sun reachedan angle of the wall where the "Venus-hair" ofsouthern climes drooped its thick leaves, litwith the changing colors of a pigeon's breast,celestial rays of hope illumined the future toher eyes, and thenceforth she loved to gazeupon that piece of wall, on its pale flowers, itsblue harebells, its wilting herbage, with whichshe mingled memories as tender as those ofchildhood. The noise made by each leaf as it fellfrom its twig in the void of that echoing courtgave answer to the secret questionings of theyoung girl, who could have stayed there thelivelong day without perceiving the flight oftime. Then came tumultuous heavings of the

soul. She rose often, went to her glass, andlooked at herself, as an author in good faithlooks at his work to criticise it and blame it inhis own mind.

"I am not beautiful enough for him!" Such wasEugenie's thought,—a humble thought, fertilein suffering. The poor girl did not do herselfjustice; but modesty, or rather fear, is amongthe first of love's virtues. Eugenie belonged tothe type of children with sturdy constitutions,such as we see among the lesser bourgeoisie,whose beauties always seem a little vulgar; andyet, though she resembled the Venus of Milo,the lines of her figure were ennobled by thesofter Christian sentiment which purifies wom-anhood and gives it a distinction unknown tothe sculptors of antiquity. She had an enormoushead, with the masculine yet delicate foreheadof the Jupiter of Phidias, and gray eyes, towhich her chaste life, penetrating fully intothem, carried a flood of light. The features of

her round face, formerly fresh and rosy, were atone time swollen by the small-pox, which de-stroyed the velvet texture of the skin, though itkindly left no other traces, and her cheek wasstill so soft and delicate that her mother's kissmade a momentary red mark upon it. Her nosewas somewhat too thick, but it harmonizedwell with the vermilion mouth, whose lips,creased in many lines, were full of love andkindness. The throat was exquisitely round.The bust, well curved and carefully covered,attracted the eye and inspired reverie. It lacked,no doubt, the grace which a fitting dress canbestow; but to a connoisseur the non-flexibilityof her figure had its own charm. Eugenie, talland strongly made, had none of the prettinesswhich pleases the masses; but she was beautifulwith a beauty which the spirit recognizes, andnone but artists truly love. A painter seekinghere below for a type of Mary's celestial purity,searching womankind for those proud modesteyes which Raphael divined, for those virgin

lines, often due to chances of conception, whichthe modesty of Christian life alone can bestowor keep unchanged,—such a painter, in lovewith his ideal, would have found in the face ofEugenie the innate nobleness that is ignorant ofitself; he would have seen beneath the calmnessof that brow a world of love; he would havefelt, in the shape of the eyes, in the fall of theeyelids, the presence of the nameless somethingthat we call divine. Her features, the contour ofher head, which no expression of pleasure hadever altered or wearied, were like the lines ofthe horizon softly traced in the far distanceacross the tranquil lakes. That calm and rosycountenance, margined with light like a lovelyfull-blown flower, rested the mind, held theeye, and imparted the charm of the consciencethat was there reflected. Eugenie was standingon the shore of life where young illusionsflower, where daisies are gathered with de-lights ere long to be unknown; and thus shesaid, looking at her image in the glass, uncon-

scious as yet of love: "I am too ugly; he will notnotice me."

Then she opened the door of her chamberwhich led to the staircase, and stretched out herneck to listen for the household noises. "He isnot up," she thought, hearing Nanon's morningcough as the good soul went and came, sweep-ing out the halls, lighting her fire, chaining thedog, and speaking to the beasts in the stable.Eugenie at once went down and ran to Nanon,who was milking the cow.

"Nanon, my good Nanon, make a little creamfor my cousin's breakfast."

"Why, mademoiselle, you should have thoughtof that yesterday," said Nanon, bursting into aloud peal of laughter. "I can't make cream. Yourcousin is a darling, a darling! oh, that he is! Youshould have seen him in his dressing-gown, allsilk and gold! I saw him, I did! He wears linenas fine as the surplice of monsieur le cure."

"Nanon, please make us a galette."

"And who'll give me wood for the oven, andflour and butter for the cakes?" said Nanon,who in her function of prime-minister toGrandet assumed at times enormous impor-tance in the eyes of Eugenie and her mother."Mustn't rob the master to feast the cousin. Youask him for butter and flour and wood: he'syour father, perhaps he'll give you some. See!there he is now, coming to give out the provi-sions."

Eugenie escaped into the garden, quite fright-ened as she heard the staircase shaking underher father's step. Already she felt the effects ofthat virgin modesty and that special conscious-ness of happiness which lead us to fancy, notperhaps without reason, that our thoughts aregraven on our foreheads and are open to theeyes of all. Perceiving for the first time the coldnakedness of her father's house, the poor girlfelt a sort of rage that she could not put it in

harmony with her cousin's elegance. She feltthe need of doing something for him,—what,she did not know. Ingenuous and truthful, shefollowed her angelic nature without mistrust-ing her impressions or her feelings. The meresight of her cousin had wakened within her thenatural yearnings of a woman,—yearnings thatwere the more likely to develop ardently be-cause, having reached her twenty-third year,she was in the plenitude of her intelligence andher desires. For the first time in her life herheart was full of terror at the sight of her father;in him she saw the master of the fate, and shefancied herself guilty of wrong-doing in hidingfrom his knowledge certain thoughts. Shewalked with hasty steps, surprised to breathe apurer air, to feel the sun's rays quickening herpulses, to absorb from their heat a moralwarmth and a new life. As she turned over inher mind some stratagem by which to get thecake, a quarrel—an event as rare as the sight ofswallows in winter—broke out between la

Grande Nanon and Grandet. Armed with hiskeys, the master had come to dole out provi-sions for the day's consumption.

"Is there any bread left from yesterday?" he saidto Nanon.

"Not a crumb, monsieur."

Grandet took a large round loaf, well flouredand moulded in one of the flat baskets whichthey use for baking in Anjou, and was about tocut it, when Nanon said to him,—

"We are five, to-day, monsieur."

"That's true," said Grandet, "but your loavesweigh six pounds; there'll be some left. Besides,these young fellows from Paris don't eat bread,you'll see."

"Then they must eat frippe?" said Nanon.

Frippe is a word of the local lexicon of Anjou,and means any accompaniment of bread, frombutter which is spread upon it, the commonestkind of frippe, to peach preserve, the most dis-tinguished of all the frippes; those who in theirchildhood have licked the frippe and left thebread, will comprehend the meaning ofNanon's speech.

"No," answered Grandet, "they eat neitherbread nor frippe; they are something like mar-riageable girls."

After ordering the meals for the day with hisusual parsimony, the goodman, having lockedthe closets containing the supplies, was aboutto go towards the fruit-garden, when Nanonstopped him to say,—

"Monsieur, give me a little flour and some but-ter, and I'll make a galette for the young ones."

"Are you going to pillage the house on accountof my nephew?"

"I wasn't thinking any more of your nephewthan I was of your dog,—not more than youthink yourself; for, look here, you've onlyforked out six bits of sugar. I want eight."

"What's all this, Nanon? I have never seen youlike this before. What have you got in yourhead? Are you the mistress here? You sha'n'thave more than six pieces of sugar."

"Well, then, how is your nephew to sweeten hiscoffee?"

"With two pieces; I'll go without myself."

"Go without sugar at your age! I'd rather buyyou some out of my own pocket."

"Mind your own business."

In spite of the recent fall in prices, sugar wasstill in Grandet's eyes the most valuable of allthe colonial products; to him it was always sixfrancs a pound. The necessity of economizingit, acquired under the Empire, had grown to bethe most inveterate of his habits. All women,even the greatest ninnies, know how to dodgeand dodge to get their ends; Nanon abandonedthe sugar for the sake of getting the galette.

"Mademoiselle!" she called through the win-dow, "do you want some galette?"

"No, no," answered Eugenie.

"Come, Nanon," said Grandet, hearing hisdaughter's voice. "See here." He opened thecupboard where the flour was kept, gave her acupful, and added a few ounces of butter to thepiece he had already cut off.

"I shall want wood for the oven," said the im-placable Nanon.

"Well, take what you want," he answered sadly;"but in that case you must make us a fruit-tart,and you'll cook the whole dinner in the oven.In that way you won't need two fires."

"Goodness!" cried Nanon, "you needn't tell methat."

Grandet cast a look that was well-nigh paternalupon his faithful deputy.

"Mademoiselle," she cried, when his back wasturned, "we shall have the galette."

Pere Grandet returned from the garden withthe fruit and arranged a plateful on the kitchen-table.

"Just see, monsieur," said Nanon, "what prettyboots your nephew has. What leather! why itsmells good! What does he clean it with, Iwonder? Am I to put your egg-polish on it?"

"Nanon, I think eggs would injure that kind ofleather. Tell him you don't know how to blackmorocco; yes, that's morocco. He will get yousomething himself in Saumur to polish thoseboots with. I have heard that they put sugarinto the blacking to make it shine."

"They look good to eat," said the cook, puttingthe boots to her nose. "Bless me! if they don'tsmell like madame's eau-de-cologne. Ah! howfunny!"

"Funny!" said her master. "Do you call it funnyto put more money into boots than the manwho stands in them is worth?"

"Monsieur," she said, when Grandet returnedthe second time, after locking the fruit-garden,"won't you have the pot-au-feu put on once ortwice a week on account of your nephew?"

"Yes."

"Am I to go to the butcher's?"

"Certainly not. We will make the broth of fowls;the farmers will bring them. I shall tell Cor-noiller to shoot some crows; they make the bestsoup in the world."

"Isn't it true, monsieur, that crows eat thedead?"

"You are a fool, Nanon. They eat what they canget, like the rest of the world. Don't we all liveon the dead? What are legacies?"

Monsieur Grandet, having no further orders togive, drew out his watch, and seeing that hehad half an hour to dispose of before breakfast,he took his hat, went and kissed his daughter,and said to her:

"Do you want to come for a walk in the fields,down by the Loire? I have something to dothere."

Eugenie fetched her straw bonnet, lined withpink taffeta; then the father and daughter wentdown the winding street to the shore.

"Where are you going at this early hour?" saidCruchot, the notary, meeting them.

"To see something," answered Grandet, notduped by the matutinal appearance of hisfriend.

When Pere Grandet went to "see something,"the notary knew by experience there was some-thing to be got by going with him; so he went.

"Come, Cruchot," said Grandet, "you are one ofmy friends. I'll show you what folly it is toplant poplar-trees on good ground."

"Do you call the sixty thousand francs that youpocketed for those that were in your fieldsdown by the Loire, folly?" said Maitre Cruchot,opening his eyes with amazement. "What luck

you have had! To cut down your trees at thevery time they ran short of white-wood atNantes, and to sell them at thirty francs!"

Eugenie listened, without knowing that sheapproached the most solemn moment of herwhole life, and that the notary was about tobring down upon her head a paternal and su-preme sentence. Grandet had now reached themagnificent fields which he owned on thebanks of the Loire, where thirty workmen wereemployed in clearing away, filling up, and lev-elling the spots formerly occupied by the pop-lars.

"Maitre Cruchot, see how much ground thistree once took up! Jean," he cried to a laborer,"m-m-measure with your r-r-rule, b-bothways."

"Four times eight feet," said the man.

"Thirty-two feet lost," said Grandet to Cruchot."I had three hundred poplars in this one line,isn't that so? Well, then, three h-h-hundredtimes thir-thirty-two lost m-m-me five hundredin h-h-hay; add twice as much for the siderows,—fifteen hundred; the middle rows asmuch more. So we may c-c-call it a th-thousandb-b-bales of h-h-hay—"

"Very good," said Cruchot, to help out hisfriend; "a thousand bales are worth about sixhundred francs."

"Say t-t-twelve hundred, be-c-cause there'sthree or four hundred francs on the secondcrop. Well, then, c-c-calculate that t-twelvethousand francs a year for f-f-forty years withinterest c-c-comes to—"

"Say sixty thousand francs," said the notary.

"I am willing; c-c-comes t-t-to sixty th-th-thousand. Very good," continued Grandet,

without stuttering: "two thousand poplars fortyyears old will only yield me fifty thousandfrancs. There's a loss. I have found that myself,"said Grandet, getting on his high horse. "Jean,fill up all the holes except those at the bank ofthe river; there you are to plant the poplars Ihave bought. Plant 'em there, and they'll getnourishment from the government," he said,turning to Cruchot, and giving a slight motionto the wen on his nose, which expressed morethan the most ironical of smiles.

"True enough; poplars should only be plantedon poor soil," said Cruchot, amazed atGrandet's calculations.

"Y-y-yes, monsieur," answered the old mansatirically.

Eugenie, who was gazing at the sublime scen-ery of the Loire, and paying no attention to herfather's reckonings, presently turned an ear to

the remarks of Cruchot when she heard himsay,—

"So you have brought a son-in-law from Paris.All Saumur is talking about your nephew. Ishall soon have the marriage-contract to drawup, hey! Pere Grandet?"

"You g-g-got up very early to t-t-tell me that,"said Grandet, accompanying the remark with amotion of his wen. "Well, old c-c-comrade, I'llbe frank, and t-t-tell you what you want t-t-toknow. I would rather, do you see, f-f-fling mydaughter into the Loire than g-g-give her to herc-c-cousin. You may t-t-tell that everywhere,—no, never mind; let the world t-t-talk."

This answer dazzled and blinded the younggirl with sudden light. The distant hopes up-springing in her heart bloomed suddenly, be-came real, tangible, like a cluster of flowers,and she saw them cut down and wilting on theearth. Since the previous evening she had at-

tached herself to Charles by those links of hap-piness which bind soul to soul; from henceforthsuffering was to rivet them. Is it not the nobledestiny of women to be more moved by thedark solemnities of grief than by the splendorsof fortune? How was it that fatherly feeling haddied out of her father's heart? Of what crimehad Charles been guilty? Mysterious questions!Already her dawning love, a mystery so pro-found, was wrapping itself in mystery. Shewalked back trembling in all her limbs; andwhen she reached the gloomy street, lately sojoyous to her, she felt its sadness, she breathedthe melancholy which time and events hadprinted there. None of love's lessons lacked. Afew steps from their own door she went onbefore her father and waited at the threshold.But Grandet, who saw a newspaper in the no-tary's hand, stopped short and asked,—

"How are the Funds?"

"You never listen to my advice, Grandet," an-swered Cruchot. "Buy soon; you will still maketwenty per cent in two years, besides getting anexcellent rate of interest,—five thousand a yearfor eighty thousand francs fifty centimes."

"We'll see about that," answered Grandet, rub-bing his chin.

"Good God!" exclaimed the notary.

"Well, what?" cried Grandet; and at the samemoment Cruchot put the newspaper under hiseyes and said:

"Read that!" "Monsieur Grandet, one of the most respectedmerchants in Paris, blew his brains out yesterday, after makinghis usual appearance at the Bourse. He had sent his resignation tothe president of the

Chamber of Deputies, and had also resignedhis functions as a judge of the commercial courts. The failures ofMonsieur Roguin and Monsieur Souchet, his broker and his no-tary, had ruined him. The esteem felt for Monsieur Grandet and thecredit he enjoyed were nevertheless such that he might haveobtained the necessary assistance from other business houses. It ismuch to be regretted that so honorable a man should have yieldedto momentary despair," etc.

"I knew it," said the old wine-grower to thenotary.

The words sent a chill of horror through MaitreCruchot, who, notwithstanding his impassi-bility as a notary, felt the cold running downhis spine as he thought that Grandet of Paris

had possibly implored in vain the millions ofGrandet of Saumur.

"And his son, so joyous yesterday—"

"He knows nothing as yet," answered Grandet,with the same composure.

"Adieu! Monsieur Grandet," said Cruchot, whonow understood the state of the case, and wentoff to reassure Monsieur de Bonfons.

On entering, Grandet found breakfast ready.Madame Grandet, round whose neck Eugeniehad flung her arms, kissing her with the quickeffusion of feeling often caused by secret grief,was already seated in her chair on castors, knit-ting sleeves for the coming winter.

"You can begin to eat," said Nanon, comingdownstairs four steps at a time; "the young oneis sleeping like a cherub. Isn't he a darling with

his eyes shut? I went in and I called him: noanswer."

"Let him sleep," said Grandet; "he'll wake soonenough to hear ill-tidings."

"What is it?" asked Eugenie, putting into hercoffee the two little bits of sugar weighing lessthan half an ounce which the old miser amusedhimself by cutting up in his leisure hours. Ma-dame Grandet, who did not dare to put thequestion, gazed at her husband.

"His father has blown his brains out."

"My uncle?" said Eugenie.

"Poor young man!" exclaimed MadameGrandet.

"Poor indeed!" said Grandet; "he isn't worth asou!"

"Eh! poor boy, and he's sleeping like the king ofthe world!" said Nanon in a gentle voice.

Eugenie stopped eating. Her heart was wrung,as the young heart is wrung when pity for thesuffering of one she loves overflows, for thefirst time, the whole being of a woman. Thepoor girl wept.

"What are you crying about? You didn't knowyour uncle," said her father, giving her one ofthose hungry tigerish looks he doubtless threwupon his piles of gold.

"But, monsieur," said Nanon, "who wouldn'tfeel pity for the poor young man, sleeping therelike a wooden shoe, without knowing what'scoming?"

"I didn't speak to you, Nanon. Hold yourtongue!"

Eugenie learned at that moment that thewoman who loves must be able to hide her feel-ings. She did not answer.

"You will say nothing to him about it, Ma'ameGrandet, till I return," said the old man. "I haveto go and straighten the line of my hedge alongthe high-road. I shall be back at noon, in timefor the second breakfast, and then I will talkwith my nephew about his affairs. As for you,Mademoiselle Eugenie, if it is for that dandyyou are crying, that's enough, child. He's goingoff like a shot to the Indies. You will never seehim again."

The father took his gloves from the brim of hishat, put them on with his usual composure,pushed them in place by shoving the fingers ofboth hands together, and went out.

"Mamma, I am suffocating!" cried Eugeniewhen she was alone with her mother; "I havenever suffered like this."

Madame Grandet, seeing that she turned pale,opened the window and let her breathe freshair.

"I feel better!" said Eugenie after a moment.

This nervous excitement in a nature hitherto, toall appearance, calm and cold, reacted on Ma-dame Grandet; she looked at her daughter withthe sympathetic intuition with which mothersare gifted for the objects of their tenderness,and guessed all. In truth the life of the Hungar-ian sisters, bound together by a freak of nature,could scarcely have been more intimate thanthat of Eugenie and her mother,—always to-gether in the embrasure of that window, andsleeping together in the same atmosphere.

"My poor child!" said Madame Grandet, takingEugenie's head and laying it upon her bosom.

At these words the young girl raised her head,questioned her mother by a look, and seemedto search out her inmost thought.

"Why send him to the Indies?" she said. "If he isunhappy, ought he not to stay with us? Is henot our nearest relation?"

"Yes, my child, it seems natural; but your fatherhas his reasons: we must respect them."

The mother and daughter sat down in silence,the former upon her raised seat, the latter in herlittle armchair, and both took up their work.Swelling with gratitude for the full heart-understanding her mother had given her,Eugenie kissed the dear hand, saying,—

"How good you are, my kind mamma!"

The words sent a glow of light into the moth-erly face, worn and blighted as it was by manysorrows.

"You like him?" asked Eugenie.

Madame Grandet only smiled in reply. Then,after a moment's silence, she said in a lowvoice: "Do you love him already? That iswrong."

"Wrong?" said Eugenie. "Why is it wrong? Youare pleased with him, Nanon is pleased withhim; why should he not please me? Come,mamma, let us set the table for his breakfast."

She threw down her work, and her mother didthe same, saying, "Foolish child!" But she sanc-tioned the child's folly by sharing it. Eugeniecalled Nanon.

"What do you want now, mademoiselle?"

"Nanon, can we have cream by midday?"

"Ah! midday, to be sure you can," answered theold servant.

"Well, let him have his coffee very strong; Iheard Monsieur des Grassins say that theymake the coffee very strong in Paris. Put in agreat deal."

"Where am I to get it?"

"Buy some."

"Suppose monsieur meets me?"

"He has gone to his fields."

"I'll run, then. But Monsieur Fessard asked meyesterday if the Magi had come to stay with uswhen I bought the wax candle. All the townwill know our goings-on."

"If your father finds it out," said MadameGrandet, "he is capable of beating us."

"Well, let him beat us; we will take his blows onour knees."

Madame Grandet for all answer raised her eyesto heaven. Nanon put on her hood and wentoff. Eugenie got out some clean table-linen, andwent to fetch a few bunches of grapes whichshe had amused herself by hanging on a stringacross the attic; she walked softly along thecorridor, so as not to waken her cousin, and shecould not help listening at the door to his quietbreathing.

"Sorrow is watching while he sleeps," shethought.

She took the freshest vine-leaves and arrangedher dish of grapes as coquettishly as a practisedhouse-keeper might have done, and placed ittriumphantly on the table. She laid hands onthe pears counted out by her father, and piledthem in a pyramid mixed with leaves. She wentand came, and skipped and ran. She wouldhave liked to lay under contribution everythingin her father's house; but the keys were in hispocket. Nanon came back with two fresh eggs.

At sight of them Eugenie almost hugged herround the neck.

"The farmer from Lande had them in his bas-ket. I asked him for them, and he gave them tome, the darling, for nothing, as an attention!"

V

After two hours' thought and care, duringwhich Eugenie jumped up twenty times fromher work to see if the coffee were boiling, or togo and listen to the noise her cousin made indressing, she succeeded in preparing a simplelittle breakfast, very inexpensive, but which,nevertheless, departed alarmingly from theinveterate customs of the house. The middaybreakfast was always taken standing. Each took

a slice of bread, a little fruit or some butter, anda glass of wine. As Eugenie looked at the tabledrawn up near the fire with an arm-chairplaced before her cousin's plate, at the twodishes of fruit, the egg-cup, the bottle of whitewine, the bread, and the sugar heaped up in asaucer, she trembled in all her limbs at the merethought of the look her father would give her ifhe should come in at that moment. She glancedoften at the clock to see if her cousin couldbreakfast before the master's return.

"Don't be troubled, Eugenie; if your fathercomes in, I will take it all upon myself," saidMadame Grandet.

Eugenie could not repress a tear.

"Oh, my good mother!" she cried, "I have neverloved you enough."

Charles, who had been tramping about hisroom for some time, singing to himself, now

came down. Happily, it was only eleveno'clock. The true Parisian! he had put as muchdandyism into his dress as if he were in thechateau of the noble lady then travelling inScotland. He came into the room with the smil-ing, courteous manner so becoming to youth,which made Eugenie's heart beat with mourn-ful joy. He had taken the destruction of his cas-tles in Anjou as a joke, and came up to his auntgaily.

"Have you slept well, dear aunt? and you, too,my cousin?"

"Very well, monsieur; did you?" said MadameGrandet.

"I? perfectly."

"You must be hungry, cousin," said Eugenie;"will you take your seat?"

"I never breakfast before midday; I never get uptill then. However, I fared so badly on the jour-ney that I am glad to eat something at once.Besides—" here he pulled out the prettiestwatch Breguet ever made. "Dear me! I am early,it is only eleven o'clock!"

"Early?" said Madame Grandet.

"Yes; but I wanted to put my things in order.Well, I shall be glad to have anything to eat,—anything, it doesn't matter what, a chicken, apartridge."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Nanon, overhearingthe words.

"A partridge!" whispered Eugenie to herself;she would gladly have given the whole of herlittle hoard for a partridge.

"Come and sit down," said his aunt.

The young dandy let himself drop into an easy-chair, just as a pretty woman falls gracefullyupon a sofa. Eugenie and her mother took or-dinary chairs and sat beside him, near the fire.

"Do you always live here?" said Charles, think-ing the room uglier by daylight than it hadseemed the night before.

"Always," answered Eugenie, looking at him,"except during the vintage. Then we go andhelp Nanon, and live at the Abbaye des Noy-ers."

"Don't you ever take walks?"

"Sometimes on Sunday after vespers, when theweather is fine," said Madame Grandet, "wewalk on the bridge, or we go and watch thehaymakers."

"Have you a theatre?"

"Go to the theatre!" exclaimed MadameGrandet, "see a play! Why, monsieur, don't youknow it is a mortal sin?"

"See here, monsieur," said Nanon, bringing inthe eggs, "here are your chickens,—in the shell."

"Oh! fresh eggs," said Charles, who, like allpeople accustomed to luxury, had already for-gotten about his partridge, "that is delicious:now, if you will give me the butter, my goodgirl."

"Butter! then you can't have the galette."

"Nanon, bring the butter," cried Eugenie.

The young girl watched her cousin as he cut hissippets, with as much pleasure as a grisettetakes in a melodrama where innocence andvirtue triumph. Charles, brought up by acharming mother, improved, and trained by awoman of fashion, had the elegant, dainty,

foppish movements of a coxcomb. The compas-sionate sympathy and tenderness of a younggirl possess a power that is actually magnetic;so that Charles, finding himself the object of theattentions of his aunt and cousin, could notescape the influence of feelings which flowedtowards him, as it were, and inundated him.He gave Eugenie a bright, caressing look full ofkindness,—a look which seemed itself a smile.He perceived, as his eyes lingered upon her, theexquisite harmony of features in the pure face,the grace of her innocent attitude, the magicclearness of the eyes, where young love spar-kled and desire shone unconsciously.

"Ah! my dear cousin, if you were in full dress atthe Opera, I assure you my aunt's words wouldcome true,—you would make the men committhe mortal sin of envy, and the women the sinof jealousy."

The compliment went to Eugenie's heart andset it beating, though she did not understand itsmeaning.

"Oh! cousin," she said, "you are laughing at apoor little country girl."

"If you knew me, my cousin, you would knowthat I abhor ridicule; it withers the heart andjars upon all my feelings." Here he swallowedhis buttered sippet very gracefully. "No, I reallyhave not enough mind to make fun of others;and doubtless it is a great defect. In Paris, whenthey want to disparage a man, they say: 'He hasa good heart.' The phrase means: 'The poor fel-low is as stupid as a rhinoceros.' But as I amrich, and known to hit the bull's-eye at thirtypaces with any kind of pistol, and even in theopen fields, ridicule respects me."

"My dear nephew, that bespeaks a good heart."

"You have a very pretty ring," said Eugenie; "isthere any harm in asking to see it?"

Charles held out his hand after loosening thering, and Eugenie blushed as she touched thepink nails of her cousin with the tips of her fin-gers.

"See, mamma, what beautiful workmanship."

"My! there's a lot of gold!" said Nanon, bringingin the coffee.

"What is that?" exclaimed Charles, laughing, ashe pointed to an oblong pot of brown earthen-ware, glazed on the inside, and edged with afringe of ashes, from the bottom of which thecoffee-grounds were bubbling up and falling inthe boiling liquid.

"It is boiled coffee," said Nanon.

"Ah! my dear aunt, I shall at least leave onebeneficent trace of my visit here. You are in-

deed behind the age! I must teach you to makegood coffee in a Chaptal coffee-pot."

He tried to explain the process of a Chaptalcoffee-pot.

"Gracious! if there are so many things as all thatto do," said Nanon, "we may as well give upour lives to it. I shall never make coffee thatway; I know that! Pray, who is to get the fodderfor the cow while I make the coffee?"

"I will make it," said Eugenie.

"Child!" said Madame Grandet, looking at herdaughter.

The word recalled to their minds the sorrowthat was about to fall upon the unfortunateyoung man; the three women were silent, andlooked at him with an air of commiseration thatcaught his attention.

"Is anything the matter, my cousin?" he said.

"Hush!" said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, whowas about to answer; "you know, my daughter,that your father charged us not to speak tomonsieur—"

"Say Charles," said young Grandet.

"Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautifulname!" cried Eugenie.

Presentiments of evil are almost always justi-fied. At this moment Nanon, Madame Grandet,and Eugenie, who had all three been thinkingwith a shudder of the old man's return, heardthe knock whose echoes they knew but toowell.

"There's papa!" said Eugenie.

She removed the saucer filled with sugar, leav-ing a few pieces on the table-cloth; Nanon car-ried off the egg-cup; Madame Grandet sat uplike a frightened hare. It was evidently a panic,

which amazed Charles, who was wholly unableto understand it.

"Why! what is the matter?" he asked.

"My father has come," answered Eugenie.

"Well, what of that?"

Monsieur Grandet entered the room, threw hiskeen eye upon the table, upon Charles, and sawthe whole thing.

"Ha! ha! so you have been making a feast foryour nephew; very good, very good, very goodindeed!" he said, without stuttering. "When thecat's away, the mice will play."

"Feast!" thought Charles, incapable of suspect-ing or imagining the rules and customs of thehousehold.

"Give me my glass, Nanon," said the master

Eugenie brought the glass. Grandet drew ahorn-handled knife with a big blade from hisbreeches' pocket, cut a slice of bread, took asmall bit of butter, spread it carefully on thebread, and ate it standing. At this momentCharlie was sweetening his coffee. PereGrandet saw the bits of sugar, looked at hiswife, who turned pale, and made three stepsforward; he leaned down to the poor woman'sear and said,—

"Where did you get all that sugar?"

"Nanon fetched it from Fessard's; there wasnone."

It is impossible to picture the profound interestthe three women took in this mute scene.Nanon had left her kitchen and stood lookinginto the room to see what would happen.Charles, having tasted his coffee, found it bitterand glanced about for the sugar, whichGrandet had already put away.

"What do you want?" said his uncle.

"The sugar."

"Put in more milk," answered the master of thehouse; "your coffee will taste sweeter."

Eugenie took the saucer which Grandet had putaway and placed it on the table, looking calmlyat her father as she did so. Most assuredly, theParisian woman who held a silken ladder withher feeble arms to facilitate the flight of herlover, showed no greater courage than Eugeniedisplayed when she replaced the sugar uponthe table. The lover rewarded his mistresswhen she proudly showed him her beautifulbruised arm, and bathed every swollen veinwith tears and kisses till it was cured with hap-piness. Charles, on the other hand, never somuch as knew the secret of the cruel agitationthat shook and bruised the heart of his cousin,crushed as it was by the look of the old miser.

"You are not eating your breakfast, wife."

The poor helot came forward with a piteouslook, cut herself a piece of bread, and took apear. Eugenie boldly offered her father somegrapes, saying,—

"Taste my preserves, papa. My cousin, you willeat some, will you not? I went to get thesepretty grapes expressly for you."

"If no one stops them, they will pillage Saumurfor you, nephew. When you have finished, wewill go into the garden; I have something to tellyou which can't be sweetened."

Eugenie and her mother cast a look on Charleswhose meaning the young man could not mis-take.

"What is it you mean, uncle? Since the death ofmy poor mother"—at these words his voicesoftened—"no other sorrow can touch me."

"My nephew, who knows by what afflictionsGod is pleased to try us?" said his aunt.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta," said Grandet, "there's your non-sense beginning. I am sorry to see those whitehands of yours, nephew"; and he showed theshoulder-of-mutton fists which Nature had putat the end of his own arms. "There's a pair ofhands made to pick up silver pieces. You'vebeen brought up to put your feet in the kid outof which we make the purses we keep ourmoney in. A bad look-out! Very bad!"

"What do you mean, uncle? I'll be hanged if Iunderstand a single word of what you are say-ing."

"Come!" said Grandet.

The miser closed the blade of his knife with asnap, drank the last of his wine, and opened thedoor.

"My cousin, take courage!"

The tone of the young girl struck terror toCharles's heart, and he followed his terribleuncle, a prey to disquieting thoughts. Eugenie,her mother, and Nanon went into the kitchen,moved by irresistible curiosity to watch the twoactors in the scene which was about to takeplace in the garden, where at first the unclewalked silently ahead of the nephew. Grandetwas not at all troubled at having to tell Charlesof the death of his father; but he did feel a sortof compassion in knowing him to be without apenny, and he sought for some phrase or for-mula by which to soften the communication ofthat cruel truth. "You have lost your father,"seemed to him a mere nothing to say; fathersdie before their children. But "you are abso-lutely without means,"—all the misfortunes oflife were summed up in those words! Grandetwalked round the garden three times, thegravel crunching under his heavy step.

In the crucial moments of life our minds fastenupon the locality where joys or sorrows over-whelm us. Charles noticed with minute atten-tion the box-borders of the little garden, theyellow leaves as they fluttered down, the di-lapidated walls, the gnarled fruit-trees,—picturesque details which were destined to re-main forever in his memory, blending eter-nally, by the mnemonics that belong exclu-sively to the passions, with the recollections ofthis solemn hour.

"It is very fine weather, very warm," saidGrandet, drawing a long breath.

"Yes, uncle; but why—"

"Well, my lad," answered his uncle, "I havesome bad news to give you. Your father is ill—"

"Then why am I here?" said Charles. "Nanon,"he cried, "order post-horses! I can get a carriage

somewhere?" he added, turning to his uncle,who stood motionless.

"Horses and carriages are useless," answeredGrandet, looking at Charles, who remainedsilent, his eyes growing fixed. "Yes, my poorboy, you guess the truth,—he is dead. But that'snothing; there is something worse: he blew outhis brains."

"My father!"

"Yes, but that's not the worst; the newspapersare all talking about it. Here, read that."

Grandet, who had borrowed the fatal articlefrom Cruchot, thrust the paper under hisnephew's eyes. The poor young man, still achild, still at an age when feelings wear nomask, burst into tears.

"That's good!" thought Grandet; "his eyesfrightened me. He'll be all right if he weeps,—

That is not the worst, my poor nephew," hesaid aloud, not noticing whether Charles heardhim, "that is nothing; you will get over it: but—"

"Never, never! My father! Oh, my father!"

"He has ruined you, you haven't a penny."

"What does that matter? My father! Where ismy father?"

His sobs resounded horribly against thosedreary walls and reverberated in the echoes.The three women, filled with pity, wept also;for tears are often as contagious as laughter.Charles, without listening further to his uncle,ran through the court and up the staircase tohis chamber, where he threw himself across thebed and hid his face in the sheets, to weep inpeace for his lost parents.

"The first burst must have its way," saidGrandet, entering the living-room, whereEugenie and her mother had hastily resumedtheir seats and were sewing with tremblinghands, after wiping their eyes. "But that youngman is good for nothing; his head is more takenup with the dead than with his money."

Eugenie shuddered as she heard her father'scomment on the most sacred of all griefs. Fromthat moment she began to judge him. Charles'ssobs, though muffled, still sounded through thesepulchral house; and his deep groans, whichseemed to come from the earth beneath, onlyceased towards evening, after growing gradu-ally feebler.

"Poor young man!" said Madame Grandet.

Fatal exclamation! Pere Grandet looked at hiswife, at Eugenie, and at the sugar-bowl. Herecollected the extraordinary breakfast pre-

pared for the unfortunate youth, and he took aposition in the middle of the room.

"Listen to me," he said, with his usual compo-sure. "I hope that you will not continue thisextravagance, Madame Grandet. I don't giveyou MY money to stuff that young fellow withsugar."

"My mother had nothing to do with it," saidEugenie; "it was I who—"

"Is it because you are of age," said Grandet,interrupting his daughter, "that you choose tocontradict me? Remember, Eugenie—"

"Father, the son of your brother ought to re-ceive from us—"

"Ta, ta, ta, ta!" exclaimed the cooper on fourchromatic tones; "the son of my brother this,my nephew that! Charles is nothing at all to us;he hasn't a farthing, his father has failed; and

when this dandy has cried his fill, off he goesfrom here. I won't have him revolutionize myhousehold."

"What is 'failing,' father?" asked Eugenie.

"To fail," answered her father, "is to commit themost dishonorable action that can disgrace aman."

"It must be a great sin," said Madame Grandet,"and our brother may be damned."

"There, there, don't begin with your litanies!"said Grandet, shrugging his shoulders. "To fail,Eugenie," he resumed, "is to commit a theftwhich the law, unfortunately, takes under itsprotection. People have given their property toGuillaume Grandet trusting to his reputationfor honor and integrity; he has made away withit all, and left them nothing but their eyes toweep with. A highway robber is better than abankrupt: the one attacks you and you can de-

fend yourself, he risks his own life; but theother—in short, Charles is dishonored."

The words rang in the poor girl's heart andweighed it down with their heavy meaning.Upright and delicate as a flower born in thedepths of a forest, she knew nothing of theworld's maxims, of its deceitful arguments andspecious sophisms; she therefore believed theatrocious explanation which her father gave herdesignedly, concealing the distinction whichexists between an involuntary failure and anintentional one.

"Father, could you not have prevented such amisfortune?"

"My brother did not consult me. Besides, heowes four millions."

"What is a 'million,' father?" she asked, with thesimplicity of a child which thinks it can find outat once all that it wants to know.

"A million?" said Grandet, "why, it is a millionpieces of twenty sous each, and it takes fivetwenty sous pieces to make five francs."

"Dear me!" cried Eugenie, "how could my unclepossibly have had four millions? Is there anyone else in France who ever had so many mil-lions?" Pere Grandet stroked his chin, smiled,and his wen seemed to dilate. "But what willbecome of my cousin Charles?"

"He is going off to the West Indies by his fa-ther's request, and he will try to make his for-tune there."

"Has he got the money to go with?"

"I shall pay for his journey as far as—yes, as faras Nantes."

Eugenie sprang into his arms.

"Oh, father, how good you are!"

She kissed him with a warmth that almostmade Grandet ashamed of himself, for his con-science galled him a little.

"Will it take much time to amass a million?" sheasked.

"Look here!" said the old miser, "you knowwhat a napoleon is? Well, it takes fifty thou-sand napoleons to make a million."

"Mamma, we must say a great many neuvainesfor him."

"I was thinking so," said Madame Grandet.

"That's the way, always spending my money!"cried the father. "Do you think there are francson every bush?"

At this moment a muffled cry, more distressingthan all the others, echoed through the garretsand struck a chill to the hearts of Eugenie andher mother.

"Nanon, go upstairs and see that he does notkill himself," said Grandet. "Now, then," headded, looking at his wife and daughter, whohad turned pale at his words, "no nonsense,you two! I must leave you; I have got to seeabout the Dutchmen who are going away to-day. And then I must find Cruchot, and talkwith him about all this."

He departed. As soon as he had shut the doorEugenie and her mother breathed more freely.Until this morning the young girl had never feltconstrained in the presence of her father; butfor the last few hours every moment wrought achange in her feelings and ideas.

"Mamma, how many louis are there in a cask ofwine?"

"Your father sells his from a hundred to a hun-dred and fifty francs, sometimes two hun-dred,—at least, so I've heard say."

"Then papa must be rich?"

"Perhaps he is. But Monsieur Cruchot told mehe bought Froidfond two years ago; that mayhave pinched him."

Eugenie, not being able to understand the ques-tion of her father's fortune, stopped short in hercalculations.

"He didn't even see me, the darling!" saidNanon, coming back from her errand. "He'sstretched out like a calf on his bed and cryinglike the Madeleine, and that's a blessing! What'sthe matter with the poor dear young man!"

"Let us go and console him, mamma; if any oneknocks, we can come down."

Madame Grandet was helpless against thesweet persuasive tones of her daughter's voice.Eugenie was sublime: she had become awoman. The two, with beating hearts, went up

to Charles's room. The door was open. Theyoung man heard and saw nothing; plunged ingrief, he only uttered inarticulate cries.

"How he loves his father!" said Eugenie in alow voice.

In the utterance of those words it was impossi-ble to mistake the hopes of a heart that, un-known to itself, had suddenly become passion-ate. Madame Grandet cast a mother's lookupon her daughter, and then whispered in herear,—

"Take care, you will love him!"

"Love him!" answered Eugenie. "Ah! if you didbut know what my father said to MonsieurCruchot."

Charles turned over, and saw his aunt andcousin.

"I have lost my father, my poor father! If he hadtold me his secret troubles we might haveworked together to repair them. My God! mypoor father! I was so sure I should see himagain that I think I kissed him quite coldly—"

Sobs cut short the words.

"We will pray for him," said Madame Grandet."Resign yourself to the will of God."

"Cousin," said Eugenie, "take courage! Yourloss is irreparable; therefore think only of sav-ing your honor."

With the delicate instinct of a woman who in-tuitively puts her mind into all things, even atthe moment when she offers consolation,Eugenie sought to cheat her cousin's grief byturning his thoughts inward upon himself.

"My honor?" exclaimed the young man, tossingaside his hair with an impatient gesture as he

sat up on his bed and crossed his arms. "Ah!that is true. My uncle said my father hadfailed." He uttered a heart-rending cry, and hidhis face in his hands. "Leave me, leave me,cousin! My God! my God! forgive my father,for he must have suffered sorely!"

There was something terribly attractive in thesight of this young sorrow, sincere withoutreasoning or afterthought. It was a virgin griefwhich the simple hearts of Eugenie and hermother were fitted to comprehend, and theyobeyed the sign Charles made them to leavehim to himself. They went downstairs in silenceand took their accustomed places by the win-dow and sewed for nearly an hour withoutexchanging a word. Eugenie had seen in thefurtive glance that she cast about the youngman's room—that girlish glance which sees allin the twinkling of an eye—the pretty trifles ofhis dressing-case, his scissors, his razors em-bossed with gold. This gleam of luxury across

her cousin's grief only made him the more in-teresting to her, possibly by way of contrast.Never before had so serious an event, so dra-matic a sight, touched the imaginations of thesetwo passive beings, hitherto sunk in the still-ness and calm of solitude.

"Mamma," said Eugenie, "we must wearmourning for my uncle."

"Your father will decide that," answered Ma-dame Grandet.

They relapsed into silence. Eugenie drew herstitches with a uniform motion which revealedto an observer the teeming thoughts of hermeditation. The first desire of the girl's heartwas to share her cousin's mourning.

VI

About four o'clock an abrupt knock at the doorstruck sharply on the heart of MadameGrandet.

"What can have happened to your father?" shesaid to her daughter.

Grandet entered joyously. After taking off hisgloves, he rubbed his hands hard enough totake off their skin as well, if his epidermis hadnot been tanned and cured like Russialeather,—saving, of course, the perfume oflarch-trees and incense. Presently his secretescaped him.

"Wife," he said, without stuttering, "I'vetrapped them all! Our wine is sold! The Dutchand the Belgians have gone. I walked about themarket-place in front of their inn, pretending tobe doing nothing. That Belgian fellow—you

know who I mean—came up to me. The own-ers of all the good vineyards have kept backtheir vintages, intending to wait; well, I didn'thinder them. The Belgian was in despair; I sawthat. In a minute the bargain was made. Hetakes my vintage at two hundred francs thepuncheon, half down. He paid me in gold; thenotes are drawn. Here are six louis for you. Inthree months wines will have fallen."

These words, uttered in a quiet tone of voice,were nevertheless so bitterly sarcastic that theinhabitants of Saumur, grouped at this momentin the market-place and overwhelmed by thenews of the sale Grandet had just effected,would have shuddered had they heard them.Their panic would have brought the price ofwines down fifty per cent at once.

"Did you have a thousand puncheons this year,father?"

"Yes, little one."

That term applied to his daughter was the su-perlative expression of the old miser's joy.

"Then that makes two hundred thousand piecesof twenty sous each?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle Grandet."

"Then, father, you can easily help Charles."

The amazement, the anger, the stupefaction ofBelshazzar when he saw the Mene-Tekel-Upharsin before his eyes is not to be comparedwith the cold rage of Grandet, who, havingforgotten his nephew, now found him en-shrined in the heart and calculations of hisdaughter.

"What's this? Ever since that dandy put foot inmy house everything goes wrong! You behaveas if you had the right to buy sugar-plums andmake feasts and weddings. I won't have thatsort of thing. I hope I know my duty at my time

of life! I certainly sha'n't take lessons from mydaughter, or from anybody else. I shall do formy nephew what it is proper to do, and youhave no need to poke your nose into it. As foryou, Eugenie," he added, facing her, "don'tspeak of this again, or I'll send you to the Ab-baye des Noyers with Nanon, see if I don't; andno later than to-morrow either, if you disobeyme! Where is that fellow, has he come downyet?"

"No, my friend," answered Madame Grandet.

"What is he doing then?"

"He is weeping for his father," said Eugenie.

Grandet looked at his daughter without findinga word to say; after all, he was a father. Hemade a couple of turns up and down the room,and then went hurriedly to his secret den tothink over an investment he was meditating inthe public Funds. The thinning out of his two

thousand acres of forest land had yielded himsix hundred thousand francs: putting this sumto that derived from the sale of his poplars andto his other gains for the last year and for thecurrent year, he had amassed a total of ninehundred thousand francs, without counting thetwo hundred thousand he had got by the salejust concluded. The twenty per cent whichCruchot assured him would gain in a shorttime from the Funds, then quoted at seventy,tempted him. He figured out his calculation onthe margin of the newspaper which gave theaccount of his brother's death, all the whilehearing the moans of his nephew, but withoutlistening to them. Nanon came and knocked onthe wall to summon him to dinner. On the laststep of the staircase he was saying to himself ashe came down,—

"I'll do it; I shall get eight per cent interest. Intwo years I shall have fifteen hundred thou-

sand francs, which I will then draw out in goodgold,—Well, where's my nephew?"

"He says he doesn't want anything to eat," an-swered Nanon; "that's not good for him."

"So much saved," retorted her master.

"That's so," she said.

"Bah! he won't cry long. Hunger drives thewolves out of the woods."

The dinner was eaten in silence.

"My good friend," said Madame Grandet, whenthe cloth was removed, "we must put onmourning."

"Upon my word, Madame Grandet! what willyou invent next to spend money on? Mourningis in the heart, and not in the clothes."

"But mourning for a brother is indispensable;and the Church commands us to—"

"Buy your mourning out of your six louis. Giveme a hat-band; that's enough for me."

Eugenie raised her eyes to heaven without ut-tering a word. Her generous instincts, slumber-ing and long repressed but now suddenly andfor the first time awakened, were galled atevery turn. The evening passed to all appear-ance like a thousand other evenings of theirmonotonous life, yet it was certainly the mosthorrible. Eugenie sewed without raising herhead, and did not use the workbox whichCharles had despised the night before. MadameGrandet knitted her sleeves. Grandet twirledhis thumbs for four hours, absorbed in calcula-tions whose results were on the morrow to as-tonish Saumur. No one came to visit the familythat day. The whole town was ringing with thenews of the business trick just played byGrandet, the failure of his brother, and the arri-

val of his nephew. Obeying the desire to gossipover their mutual interests, all the upper andmiddle-class wine-growers in Saumur met atMonsieur des Grassins, where terrible impreca-tions were being fulminated against the ex-mayor. Nanon was spinning, and the whirr ofher wheel was the only sound heard beneaththe gray rafters of that silent hall.

"We don't waste our tongues," she said, show-ing her teeth, as large and white as peeled al-monds.

"Nothing should be wasted," answeredGrandet, rousing himself from his reverie. Hesaw a perspective of eight millions in threeyears, and he was sailing along that sheet ofgold. "Let us go to bed. I will bid my nephewgood-night for the rest of you, and see if he willtake anything."

Madame Grandet remained on the landing ofthe first storey to hear the conversation that

was about to take place between the goodmanand his nephew. Eugenie, bolder than hermother, went up two stairs.

"Well, nephew, you are in trouble. Yes, weep,that's natural. A father is a father; but we mustbear our troubles patiently. I am a good uncleto you, remember that. Come, take courage!Will you have a little glass of wine?" (Winecosts nothing in Saumur, and they offer it as teais offered in China.) "Why!" added Grandet,"you have got no light! That's bad, very bad;you ought to see what you are about," and hewalked to the chimney-piece. "What's this?" hecried. "A wax candle! How the devil did theyfilch a wax candle? The spendthrifts would teardown the ceilings of my house to boil the fel-low's eggs."

Hearing these words, mother and daughterslipped back into their rooms and burrowed intheir beds, with the celerity of frightened micegetting back to their holes.

"Madame Grandet, have you found a mine?"said the man, coming into the chamber of hiswife.

"My friend, wait; I am saying my prayers," saidthe poor mother in a trembling voice.

"The devil take your good God!" growledGrandet in reply.

Misers have no belief in a future life; the pre-sent is their all in all. This thought casts a terri-ble light upon our present epoch, in which, farmore than at any former period, money swaysthe laws and politics and morals. Institutions,books, men, and dogmas, all conspire to un-dermine belief in a future life,—a belief uponwhich the social edifice has rested for eighteenhundred years. The grave, as a means of transi-tion, is little feared in our day. The future,which once opened to us beyond the requiems,has now been imported into the present. Toobtain per fas et nefas a terrestrial paradise of

luxury and earthly enjoyment, to harden theheart and macerate the body for the sake offleeting possessions, as the martyrs once suf-fered all things to reach eternal joys, this is nowthe universal thought—a thought written eve-rywhere, even in the very laws which ask of thelegislator, "What do you pay?" instead of ask-ing him, "What do you think?" When this doc-trine has passed down from the bourgeoisie tothe populace, where will this country be?

"Madame Grandet, have you done?" asked theold man.

"My friend, I am praying for you."

"Very good! Good-night; to-morrow morningwe will have a talk."

The poor woman went to sleep like a schoolboywho, not having learned his lessons, knows hewill see his master's angry face on the morrow.At the moment when, filled with fear, she was

drawing the sheet above her head that shemight stifle hearing, Eugenie, in her night-gown and with naked feet, ran to her side andkissed her brow.

"Oh! my good mother," she said, "to-morrow Iwill tell him it was I."

"No; he would send you to Noyers. Leave meto manage it; he cannot eat me."

"Do you hear, mamma?"

"What?"

"He is weeping still."

"Go to bed, my daughter; you will take cold inyour feet: the floor is damp."

Thus passed the solemn day which was des-tined to weight upon the whole life of the richand poor heiress, whose sleep was never again

to be so calm, nor yet so pure, as it had been upto this moment. It often happens that certainactions of human life seem, literally speaking,improbable, though actual. Is not this becausewe constantly omit to turn the stream of psy-chological light upon our impulsive determina-tions, and fail to explain the subtile reasons,mysteriously conceived in our minds, whichimpelled them? Perhaps Eugenie's deep pas-sion should be analyzed in its most delicatefibres; for it became, scoffers might say, a mal-ady which influenced her whole existence.Many people prefer to deny results rather thanestimate the force of ties and links and bonds,which secretly join one fact to another in themoral order. Here, therefore, Eugenie's past lifewill offer to observers of human nature an ex-planation of her naive want of reflection andthe suddenness of the emotions which over-flowed her soul. The more tranquil her life hadbeen, the more vivid was her womanly pity, the

more simple-minded were the sentiments nowdeveloped in her soul.

Made restless by the events of the day, shewoke at intervals to listen to her cousin, think-ing she heard the sighs which still echoed inher heart. Sometimes she saw him dying of histrouble, sometimes she dreamed that he faintedfrom hunger. Towards morning she was certainthat she heard a startling cry. She dressed atonce and ran, in the dawning light, with a swiftfoot to her cousin's chamber, the door of whichhe had left open. The candle had burned downto the socket. Charles, overcome by nature, wassleeping, dressed and sitting in an armchairbeside the bed, on which his head rested; hedreamed as men dream on an empty stomach.Eugenie might weep at her ease; she might ad-mire the young and handsome face blottedwith grief, the eyes swollen with weeping, thatseemed, sleeping as they were, to well forthtears. Charles felt sympathetically the young

girl's presence; he opened his eyes and saw herpitying him.

"Pardon me, my cousin," he said, evidently notknowing the hour nor the place in which hefound himself.

"There are hearts who hear you, cousin, and wethought you might need something. Youshould go to bed; you tire yourself by sittingthus."

"That is true."

"Well, then, adieu!"

She escaped, ashamed and happy at havinggone there. Innocence alone can dare to be sobold. Once enlightened, virtue makes her calcu-lations as well as vice. Eugenie, who had nottrembled beside her cousin, could scarcelystand upon her legs when she regained herchamber. Her ignorant life had suddenly come

to an end; she reasoned, she rebuked herselfwith many reproaches.

"What will he think of me? He will think that Ilove him!"

That was what she most wished him to think.An honest love has its own prescience, andknows that love begets love. What an event forthis poor solitary girl thus to have entered thechamber of a young man! Are there notthoughts and actions in the life of love which tocertain souls bear the full meaning of the holi-est espousals? An hour later she went to hermother and dressed her as usual. Then theyboth came down and sat in their places beforethe window waiting for Grandet, with thatcruel anxiety which, according to the individ-ual character, freezes the heart or warms it,shrivels or dilates it, when a scene is feared, apunishment expected,—a feeling so naturalthat even domestic animals possess it, andwhine at the slightest pain of punishment,

though they make no outcry when they inad-vertently hurt themselves. The goodman camedown; but he spoke to his wife with an absentmanner, kissed Eugenie, and sat down to tablewithout appearing to remember his threats ofthe night before.

"What has become of my nephew? The ladgives no trouble."

"Monsieur, he is asleep," answered Nanon.

"So much the better; he won't want a wax can-dle," said Grandet in a jeering tone.

This unusual clemency, this bitter gaiety, struckMadame Grandet with amazement, and shelooked at her husband attentively. The good-man—here it may be well to explain that inTouraine, Anjou, Pitou, and Bretagne the word"goodman," already used to designate Grandet,is bestowed as often upon harsh and cruel menas upon those of kindly temperament, when

either have reached a certain age; the titlemeans nothing on the score of individual gen-tleness—the goodman took his hat and gloves,saying as he went out,—

"I am going to loiter about the market-placeand find Cruchot."

"Eugenie, your father certainly has somethingon his mind."

Grandet, who was a poor sleeper, employedhalf his nights in the preliminary calculationswhich gave such astonishing accuracy to hisviews and observations and schemes, and se-cured to them the unfailing success at sight ofwhich his townsmen stood amazed. All humanpower is a compound of time and patience.Powerful beings will and wait. The life of amiser is the constant exercise of human powerput to the service of self. It rests on two senti-ments only,—self-love and self-interest; butself-interest being to a certain extent compact

and intelligent self-love, the visible sign of realsuperiority, it follows that self-love and self-interest are two parts of the same whole,—egotism. From this arises, perhaps, the exces-sive curiosity shown in the habits of a miser'slife whenever they are put before the world.Every nature holds by a thread to those beingswho challenge all human sentiments by con-centrating all in one passion. Where is the manwithout desire? and what social desire can besatisfied without money?

Grandet unquestionably "had something on hismind," to use his wife's expression. There wasin him, as in all misers, a persistent craving toplay a commercial game with other men andwin their money legally. To impose upon otherpeople was to him a sign of power, a perpetualproof that he had won the right to despisethose feeble beings who suffer themselves to bepreyed upon in this world. Oh! who has evertruly understood the lamb lying peacefully at

the feet of God?—touching emblem of all ter-restrial victims, myth of their future, sufferingand weakness glorified! This lamb it is whichthe miser fattens, puts in his fold, slaughters,cooks, eats, and then despises. The pasture ofmisers is compounded of money and disdain.During the night Grandet's ideas had takenanother course, which was the reason of hissudden clemency. He had hatched a plot bywhich to trick the Parisians, to decoy and dupeand snare them, to drive them into a trap, andmake them go and come and sweat and hopeand turn pale,—a plot by which to amuse him-self, the old provincial cooper, sitting there be-neath his gloomy rafters, or passing up anddown the rotten staircase of his house in Sau-mur. His nephew filled his mind. He wished tosave the honor of his dead brother without thecost of a penny to the son or to himself. Hisown funds he was about to invest for threeyears; he had therefore nothing further to dothan to manage his property in Saumur. He

needed some nutriment for his malicious activ-ity, and he found it suddenly in his brother'sfailure. Feeling nothing to squeeze between hisown paws, he resolved to crush the Parisians inbehalf of Charles, and to play the part of a goodbrother on the cheapest terms. The honor of thefamily counted for so little in this scheme thathis good intentions might be likened to the in-terest a gambler takes in seeing a game wellplayed in which he has no stake. The Cruchotswere a necessary part of his plan; but he wouldnot seek them,—he resolved to make themcome to him, and to lead up that very eveningto a comedy whose plot he had just conceived,which should make him on the morrow an ob-ject of admiration to the whole town without itscosting him a single penny.

In her father's absence Eugenie had the happi-ness of busying herself openly with her much-loved cousin, of spending upon him fearlesslythe treasures of her pity,—woman's sublime

superiority, the sole she desires to have recog-nized, the sole she pardons man for letting herassume. Three or four times the young girlwent to listen to her cousin's breathing, toknow if he were sleeping or awake; then, whenhe had risen, she turned her thoughts to thecream, the eggs, the fruits, the plates, theglasses,—all that was a part of his breakfastbecame the object of some special care. Atlength she ran lightly up the old staircase tolisten to the noise her cousin made. Was hedressing? Did he still weep? She reached thedoor.

"My cousin!"

"Yes, cousin."

"Will you breakfast downstairs, or in yourroom?"

"Where you like."

"How do you feel?"

"Dear cousin, I am ashamed of being hungry."

This conversation, held through the closeddoor, was like an episode in a poem to Eugenie.

"Well, then, we will bring your breakfast toyour own room, so as not to annoy my father."

She ran to the kitchen with the swiftness andlightness of a bird.

"Nanon, go and do his room!"

That staircase, so often traversed, which echoedto the slightest noise, now lost its decaying as-pect in the eyes of Eugenie. It grew luminous; ithad a voice and spoke to her; it was young likeherself,—young like the love it was now serv-ing. Her mother, her kind, indulgent mother,lent herself to the caprices of the child's love,and after the room was put in order, both wentto sit with the unhappy youth and keep him

company. Does not Christian charity make con-solation a duty? The two women drew a goodlynumber of little sophistries from their religionwherewith to justify their conduct. Charles wasmade the object of the tenderest and most lov-ing care. His saddened heart felt the sweetnessof the gentle friendship, the exquisite sympathywhich these two souls, crushed under perpet-ual restraint, knew so well how to displaywhen, for an instant, they were left unfetteredin the regions of suffering, their natural sphere.

Claiming the right of relationship, Eugenie be-gan to fold the linen and put in order the toiletarticles which Charles had brought; thus shecould marvel at her ease over each luxuriousbauble and the various knick-knacks of silveror chased gold, which she held long in herhand under a pretext of examining them.Charles could not see without emotion the gen-erous interest his aunt and cousin felt in him;he knew society in Paris well enough to feel

assured that, placed as he now was, he wouldfind all hearts indifferent or cold. Eugenie thusappeared to him in the splendor of a specialbeauty, and from thenceforth he admired theinnocence of life and manners which the previ-ous evening he had been inclined to ridicule. Sowhen Eugenie took from Nanon the bowl ofcoffee and cream, and began to pour it out forher cousin with the simplicity of real feeling,giving him a kindly glance, the eyes of the Pari-sian filled with tears; he took her hand andkissed it.

"What troubles you?" she said.

"Oh! these are tears of gratitude," he answered.

Eugenie turned abruptly to the chimney-pieceto take the candlesticks.

"Here, Nanon, carry them away!" she said.

When she looked again towards her cousin shewas still blushing, but her looks could at leastdeceive, and did not betray the excess of joywhich innundated her heart; yet the eyes ofboth expressed the same sentiment as theirsouls flowed together in one thought,—the fu-ture was theirs. This soft emotion was all themore precious to Charles in the midst of hisheavy grief because it was wholly unexpected.The sound of the knocker recalled the womento their usual station. Happily they were able torun downstairs with sufficient rapidity to beseated at their work when Grandet entered;had he met them under the archway it wouldhave been enough to rouse his suspicions. Afterbreakfast, which the goodman took standing,the keeper from Froidfond, to whom the prom-ised indemnity had never yet been paid, madehis appearance, bearing a hare and some par-tridges shot in the park, with eels and two pikesent as tribute by the millers.

"Ha, ha! poor Cornoiller; here he comes, likefish in Lent. Is all that fit to eat?"

"Yes, my dear, generous master; it has beenkilled two days."

"Come, Nanon, bestir yourself," said Grandet;"take these things, they'll do for dinner. I haveinvited the two Cruchots."

Nanon opened her eyes, stupid with amaze-ment, and looked at everybody in the room.

"Well!" she said, "and how am I to get the lardand the spices?"

"Wife," said Grandet, "give Nanon six francs,and remind me to get some of the good wineout of the cellar."

"Well, then, Monsieur Grandet," said thekeeper, who had come prepared with an ha-rangue for the purpose of settling the questionof the indemnity, "Monsieur Grandet—"

"Ta, ta, ta, ta!" said Grandet; "I know what youwant to say. You are a good fellow; we will seeabout it to-morrow, I'm too busy to-day. Wife,give him five francs," he added to MadameGrandet as he decamped.

The poor woman was only too happy to buypeace at the cost of eleven francs. She knew thatGrandet would let her alone for a fortnight af-ter he had thus taken back, franc by franc, themoney he had given her.

"Here, Cornoiller," she said, slipping ten francsinto the man's hand, "some day we will rewardyour services."

Cornoiller could say nothing, so he went away.

"Madame," said Nanon, who had put on herblack coif and taken her basket, "I want onlythree francs. You keep the rest; it'll go fastenough somehow."

"Have a good dinner, Nanon; my cousin willcome down," said Eugenie.

"Something very extraordinary is going on, Iam certain of it," said Madame Grandet. "This isonly the third time since our marriage that yourfather has given a dinner."

About four o'clock, just as Eugenie and hermother had finished setting the table for sixpersons, and after the master of the house hadbrought up a few bottles of the exquisite winewhich provincials cherish with true affection,Charles came down into the hall. The youngfellow was pale; his gestures, the expression ofhis face, his glance, and the tones of his voice,all had a sadness which was full of grace. Hewas not pretending grief, he truly suffered; andthe veil of pain cast over his features gave himan interesting air dear to the heart of women.Eugenie loved him the more for it. Perhaps shefelt that sorrow drew him nearer to her. Charles

was no longer the rich and distinguishedyoung man placed in a sphere far above her,but a relation plunged into frightful misery.Misery begets equality. Women have this incommon with the angels,—suffering humanitybelongs to them. Charles and Eugenie under-stood each other and spoke only with theireyes; for the poor fallen dandy, orphaned andimpoverished, sat apart in a corner of the room,and was proudly calm and silent. Yet, fromtime to time, the gentle and caressing glance ofthe young girl shone upon him and constrainedhim away from his sad thoughts, drawing himwith her into the fields of hope and of futurity,where she loved to hold him at her side.

VII

At this moment the town of Saumur was moreexcited about the dinner given by Grandet tothe Cruchots than it had been the night beforeat the sale of his vintage, though that consti-tuted a crime of high-treason against the wholewine-growing community. If the politic oldmiser had given his dinner from the same ideathat cost the dog of Alcibiades his tail, he mightperhaps have been called a great man; but thefact is, considering himself superior to a com-munity which he could trick on all occasions,he paid very little heed to what Saumur mightsay.

The des Grassins soon learned the facts of thefailure and the violent death of GuillaumeGrandet, and they determined to go to theirclient's house that very evening to commiseratehis misfortune and show him some marks of

friendship, with a view of ascertaining the mo-tives which had led him to invite the Cruchotsto dinner. At precisely five o'clock Monsieur C.de Bonfons and his uncle the notary arrived intheir Sunday clothes. The party sat down totable and began to dine with good appetites.Grandet was grave, Charles silent, Eugeniedumb, and Madame Grandet did not say morethan usual; so that the dinner was, very prop-erly, a repast of condolence. When they rosefrom table Charles said to his aunt and uncle,—

"Will you permit me to retire? I am obliged toundertake a long and painful correspondence."

"Certainly, nephew."

As soon as the goodman was certain thatCharles could hear nothing and was probablydeep in his letter-writing, he said, with a dis-simulating glance at his wife,—

"Madame Grandet, what we have to talk aboutwill be Latin to you; it is half-past seven; youcan go and attend to your household accounts.Good-night, my daughter."

He kissed Eugenie, and the two women de-parted. A scene now took place in which PereGrandet brought to bear, more than at anyother moment of his life, the shrewd dexterityhe had acquired in his intercourse with men,and which had won him from those whoseflesh he sometimes bit too sharply the nick-name of "the old dog." If the mayor of Saumurhad carried his ambition higher still, if fortu-nate circumstances, drawing him towards thehigher social spheres, had sent him into con-gresses where the affairs of nations were dis-cussed, and had he there employed the geniuswith which his personal interests had endowedhim, he would undoubtedly have proved noblyuseful to his native land. Yet it is perhapsequally certain that outside of Saumur the

goodman would have cut a very sorry figure.Possibly there are minds like certain animalswhich cease to breed when transplanted fromthe climates in which they are born.

"M-m-mon-sieur le p-p-president, you said t-t-that b-b-bankruptcy—"

The stutter which for years the old miser hadassumed when it suited him, and which, to-gether with the deafness of which he some-times complained in rainy weather, wasthought in Saumur to be a natural defect, be-came at this crisis so wearisome to the twoCruchots that while they listened they uncon-sciously made faces and moved their lips, as ifpronouncing the words over which he washesitating and stuttering at will. Here it may bewell to give the history of this impediment ofthe speech and hearing of Monsieur Grandet.No one in Anjou heard better, or could pro-nounce more crisply the French language (withan Angevin accent) than the wily old cooper.

Some years earlier, in spite of his shrewdness,he had been taken in by an Israelite, who in thecourse of the discussion held his hand behindhis ear to catch sounds, and mangled his mean-ing so thoroughly in trying to utter his wordsthat Grandet fell a victim to his humanity andwas compelled to prompt the wily Jew with thewords and ideas he seemed to seek, to com-plete himself the arguments of the said Jew, tosay what that cursed Jew ought to have said forhimself; in short, to be the Jew instead of beingGrandet. When the cooper came out of this cu-rious encounter he had concluded the only bar-gain of which in the course of a long commer-cial life he ever had occasion to complain. But ifhe lost at the time pecuniarily, he gained mor-ally a valuable lesson; later, he gathered itsfruits. Indeed, the goodman ended by blessingthat Jew for having taught him the art of irritat-ing his commercial antagonist and leading himto forget his own thoughts in his impatience tosuggest those over which his tormentor was

stuttering. No affair had ever needed the assis-tance of deafness, impediments of speech, andall the incomprehensible circumlocutions withwhich Grandet enveloped his ideas, as much asthe affair now in hand. In the first place, he didnot mean to shoulder the responsibility of hisown scheme; in the next, he was determined toremain master of the conversation and to leavehis real intentions in doubt.

"M-m-monsieur de B-B-Bonfons,"—for the sec-ond time in three years Grandet called theCruchot nephew Monsieur de Bonfons; thepresident felt he might consider himself theartful old fellow's son-in-law,—"you-ou said th-th-that b-b-bankruptcy c-c-could, in some c-c-cases, b-b-be p-p-prevented b-b-by—"

"By the courts of commerce themselves. It isdone constantly," said Monsieur C. de Bonfons,bestriding Grandet's meaning, or thinking heguessed it, and kindly wishing to help him outwith it. "Listen."

"Y-yes," said Grandet humbly, with the mis-chievous expression of a boy who is inwardlylaughing at his teacher while he pays him thegreatest attention.

"When a man so respected and important as,for example, your late brother—"

"M-my b-b-brother, yes."

"—is threatened with insolvency—"

"They c-c-call it in-ins-s-solvency?"

"Yes; when his failure is imminent, the court ofcommerce, to which he is amenable (pleasefollow me attentively), has the power, by a de-cree, to appoint a receiver. Liquidation, youunderstand, is not the same as failure. When aman fails, he is dishonored; but when hemerely liquidates, he remains an honest man."

"T-t-that's very d-d-different, if it d-d-doesn't c-c-cost m-m-more," said Grandet.

"But a liquidation can be managed withouthaving recourse to the courts at all. For," saidthe president, sniffing a pinch of snuff, "don'tyou know how failures are declared?"

"N-n-no, I n-n-never t-t-thought," answeredGrandet.

"In the first place," resumed the magistrate, "byfiling the schedule in the record office of thecourt, which the merchant may do himself, orhis representative for him with a power of at-torney duly certified. In the second place, thefailure may be declared under compulsionfrom the creditors. Now if the merchant doesnot file his schedule, and if no creditor appearsbefore the courts to obtain a decree of insol-vency against the merchant, what happens?"

"W-w-what h-h-happens?"

"Why, the family of the deceased, his represen-tatives, his heirs, or the merchant himself, if he

is not dead, or his friends if he is only hiding,liquidate his business. Perhaps you would liketo liquidate your brother's affairs?"

"Ah! Grandet," said the notary, "that would bethe right thing to do. There is honor down herein the provinces. If you save your name—for itis your name—you will be a man—"

"A noble man!" cried the president, interrupt-ing his uncle.

"Certainly," answered the old man, "my b-b-brother's name was G-G-Grandet, like m-m-mine. Th-that's c-c-certain; I d-d-don't d-d-denyit. And th-th-this l-l-liquidation might be, in m-m-many ways, v-v-very advan-t-t-tageous t-t-tothe interests of m-m-my n-n-nephew, whom I l-l-love. But I must consider. I don't k-k-know thet-t-tricks of P-P-Paris. I b-b-belong to Sau-m-mur, d-d-don't you see? M-m-my vines, my d-d-drains—in short, I've my own b-b-business. Inever g-g-give n-n-notes. What are n-n-notes? I

t-t-take a good m-m-many, but I have never s-s-signed one. I d-d-don't understand such things.I have h-h-heard say that n-n-notes c-c-can beb-b-bought up."

"Of course," said the president. "Notes can bebought in the market, less so much per cent.Don't you understand?"

Grandet made an ear-trumpet of his hand, andthe president repeated his words.

"Well, then," replied the man, "there's s-s-something to be g-g-got out of it? I k-know n-nothing at my age about such th-th-things. I l-l-live here and l-l-look after the v-v-vines. Thevines g-g-grow, and it's the w-w-wine that p-p-pays. L-l-look after the v-v-vintage, t-t-that'smy r-r-rule. My c-c-chief interests are at Froid-fond. I c-c-can't l-l-leave my h-h-house to m-m-muddle myself with a d-d-devilish b-b-business I kn-know n-n-nothing about. You sayI ought to l-l-liquidate my b-b-brother's af-f-

fairs, to p-p-prevent the f-f-failure. I c-c-can't bein two p-p-places at once, unless I were a littleb-b-bird, and—"

"I understand," cried the notary. "Well, my oldfriend, you have friends, old friends, capable ofdevoting themselves to your interests."

"All right!" thought Grandet, "make haste andcome to the point!"

"Suppose one of them went to Paris and sawyour brother Guillaume's chief creditor andsaid to him—"

"One m-m-moment," interrupted the goodman,"said wh-wh-what? Something l-l-like this.Monsieur Gr-Grandet of Saumur this, Mon-sieur Grandet of Saumur that. He l-loves his b-b-brother, he loves his n-nephew. Grandet is ag-g-good uncle; he m-m-means well. He hassold his v-v-vintage. D-d-don't declare a f-f-failure; c-c-call a meeting; l-l-liquidate; and then

Gr-Gr-Grandet will see what he c-c-can do. B-b-better liquidate than l-let the l-l-law st-st-stickits n-n-nose in. Hein? isn't it so?"

"Exactly so," said the president.

"B-because, don't you see, Monsieur de B-Bonfons, a man must l-l-look b-b-before he l-leaps. If you c-c-can't, you c-c-can't. M-m-mustknow all about the m-m-matter, all the re-sources and the debts, if you d-d-don't want tobe r-r-ruined. Hein? isn't it so?"

"Certainly," said the president. "I'm of opinionthat in a few months the debts might be boughtup for a certain sum, and then paid in full by anagreement. Ha! ha! you can coax a dog a longway if you show him a bit of lard. If there hasbeen no declaration of failure, and you hold alien on the debts, you come out of the businessas white as the driven snow."

"Sn-n-now," said Grandet, putting his hand tohis ear, "wh-wh-what about s-now?"

"But," cried the president, "do pray attend towhat I am saying."

"I am at-t-tending."

"A note is merchandise,—an article of barterwhich rises and falls in prices. That is a deduc-tion from Jeremy Bentham's theory aboutusury. That writer has proved that the preju-dice which condemned usurers to reprobationwas mere folly."

"Whew!" ejaculated the goodman.

"Allowing that money, according to Bentham,is an article of merchandise, and that whateverrepresents money is equally merchandise," re-sumed the president; "allowing also that it isnotorious that the commercial note, bearingthis or that signature, is liable to the fluctuation

of all commercial values, rises or falls in themarket, is dear at one moment, and is worthnothing at another, the courts decide—ah! howstupid I am, I beg your pardon—I am inclinedto think you could buy up your brother's debtsfor twenty-five per cent."

"D-d-did you c-c-call him Je-Je-Jeremy B-Ben?"

"Bentham, an Englishman.'

"That's a Jeremy who might save us a lot oflamentations in business," said the notary,laughing.

"Those Englishmen s-sometimes t-t-talk sense,"said Grandet. "So, ac-c-cording to Ben-Bentham, if my b-b-brother's n-notes are worthn-n-nothing; if Je-Je—I'm c-c-correct, am I not?That seems c-c-clear to my m-m-mind—the c-c-creditors would be—No, would not be; I un-derstand."

"Let me explain it all," said the president. "Le-gally, if you acquire a title to all the debts of theMaison Grandet, your brother or his heirs willowe nothing to any one. Very good."

"Very g-good," repeated Grandet.

"In equity, if your brother's notes are negoti-ated—negotiated, do you clearly understandthe term?—negotiated in the market at a reduc-tion of so much per cent in value, and if one ofyour friends happening to be present shouldbuy them in, the creditors having sold them oftheir own free-will without constraint, the es-tate of the late Grandet is honorably released."

"That's t-true; b-b-business is b-business," saidthe cooper. "B-b-but, st-still, you know, it is d-d-difficult. I h-have n-no m-m-money and n-not-t-time."

"Yes, but you need not undertake it. I am quiteready to go to Paris (you may pay my expenses,

they will only be a trifle). I will see the creditorsand talk with them and get an extension oftime, and everything can be arranged if youwill add something to the assets so as to buy upall title to the debts."

"We-we'll see about th-that. I c-c-can't and I w-w-won't bind myself without—He who c-c-can't, can't; don't you see?"

"That's very true."

"I'm all p-p-put ab-b-bout by what you've t-t-told me. This is the f-first t-t-time in my life Ihave b-been obliged to th-th-think—"

"Yes, you are not a lawyer."

"I'm only a p-p-poor wine-g-grower, and known-nothing about wh-what you have just t-toldme; I m-m-must th-think about it."

"Very good," said the president, preparing toresume his argument.

"Nephew!" said the notary, interrupting him ina warning tone.

"Well, what, uncle?" answered the president.

"Let Monsieur Grandet explain his own inten-tions. The matter in question is of the first im-portance. Our good friend ought to define hismeaning clearly, and—"

A loud knock, which announced the arrival ofthe des Grassins family, succeeded by theirentrance and salutations, hindered Cruchotfrom concluding his sentence. The notary wasglad of the interruption, for Grandet was be-ginning to look suspiciously at him, and thewen gave signs of a brewing storm. In the firstplace, the notary did not think it becoming in apresident of the Civil courts to go to Paris andmanipulate creditors and lend himself to anunderhand job which clashed with the laws ofstrict integrity; moreover, never having knownold Grandet to express the slightest desire to

pay anything, no matter what, he instinctivelyfeared to see his nephew taking part in the af-fair. He therefore profited by the entrance ofthe des Grassins to take the nephew by the armand lead him into the embrasure of the win-dow,—

"You have said enough, nephew; you've shownenough devotion. Your desire to win the girlblinds you. The devil! you mustn't go at it toothand nail. Let me sail the ship now; you can haulon the braces. Do you think it right to compro-mise your dignity as a magistrate in such a—"

He stopped, for he heard Monsieur desGrassins saying to the old cooper as they shookhands,—

"Grandet, we have heard of the frightful mis-fortunes which have just befallen your fam-ily,—the failure of the house of GuillaumeGrandet and the death of your brother. We

have come to express our grief at these sadevents."

"There is but one sad event," said the notary,interrupting the banker,—"the death of Mon-sieur Grandet, junior; and he would never havekilled himself had he thought in time of apply-ing to his brother for help. Our old friend, whois honorable to his finger-nails, intends to liq-uidate the debts of the Maison Grandet of Paris.To save him the worry of legal proceedings, mynephew, the president, has just offered to go toParis and negotiate with the creditors for a sat-isfactory settlement."

These words, corroborated by Grandet's atti-tude as he stood silently nursing his chin, as-tonished the three des Grassins, who had beenleisurely discussing the old man's avarice asthey came along, very nearly accusing him offratricide.

"Ah! I was sure of it," cried the banker, lookingat his wife. "What did I tell you just now, Ma-dame des Grassins? Grandet is honorable to thebackbone, and would never allow his name toremain under the slightest cloud! Money with-out honor is a disease. There is honor in theprovinces! Right, very right, Grandet. I'm anold soldier, and I can't disguise my thoughts; Ispeak roughly. Thunder! it is sublime!"

"Th-then s-s-sublime th-things c-c-cost d-dear,"answered the goodman, as the banker warmlywrung his hand.

"But this, my dear Grandet,—if the presidentwill excuse me,—is a purely commercial mat-ter, and needs a consummate business man.Your agent must be some one fully acquaintedwith the markets,—with disbursements, re-bates, interest calculations, and so forth. I amgoing to Paris on business of my own, and I cantake charge of—"

"We'll see about t-t-trying to m-m-manage it b-b-between us, under the p-p-peculiar c-c-circumstances, b-b-but without b-b-binding m-m-myself to anything th-that I c-c-could notdo," said Grandet, stuttering; "because, you see,monsieur le president naturally expects me topay the expenses of his journey."

The goodman did not stammer over the lastwords.

"Eh!" cried Madame des Grassins, "why it is apleasure to go to Paris. I would willingly pay togo myself."

She made a sign to her husband, as if to en-courage him in cutting the enemy out of thecommission, coute que coute; then she glancedironically at the two Cruchots, who lookedchap-fallen. Grandet seized the banker by abutton and drew him into a corner of the room.

"I have a great deal more confidence in youthan in the president," he said; "besides, I'veother fish to fry," he added, wriggling his wen."I want to buy a few thousand francs in theFunds while they are at eighty. They fall, I'mtold, at the end of each month. You know allabout these things, don't you?"

"Bless me! then, am I to invest enough to giveyou a few thousand francs a year?"

"That's not much to begin with. Hush! I don'twant any one to know I am going to play thatgame. You can make the investment by the endof the month. Say nothing to the Cruchots;that'll annoy them. If you are really going toParis, we will see if there is anything to be donefor my poor nephew."

"Well, it's all settled. I'll start to-morrow by themail-post," said des Grassins aloud, "and I willcome and take your last directions at—whathour will suit you?"

"Five o'clock, just before dinner," said Grandet,rubbing his hands.

The two parties stayed on for a short time. DesGrassins said, after a pause, striking Grandeton the shoulder,—

"It is a good thing to have a relation like him."

"Yes, yes; without making a show," saidGrandet, "I am a g-good relation. I loved mybrother, and I will prove it, unless it c-c-costs—"

"We must leave you, Grandet," said the banker,interrupting him fortunately before he got tothe end of his sentence. "If I hurry my depar-ture, I must attend to some matters at once."

"Very good, very good! I myself—in c-consequence of what I t-told you—I must retireto my own room and 'd-d-deliberate,' as Presi-dent Cruchot says."

"Plague take him! I am no longer Monsieur deBonfons," thought the magistrate ruefully, hisface assuming the expression of a judge boredby an argument.

The heads of the two factions walked off to-gether. Neither gave any further thought to thetreachery Grandet had been guilty of in themorning against the whole wine-growingcommunity; each tried to fathom what theother was thinking about the real intentions ofthe wily old man in this new affair, but in vain.

"Will you go with us to Madame Dorsonval's?"said des Grassins to the notary.

"We will go there later," answered the presi-dent. "I have promised to say good-evening toMademoiselle de Gribeaucourt, and we will gothere first, if my uncle is willing."

"Farewell for the present!" said Madame desGrassins.

When the Cruchots were a few steps off, Adol-phe remarked to his father,—

"Are not they fuming, hein?"

"Hold your tongue, my son!" said his mother;"they might hear you. Besides, what you say isnot in good taste,—law-school language."

"Well, uncle," cried the president when he sawthe des Grassins disappearing, "I began by be-ing de Bonfons, and I have ended as nothingbut Cruchot."

"I saw that that annoyed you; but the wind hasset fair for the des Grassins. What a fool youare, with all your cleverness! Let them sail offon Grandet's 'We'll see about it,' and keepyourself quiet, young man. Eugenie will nonethe less be your wife."

In a few moments the news of Grandet's mag-nanimous resolve was disseminated in three

houses at the same moment, and the wholetown began to talk of his fraternal devotion.Every one forgave Grandet for the sale made indefiance of the good faith pledged to the com-munity; they admired his sense of honor, andbegan to laud a generosity of which they hadnever thought him capable. It is part of theFrench nature to grow enthusiastic, or angry, orfervent about some meteor of the moment. Canit be that collective beings, nationalities, peo-ples, are devoid of memory?

When Pere Grandet had shut the door he calledNanon.

"Don't let the dog loose, and don't go to bed; wehave work to do together. At eleven o'clockCornoiller will be at the door with the chariotfrom Froidfond. Listen for him and prevent hisknocking; tell him to come in softly. Policeregulations don't allow nocturnal racket. Be-sides, the whole neighborhood need not knowthat I am starting on a journey."

So saying, Grandet returned to his privateroom, where Nanon heard him moving about,rummaging, and walking to and fro, thoughwith much precaution, for he evidently did notwish to wake his wife and daughter, and aboveall not to rouse the attention of his nephew,whom he had begun to anathematize when hesaw a thread of light under his door. About themiddle of the night Eugenie, intent on hercousin, fancied she heard a cry like that of adying person. It must be Charles, she thought;he was so pale, so full of despair when she hadseen him last,—could he have killed himself?She wrapped herself quickly in a loose gar-ment,—a sort of pelisse with a hood,—and wasabout to leave the room when a bright lightcoming through the chinks of her door madeher think of fire. But she recovered herself asshe heard Nanon's heavy steps and gruff voicemingling with the snorting of several horses.

"Can my father be carrying off my cousin?" shesaid to herself, opening her door with greatprecaution lest it should creak, and yet enoughto let her see into the corridor.

Suddenly her eye encountered that of her fa-ther; and his glance, vague and unnoticing as itwas, terrified her. The goodman and Nanonwere yoked together by a stout stick, each endof which rested on their shoulders; a stout ropewas passed over it, on which was slung a smallbarrel or keg like those Pere Grandet still madein his bakehouse as an amusement for his lei-sure hours.

"Holy Virgin, how heavy it is!" said the voice ofNanon.

"What a pity that it is only copper sous!" an-swered Grandet. "Take care you don't knockover the candlestick."

The scene was lighted by a single candle placedbetween two rails of the staircase.

"Cornoiller," said Grandet to his keeper inpartibus, "have you brought your pistols?"

"No, monsieur. Mercy! what's there to fear foryour copper sous?"

"Oh! nothing," said Pere Grandet.

"Besides, we shall go fast," added the man;"your farmers have picked out their besthorses."

"Very good. You did not tell them where I wasgoing?"

"I didn't know where."

"Very good. Is the carriage strong?"

"Strong? hear to that, now! Why, it can carrythree thousand weight. How much does thatold keg weigh?"

"Goodness!" exclaimed Nanon. "I ought toknow! There's pretty nigh eighteen hundred—"

"Will you hold your tongue, Nanon! You are totell my wife I have gone into the country. I shallbe back to dinner. Drive fast, Cornoiller; I mustget to Angers before nine o'clock."

The carriage drove off. Nanon bolted the greatdoor, let loose the dog, and went off to bedwith a bruised shoulder, no one in theneighborhood suspecting either the departureof Grandet or the object of his journey. The pre-cautions of the old miser and his reticence werenever relaxed. No one had ever seen a penny inthat house, filled as it was with gold. Hearingin the morning, through the gossip of the port,that exchange on gold had doubled in price inconsequence of certain military preparations

undertaken at Nantes, and that speculators hadarrived at Angers to buy coin, the old wine-grower, by the simple process of borrowinghorses from his farmers, seized the chance ofselling his gold and of bringing back in theform of treasury notes the sum he intended toput into the Funds, having swelled it consid-erably by the exchange.

VIII

"My father has gone," thought Eugenie, whoheard all that took place from the head of thestairs. Silence was restored in the house, andthe distant rumbling of the carriage, ceasing bydegrees, no longer echoed through the sleepingtown. At this moment Eugenie heard in herheart, before the sound caught her ears, a cry

which pierced the partitions and came from hercousin's chamber. A line of light, thin as theblade of a sabre, shone through a chink in thedoor and fell horizontally on the balusters ofthe rotten staircase.

"He suffers!" she said, springing up the stairs. Asecond moan brought her to the landing nearhis room. The door was ajar, she pushed itopen. Charles was sleeping; his head hung overthe side of the old armchair, and his hand, fromwhich the pen had fallen, nearly touched thefloor. The oppressed breathing caused by thestrained posture suddenly frightened Eugenie,who entered the room hastily.

"He must be very tired," she said to herself,glancing at a dozen letters lying sealed uponthe table. She read their addresses: "To Messrs.Farry, Breilmann, & Co., carriage-makers"; "ToMonsieur Buisson, tailor," etc.

"He has been settling all his affairs, so as toleave France at once," she thought. Her eyes fellupon two open letters. The words, "My dearAnnette," at the head of one of them, blindedher for a moment. Her heart beat fast, her feetwere nailed to the floor.

"His dear Annette! He loves! he is loved! Nohope! What does he say to her?"

These thoughts rushed through her head andheart. She saw the words everywhere, even onthe bricks of the floor, in letters of fire.

"Resign him already? No, no! I will not read theletter. I ought to go away—What if I do readit?"

She looked at Charles, then she gently took hishead and placed it against the back of the chair;he let her do so, like a child which, thoughasleep, knows its mother's touch and receives,without awaking, her kisses and watchful care.

Like a mother Eugenie raised the droopinghand, and like a mother she gently kissed thechestnut hair—"Dear Annette!" a demonshrieked the words in her ear.

"I am doing wrong; but I must read it, that let-ter," she said. She turned away her head, forher noble sense of honor reproached her. Forthe first time in her life good and evil struggledtogether in her heart. Up to that moment shehad never had to blush for any action. Passionand curiosity triumphed. As she read each sen-tence her heart swelled more and more, and thekeen glow which filled her being as she did so,only made the joys of first love still more pre-cious.

My dear Annette,—Nothing could ever haveseparated us but the great misfortune which has now over-whelmed me, and which no human foresight could have prevented. My father haskilled himself; his

fortune and mine are irretrievably lost. I amorphaned at an age when, through the nature of my education, Iam still a child; and yet I must lift myself as a man out of the abyssinto which I am plunged. I have just spent half the night infacing my position. If I wish to leave France an honest man,—andthere is no doubt of that,—I have not a hundred francs of my ownwith which to try my fate in the Indies or in America. Yes, my poorAnna, I must seek my fortune in those deadly climates. Underthose skies, they tell me, I am sure to make it. As for remaining inParis, I cannot do so. Neither my nature nor my face are made tobear the affronts, the neglect, the disdain shown to a ruinedman, the son of a

bankrupt! Good God! think of owing two mil-lions! I should be killed in a duel the first week; therefore I shallnot return there. Your love—the most tender and de-voted love which ever ennobled the heart of man—cannot draw meback. Alas! my beloved, I have no money with which to go to you, togive and receive a last kiss from which I might derive somestrength for my forlorn enterprise.

"Poor Charles! I did well to read the letter. Ihave gold; I will give it to him," thoughtEugenie.

She wiped her eyes, and went on reading.

I have never thought of the miseries of pov-erty. If I have the hundred louis required for the mere costs ofthe journey, I have

not a sou for an outfit. But no, I have not thehundred louis, not even one louis. I don't know that anything willbe left after I have paid my debts in Paris. If I have nothing,I shall go quietly to Nantes and ship as a common sailor; and Iwill begin in the new world like other men who have started youngwithout a sou and brought back the wealth of the Indies. Duringthis long day I have faced my future coolly. It seems more horriblefor me than for another, because I have been so petted by amother who adored me, so indulged by the kindest of fathers, soblessed by meeting, on my entrance into life, with the love of anAnna! The flowers of life are all I have ever known. Such happinesscould not last.

Nevertheless, my dear Annette, I feel morecourage than a careless young man is supposed to feel,—above all ayoung man used to the caressing ways of the dearest woman in allParis, cradled in family joys, on whom all things smiled in hishome, whose wishes were a law to his father—oh, my father! An-nette, he is dead!

Well, I have thought over my position, andyours as well. I have grown old in twenty-four hours. Dear Anna, ifin order to keep me with you in Paris you were to sacrifice yourluxury, your dress, your opera-box, we should even then not haveenough for the expenses of my extravagant ways of living.Besides, I would never

accept such sacrifices. No, we must part nowand forever—

"He gives her up! Blessed Virgin! What happi-ness!"

Eugenie quivered with joy. Charles made amovement, and a chill of terror ran throughher. Fortunately, he did not wake, and she re-sumed her reading.

When shall I return? I do not know. The cli-mate of the West Indies ages a European, so they say; especially aEuropean who works hard. Let us think what may happen ten yearshence. In ten years your daughter will be eighteen; she will beyour companion, your spy. To you society will be cruel, and yourdaughter perhaps more cruel still. We have seen cases of the harshsocial judgment and

ingratitude of daughters; let us take warningby them. Keep in the depths of your soul, as I shall in mine, thememory of four years of happiness, and be faithful, if you can, to thememory of your poor friend. I cannot exact such faithfulness,because, do you see, dear Annette, I must conform to the exi-gencies of my new life; I must take a commonplace view of themand do the best I can. Therefore I must think of marriage, whichbecomes one of the necessities of my future existence; and I willadmit to you that I have found, here in Saumur, in my uncle'shouse, a cousin whose face, manners, mind, and heart would pleaseyou, and who, besides, seems to me—

"He must have been very weary to have ceasedwriting to her," thought Eugenie, as she gazedat the letter which stopped abruptly in themiddle of the last sentence.

Already she defended him. How was it possi-ble that an innocent girl should perceive thecold-heartedness evinced by this letter? Toyoung girls religiously brought up, whoseminds are ignorant and pure, all is love fromthe moment they set their feet within the en-chanted regions of that passion. They walkthere bathed in a celestial light shed from theirown souls, which reflects its rays upon theirlover; they color all with the flame of their ownemotion and attribute to him their highestthoughts. A woman's errors come almost al-ways from her belief in good or her confidencein truth. In Eugenie's simple heart the words,"My dear Annette, my loved one," echoed likethe sweetest language of love; they caressed hersoul as, in childhood, the divine notes of the

Venite adoremus, repeated by the organ, ca-ressed her ear. Moreover, the tears which stilllingered on the young man's lashes gave signsof that nobility of heart by which young girlsare rightly won. How could she know thatCharles, though he loved his father andmourned him truly, was moved far more bypaternal goodness than by the goodness of hisown heart? Monsieur and Madame GuillaumeGrandet, by gratifying every fancy of their son,and lavishing upon him the pleasures of a largefortune, had kept him from making the horriblecalculations of which so many sons in Parisbecome more or less guilty when, face to facewith the enjoyments of the world, they formdesires and conceive schemes which they seewith bitterness must be put off or laid asideduring the lifetime of their parents. The liberal-ity of the father in this instance had shed intothe heart of the son a real love, in which therewas no afterthought of self-interest.

Nevertheless, Charles was a true child of Paris,taught by the customs of society and by An-nette herself to calculate everything; already anold man under the mask of youth. He had gonethrough the frightful education of social life, ofthat world where in one evening more crimesare committed in thought and speech than jus-tice ever punishes at the assizes; where jestsand clever sayings assassinate the noblestideas; where no one is counted strong unlesshis mind sees clear: and to see clear in thatworld is to believe in nothing, neither in feel-ings, nor in men, nor even in events,—forevents are falsified. There, to "see clear" wemust weigh a friend's purse daily, learn how tokeep ourselves adroitly on the top of the wave,cautiously admire nothing, neither works of artnor glorious actions, and remember that self-interest is the mainspring of all things here be-low. After committing many follies, the greatlady—the beautiful Annette—compelledCharles to think seriously; with her perfumed

hand among his curls, she talked to him of hisfuture position; as she rearranged his locks, shetaught him lessons of worldly prudence; shemade him effeminate and materialized him,—adouble corruption, but a delicate and elegantcorruption, in the best taste.

"You are very foolish, Charles," she would sayto him. "I shall have a great deal of trouble inteaching you to understand the world. Youbehaved extremely ill to Monsieur des Lu-peaulx. I know very well he is not an honorableman; but wait till he is no longer in power, thenyou may despise him as much as you like. Doyou know what Madame Campan used to tellus?—'My dears, as long as a man is a minister,adore him; when he falls, help to drag him inthe gutter. Powerful, he is a sort of god; fallen,he is lower than Marat in the sewer, because heis living, and Marat is dead. Life is a series ofcombinations, and you must study them and

understand them if you want to keep your-selves always in good position.'"

Charles was too much a man of the world, hisparents had made him too happy, he had re-ceived too much adulation in society, to be pos-sessed of noble sentiments. The grain of golddropped by his mother into his heart wasbeaten thin in the smithy of Parisian society; hehad spread it superficially, and it was wornaway by the friction of life. Charles was onlytwenty-one years old. At that age the freshnessof youth seems inseparable from candor andsincerity of soul. The voice, the glance, the faceitself, seem in harmony with the feelings; andthus it happens that the sternest judge, the mostsceptical lawyer, the least complying of usu-rers, always hesitate to admit decrepitude ofheart or the corruption of worldly calculationwhile the eyes are still bathed in purity and nowrinkles seam the brow. Charles, so far, hadhad no occasion to apply the maxims of Pari-

sian morality; up to this time he was still en-dowed with the beauty of inexperience. Andyet, unknown to himself, he had been inocu-lated with selfishness. The germs of Parisianpolitical economy, latent in his heart, wouldassuredly burst forth, sooner or later, wheneverthe careless spectator became an actor in thedrama of real life.

Nearly all young girls succumb to the tenderpromises such an outward appearance seems tooffer: even if Eugenie had been as prudent andobserving as provincial girls are often found tobe, she was not likely to distrust her cousinwhen his manners, words, and actions werestill in unison with the aspirations of a youthfulheart. A mere chance—a fatal chance—threw inher way the last effusions of real feeling whichstirred the young man's soul; she heard as itwere the last breathings of his conscience. Shelaid down the letter—to her so full of love—and began smilingly to watch her sleeping

cousin; the fresh illusions of life were still, forher at least, upon his face; she vowed to herselfto love him always. Then she cast her eyes onthe other letter, without attaching much impor-tance to this second indiscretion; and thoughshe read it, it was only to obtain new proofs ofthe noble qualities which, like all women, sheattributed to the man her heart had chosen.

My dear Alphonse,—When you receive thisletter I shall be without friends; but let me assure you that while Idoubt the friendship of the world, I have never doubted yours. Ibeg you therefore to settle all my affairs, and I trust to you to get asmuch as you can out of my possessions. By this time youknow my situation. I have nothing left, and I intend to go at once tothe Indies. I have just written to all the people to whom Ithink I owe money,

and you will find enclosed a list of theirnames, as correct as I can make it from memory. My books, my fur-niture, my pictures, my horses, etc., ought, I think, to pay my debts. Ido not wish to keep anything, except, perhaps, a few baubleswhich might serve as the beginning of an outfit for my enterprise.My dear Alphonse, I will send you a proper power of attorney un-der which you can make these sales. Send me all my weapons. KeepBriton for yourself; nobody would pay the value of that noblebeast, and I would rather give him to you—like a mourning-ring be-queathed by a dying man to his executor. Farry, Breilmann, & Co. built mea very comfortable travelling-carriage, which they have not yetdelivered; persuade

them to keep it and not ask for any paymenton it. If they refuse, do what you can in the matter, and avoid eve-rything that might seem dishonorable in me under my presentcircumstances. I owe the British Islander six louis, which I lost at cards;don't fail to pay him—

"Dear cousin!" whispered Eugenie, throwingdown the letter and running softly back to herroom, carrying one of the lighted candles. Athrill of pleasure passed over her as she openedthe drawer of an old oak cabinet, a fine speci-men of the period called the Renaissance, onwhich could still be seen, partly effaced, thefamous royal salamander. She took from thedrawer a large purse of red velvet with goldtassels, edged with a tarnished fringe of goldwire,—a relic inherited from her grandmother.She weighed it proudly in her hand, and beganwith delight to count over the forgotten items

of her little hoard. First she took out twentyportugaises, still new, struck in the reign of JohnV., 1725, worth by exchange, as her father toldher, five lisbonnines, or a hundred and sixty-eight francs, sixty-four centimes each; theirconventional value, however, was a hundredand eighty francs apiece, on account of the rar-ity and beauty of the coins, which shone likelittle suns. Item, five genovines, or five hundred-franc pieces of Genoa; another very rare coinworth eighty-seven francs on exchange, but ahundred francs to collectors. These had for-merly belonged to old Monsieur de la Bertel-liere. Item, three gold quadruples, Spanish, ofPhilip V., struck in 1729, given to her one byone by Madame Gentillet, who never failed tosay, using the same words, when she made thegift, "This dear little canary, this little yellow-boy, is worth ninety-eight francs! Keep it, mypretty one, it will be the flower of your treas-ure." Item (that which her father valued most ofall, the gold of these coins being twenty-three

carats and a fraction), a hundred Dutch ducats,made in the year 1756, and worth thirteenfrancs apiece. Item, a great curiosity, a speciesof medal precious to the soul of misers,—threerupees with the sign of the Scales, and five ru-pees with the sign of the Virgin, all in pure goldof twenty-four carats; the magnificent money ofthe Great Mogul, each of which was worth bymere weight thirty-seven francs, forty centimes,but at least fifty francs to those connoisseurswho love to handle gold. Item, the napoleon offorty francs received the day before, which shehad forgotten to put away in the velvet purse.This treasure was all in virgin coins, true worksof art, which Grandet from time to time in-quired after and asked to see, pointing out tohis daughter their intrinsic merits,—such as thebeauty of the milled edge, the clearness of theflat surface, the richness of the lettering, whoseangles were not yet rubbed off.

Eugenie gave no thought to these rarities, norto her father's mania for them, nor to the dan-ger she incurred in depriving herself of a treas-ure so dear to him; no, she thought only of hercousin, and soon made out, after a few mis-takes of calculation, that she possessed aboutfive thousand eight hundred francs in actualvalue, which might be sold for their additionalvalue to collectors for nearly six thousand. Shelooked at her wealth and clapped her handslike a happy child forced to spend its overflow-ing joy in artless movements of the body. Fa-ther and daughter had each counted up theirfortune this night,—he, to sell his gold; Eugenieto fling hers into the ocean of affection. She putthe pieces back into the old purse, took it in herhand, and ran upstairs without hesitation. Thesecret misery of her cousin made her forget thehour and conventional propriety; she wasstrong in her conscience, in her devotion, in herhappiness.

As she stood upon the threshold of the door,holding the candle in one hand and the pursein the other, Charles woke, caught sight of her,and remained speechless with surprise.Eugenie came forward, put the candle on thetable, and said in a quivering voice:

"My cousin, I must beg pardon for a wrong Ihave done you; but God will pardon me—ifyou—will help me to wipe it out."

"What is it?" asked Charles, rubbing his eyes.

"I have read those letters."

Charles colored.

"How did it happen?" she continued; "howcame I here? Truly, I do not know. I amtempted not to regret too much that I have readthem; they have made me know your heart,your soul, and—"

"And what?" asked Charles.

"Your plans, your need of a sum—"

"My dear cousin—"

"Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we mustnot wake others. See," she said, opening herpurse, "here are the savings of a poor girl whowants nothing. Charles, accept them! Thismorning I was ignorant of the value of money;you have taught it to me. It is but a means, afterall. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surelyborrow the purse of your sister."

Eugenie, as much a woman as a young girl,never dreamed of refusal; but her cousin re-mained silent.

"Oh! you will not refuse?" cried Eugenie, thebeatings of whose heart could be heard in thedeep silence.

Her cousin's hesitation mortified her; but thesore need of his position came clearer still toher mind, and she knelt down.

"I will never rise till you have taken that gold!"she said. "My cousin, I implore you, answerme! let me know if you respect me, if you aregenerous, if—"

As he heard this cry of noble distress the youngman's tears fell upon his cousin's hands, whichhe had caught in his own to keep her fromkneeling. As the warm tears touched her,Eugenie sprang to the purse and poured itscontents upon the table.

"Ah! yes, yes, you consent?" she said, weepingwith joy. "Fear nothing, my cousin, you will berich. This gold will bring you happiness; someday you shall bring it back to me,—are we notpartners? I will obey all conditions. But youshould not attach such value to the gift."

Charles was at last able to express his feelings.

"Yes, Eugenie; my soul would be small indeedif I did not accept. And yet,—gift for gift, confi-dence for confidence."

"What do you mean?" she said, frightened.

"Listen, dear cousin; I have here—" He inter-rupted himself to point out a square box cov-ered with an outer case of leather which was onthe drawers. "There," he continued, "is some-thing as precious to me as life itself. This boxwas a present from my mother. All day I havebeen thinking that if she could rise from hergrave, she would herself sell the gold which herlove for me lavished on this dressing-case; butwere I to do so, the act would seem to me asacrilege." Eugenie pressed his hand as sheheard these last words. "No," he added, after aslight pause, during which a liquid glance oftenderness passed between them, "no, I willneither sell it nor risk its safety on my journey.

Dear Eugenie, you shall be its guardian. Neverdid friend commit anything more sacred toanother. Let me show it to you."

He went to the box, took it from its outer cover-ings, opened it, and showed his delightedcousin a dressing-case where the rich work-manship gave to the gold ornaments a value farabove their weight.

"What you admire there is nothing," he said,pushing a secret spring which opened a hiddendrawer. "Here is something which to me isworth the whole world." He drew out two por-traits, masterpieces of Madame Mirbel, richlyset with pearls.

"Oh, how beautiful! Is it the lady to whom youwrote that—"

"No," he said, smiling; "this is my mother, andhere is my father, your aunt and uncle.Eugenie, I beg you on my knees, keep my

treasure safely. If I die and your little fortune islost, this gold and these pearls will repay you.To you alone could I leave these portraits; youare worthy to keep them. But destroy them atlast, so that they may pass into no other hands."Eugenie was silent. "Ah, yes, say yes! You con-sent?" he added with winning grace.

Hearing the very words she had just used toher cousin now addressed to herself, she turnedupon him a look of love, her first look of lovingwomanhood,—a glance in which there is nearlyas much of coquetry as of inmost depth. Hetook her hand and kissed it.

"Angel of purity! between us two money isnothing, never can be anything. Feeling, senti-ment, must be all henceforth."

"You are like your mother,—was her voice assoft as yours?"

"Oh! much softer—"

"Yes, for you," she said, dropping her eyelids."Come, Charles, go to bed; I wish it; you mustbe tired. Good-night." She gently disengagedher hand from those of her cousin, who fol-lowed her to her room, lighting the way. Whenthey were both upon the threshold,—

"Ah!" he said, "why am I ruined?"

"What matter?—my father is rich; I think so,"she answered.

"Poor child!" said Charles, making a step intoher room and leaning his back against the wall,"if that were so, he would never have let myfather die; he would not let you live in this poorway; he would live otherwise himself."

"But he owns Froidfond."

"What is Froidfond worth?"

"I don't know; but he has Noyers."

"Nothing but a poor farm!"

"He has vineyards and fields."

"Mere nothing," said Charles disdainfully. "Ifyour father had only twenty-four thousandfrancs a year do you suppose you would live inthis cold, barren room?" he added, making astep in advance. "Ah! there you will keep mytreasures," he said, glancing at the old cabinet,as if to hide his thoughts.

"Go and sleep," she said, hindering his entranceinto the disordered room.

Charles stepped back, and they bid each othergood-night with a mutual smile.

Both fell asleep in the same dream; and fromthat moment the youth began to wear roseswith his mourning. The next day, before break-fast, Madame Grandet found her daughter inthe garden in company with Charles. The

young man was still sad, as became a poor fel-low who, plunged in misfortune, measures thedepths of the abyss into which he has fallen,and sees the terrible burden of his whole futurelife.

"My father will not be home till dinner-time,"said Eugenie, perceiving the anxious look onher mother's face.

It was easy to trace in the face and manners ofthe young girl and in the singular sweetness ofher voice a unison of thought between her andher cousin. Their souls had espoused eachother, perhaps before they even felt the force ofthe feelings which bound them together.Charles spent the morning in the hall, and hissadness was respected. Each of the threewomen had occupations of her own. Grandethad left all his affairs unattended to, and anumber of persons came on business,—theplumber, the mason, the slater, the carpenter,the diggers, the dressers, the farmers; some to

drive a bargain about repairs, others to paytheir rent or to be paid themselves for services.Madame Grandet and Eugenie were obliged togo and come and listen to the interminable talkof all these workmen and country folk. Nanonput away in her kitchen the produce whichthey brought as tribute. She always waited forher master's orders before she knew what por-tion was to be used in the house and what wasto be sold in the market. It was the goodman'scustom, like that of a great many country gen-tlemen, to drink his bad wine and eat hisspoiled fruit.

Towards five in the afternoon Grandet returnedfrom Angers, having made fourteen thousandfrancs by the exchange on his gold, bringinghome in his wallet good treasury-notes whichbore interest until the day he should investthem in the Funds. He had left Cornoiller atAngers to look after the horses, which were

well-nigh foundered, with orders to bring themhome slowly after they were rested.

"I have got back from Angers, wife," he said; "Iam hungry."

Nanon called out to him from the kitchen:"Haven't you eaten anything since yesterday?"

"Nothing," answered the old man.

Nanon brought in the soup. Des Grassins cameto take his client's orders just as the family satdown to dinner. Grandet had not even ob-served his nephew.

"Go on eating, Grandet," said the banker; "wecan talk. Do you know what gold is worth inAngers? They have come from Nantes after it? Ishall send some of ours."

"Don't send any," said Grandet; "they have gotenough. We are such old friends, I ought tosave you from such a loss of time."

"But gold is worth thirteen francs fifty cen-times."

"Say was worth—"

"Where the devil have they got any?"

"I went to Angers last night," answeredGrandet in a low voice.

The banker shook with surprise. Then a whis-pered conversation began between the two,during which Grandet and des Grassins fre-quently looked at Charles. Presently desGrassins gave a start of astonishment; probablyGrandet was then instructing him to invest thesum which was to give him a hundred thou-sand francs a year in the Funds.

"Monsieur Grandet," said the banker toCharles, "I am starting for Paris; if you haveany commissions—"

"None, monsieur, I thank you," answeredCharles.

"Thank him better than that, nephew. Monsieuris going to settle the affairs of the house of Guil-laume Grandet."

"Is there any hope?" said Charles eagerly.

"What!" exclaimed his uncle, with well-actedpride, "are you not my nephew? Your honor isours. Is not your name Grandet?"

Charles rose, seized Pere Grandet, kissed him,turned pale, and left the room. Eugenie lookedat her father with admiration.

"Well, good-by, des Grassins; it is all in yourhands. Decoy those people as best you can; lead'em by the nose."

The two diplomatists shook hands. The oldcooper accompanied the banker to the front

door. Then, after closing it, he came back andplunged into his armchair, saying to Nanon,—

"Get me some black-currant ratafia."

Too excited, however, to remain long in oneplace, he got up, looked at the portrait of Mon-sieur de la Bertelliere, and began to sing, doingwhat Nanon called his dancing steps,—

"Dans les gardes francaises J'avais un bon papa."

Nanon, Madame Grandet, and Eugenie lookedat each other in silence. The hilarity of the mas-ter always frightened them when it reached itsclimax. The evening was soon over. PereGrandet chose to go to bed early, and when hewent to bed, everybody else was expected to gotoo; like as when Augustus drank, Poland wasdrunk. On this occasion Nanon, Charles, andEugenie were not less tired than the master. Asfor Madame Grandet, she slept, ate, drank, andwalked according to the will of her husband.

However, during the two hours consecrated todigestion, the cooper, more facetious than hehad ever been in his life, uttered a number ofhis own particular apothegms,—a single one ofwhich will give the measure of his mind. Whenhe had drunk his ratafia, he looked at his glassand said,—

"You have no sooner put your lips to a glassthan it is empty! Such is life. You can't have andhold. Gold won't circulate and stay in yourpurse. If it were not for that, life would be toofine."

He was jovial and benevolent. When Nanoncame with her spinning-wheel, "You must betired," he said; "put away your hemp."

"Ah, bah! then I shall get sleepy," she answered.

"Poor Nanon! Will you have some ratafia?"

"I won't refuse a good offer; madame makes it adeal better than the apothecaries. What theysell is all drugs."

"They put too much sugar," said the master;"you can't taste anything else."

IX

The following day the family, meeting at eighto'clock for the early breakfast, made a pictureof genuine domestic intimacy. Grief had drawnMadame Grandet, Eugenie, and Charles en rap-port; even Nanon sympathized, without know-ing why. The four now made one family. As tothe old man, his satisfied avarice and the cer-tainty of soon getting rid of the dandy withouthaving to pay more than his journey to Nantes,

made him nearly indifferent to his presence inthe house. He left the two children, as he calledCharles and Eugenie, free to conduct them-selves as they pleased, under the eye of Ma-dame Grandet, in whom he had implicit confi-dence as to all that concerned public and reli-gious morality. He busied himself in straighten-ing the boundaries of his fields and ditchesalong the high-road, in his poplar-plantationsbeside the Loire, in the winter work of hisvineyards, and at Froidfond. All these thingsoccupied his whole time.

For Eugenie the springtime of love had come.Since the scene at night when she gave her littletreasure to her cousin, her heart had followedthe treasure. Confederates in the same secret,they looked at each other with a mutual intelli-gence which sank to the depth of their con-sciousness, giving a closer communion, a moreintimate relation to their feelings, and puttingthem, so to speak, beyond the pale of ordinary

life. Did not their near relationship warrant thegentleness in their tones, the tenderness in theirglances? Eugenie took delight in lulling hercousin's pain with the pretty childish joys of anew-born love. Are there no sweet similitudesbetween the birth of love and the birth of life?Do we not rock the babe with gentle songs andsoftest glances? Do we not tell it marvelloustales of the golden future? Hope herself, doesshe not spread her radiant wings above itshead? Does it not shed, with infant fickleness,its tears of sorrow and its tears of joy? Does itnot fret for trifles, cry for the pretty pebbleswith which to build its shifting palaces, for theflowers forgotten as soon as plucked? Is it noteager to grasp the coming time, to spring for-ward into life? Love is our second transforma-tion. Childhood and love were one and thesame thing to Eugenie and to Charles; it was afirst passion, with all its child-like play,—themore caressing to their hearts because they nowwere wrapped in sadness. Struggling at birth

against the gloom of mourning, their love wasonly the more in harmony with the provincialplainness of that gray and ruined house. Asthey exchanged a few words beside the well inthe silent court, or lingered in the garden forthe sunset hour, sitting on a mossy seat sayingto each other the infinite nothings of love, ormused in the silent calm which reigned be-tween the house and the ramparts like that be-neath the arches of a church, Charles compre-hended the sanctity of love; for his great lady,his dear Annette, had taught him only itsstormy troubles. At this moment he left theworldly passion, coquettish, vain, and showyas it was, and turned to the true, pure love. Heloved even the house, whose customs no longerseemed to him ridiculous. He got up early inthe mornings that he might talk with Eugeniefor a moment before her father came to dole outthe provisions; when the steps of the old mansounded on the staircase he escaped into thegarden. The small criminality of this morning

tete-a-tete which Nanon pretended not to see,gave to their innocent love the lively charm of aforbidden joy.

After breakfast, when Grandet had gone to hisfields and his other occupations, Charles re-mained with the mother and daughter, findingan unknown pleasure in holding their skeins, inwatching them at work, in listening to theirquiet prattle. The simplicity of this half-monastic life, which revealed to him the beautyof these souls, unknown and unknowing of theworld, touched him keenly. He had believedsuch morals impossible in France, and admittedtheir existence nowhere but in Germany; evenso, they seemed to him fabulous, only real inthe novels of Auguste Lafontaine. SoonEugenie became to him the Margaret ofGoethe—before her fall. Day by day his words,his looks enraptured the poor girl, who yieldedherself up with delicious non-resistance to thecurrent of love; she caught her happiness as a

swimmer seizes the overhanging branch of awillow to draw himself from the river and lie atrest upon its shore. Did no dread of a comingabsence sadden the happy hours of those fleet-ing days? Daily some little circumstance re-minded them of the parting that was at hand.

Three days after the departure of des Grassins,Grandet took his nephew to the Civil courts,with the solemnity which country people attachto all legal acts, that he might sign a deed sur-rendering his rights in his father's estate. Terri-ble renunciation! species of domestic apostasy!Charles also went before Maitre Cruchot tomake two powers of attorney,—one for desGrassins, the other for the friend whom he hadcharged with the sale of his belongings. Afterthat he attended to all the formalities necessaryto obtain a passport for foreign countries; andfinally, when he received his simple mourningclothes from Paris, he sent for the tailor of

Saumur and sold to him his useless wardrobe.This last act pleased Grandet exceedingly.

"Ah! now you look like a man prepared to em-bark and make your fortune," he said, whenCharles appeared in a surtout of plain blackcloth. "Good! very good!"

"I hope you will believe, monsieur," answeredhis nephew, "that I shall always try to conformto my situation."

"What's that?" said his uncle, his eyes lightingup at a handful of gold which Charles was car-rying.

"Monsieur, I have collected all my buttons andrings and other superfluities which may havesome value; but not knowing any one in Sau-mur, I wanted to ask you to—"

"To buy them?" said Grandet, interrupting him.

"No, uncle; only to tell me of an honest manwho—"

"Give me those things, I will go upstairs andestimate their value; I will come back and tellyou what it is to a fraction. Jeweller's gold,"examining a long chain, "eighteen or nineteencarats."

The goodman held out his huge hand and re-ceived the mass of gold, which he carried away.

"Cousin," said Grandet, "may I offer you thesetwo buttons? They can fasten ribbons roundyour wrists; that sort of bracelet is much thefashion just now."

"I accept without hesitation," she answered,giving him an understanding look.

"Aunt, here is my mother's thimble; I have al-ways kept it carefully in my dressing-case,"said Charles, presenting a pretty gold thimble

to Madame Grandet, who for many years hadlonged for one.

"I cannot thank you; no words are possible, mynephew," said the poor mother, whose eyesfilled with tears. "Night and morning in myprayers I shall add one for you, the most ear-nest of all—for those who travel. If I die,Eugenie will keep this treasure for you."

"They are worth nine hundred and eighty-ninefrancs, seventy-five centimes," said Grandet,opening the door. "To save you the pain of sell-ing them, I will advance the money—in livres."

The word livres on the littoral of the Loire signi-fies that crown prices of six livres are to be ac-cepted as six francs without deduction.

"I dared not propose it to you," answeredCharles; "but it was most repugnant to me tosell my jewels to some second-hand dealer inyour own town. People should wash their dirty

linen at home, as Napoleon said. I thank youfor your kindness."

Grandet scratched his ear, and there was amoment's silence.

"My dear uncle," resumed Charles, looking athim with an uneasy air, as if he feared towound his feelings, "my aunt and cousin havebeen kind enough to accept a trifling remem-brance of me. Will you allow me to give youthese sleeve-buttons, which are useless to menow? They will remind you of a poor fellowwho, far away, will always think of those whoare henceforth all his family."

"My lad, my lad, you mustn't rob yourself thisway! Let me see, wife, what have you got?" headded, turning eagerly to her. "Ah! a goldthimble. And you, little girl? What! diamondbuttons? Yes, I'll accept your present, nephew,"he answered, shaking Charles by the hand."But—you must let me—pay—your—yes, your

passage to the Indies. Yes, I wish to pay yourpassage because—d'ye see, my boy?—in valu-ing your jewels I estimated only the weight ofthe gold; very likely the workmanship is worthsomething. So let us settle it that I am to giveyou fifteen hundred francs—in livres; Cruchotwill lend them to me. I haven't got a copperfarthing here,—unless Perrotet, who is behind-hand with his rent, should pay up. By the bye,I'll go and see him."

He took his hat, put on his gloves, and wentout.

"Then you are really going?" said Eugenie toher cousin, with a sad look, mingled with ad-miration.

"I must," he said, bowing his head.

For some days past, Charles's whole bearing,manners, and speech had become those of aman who, in spite of his profound affliction,

feels the weight of immense obligations andhas the strength to gather courage from misfor-tune. He no longer repined, he became a man.Eugenie never augured better of her cousin'scharacter than when she saw him come downin the plain black clothes which suited wellwith his pale face and sombre countenance. Onthat day the two women put on their ownmourning, and all three assisted at a Requiemcelebrated in the parish church for the soul ofthe late Guillaume Grandet.

At the second breakfast Charles received lettersfrom Paris and began to read them.

"Well, cousin, are you satisfied with the man-agement of your affairs?" said Eugenie in a lowvoice.

"Never ask such questions, my daughter," saidGrandet. "What the devil! do I tell you my af-fairs? Why do you poke your nose into yourcousin's? Let the lad alone!"

"Oh! I haven't any secrets," said Charles.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta, nephew; you'll soon find out thatyou must hold your tongue in business."

When the two lovers were alone in the garden,Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down onthe old bench beneath the walnut-tree,—

"I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done fa-mously. He has managed my affairs with pru-dence and good faith. I now owe nothing inParis. All my things have been sold; and he tellsme that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on acommercial outfit of European curiositieswhich will be sure to be in demand in the In-dies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where aship is loading for San Domingo. In five days,Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfitand ten thousand francs, which two of myfriends send me, are a very small beginning. I

cannot look to return for many years. My dearcousin, do not weight your life in the scaleswith mine; I may perish; some good marriagemay be offered to you—"

"Do you love me?" she said.

"Oh, yes! indeed, yes!" he answered, with adepth of tone that revealed an equal depth offeeling.

"I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there ismy father at his window," she said, repulsingher cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

She ran quickly under the archway. Charlesfollowed her. When she saw him, she retreatedto the foot of the staircase and opened theswing-door; then, scarcely knowing where shewas going, Eugenie reached the corner nearNanon's den, in the darkest end of the passage.There Charles caught her hand and drew her tohis heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he

made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie nolonger resisted; she received and gave the pur-est, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most un-reserved of kisses.

"Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother,for he can marry you," said Charles.

"So be it!" cried Nanon, opening the door of herlair.

The two lovers, alarmed, fled into the hall,where Eugenie took up her work and Charlesbegan to read the litanies of the Virgin in Ma-dame Grandet's prayer-book.

"Mercy!" cried Nanon, "now they're sayingtheir prayers."

As soon as Charles announced his immediatedeparture, Grandet bestirred himself to testifymuch interest in his nephew. He became veryliberal of all that cost him nothing; took pains

to find a packer; declared the man asked toomuch for his cases; insisted on making themhimself out of old planks; got up early in themorning to fit and plane and nail together thestrips, out of which he made, to his own satis-faction, some strong cases, in which he packedall Charles's effects; he also took upon himselfto send them by boat down the Loire, to insurethem, and get them to Nantes in proper time.

After the kiss taken in the passage, the hoursfled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Some-times she thought of following her cousin.Those who have known that most endearing ofall passions,—the one whose duration is eachday shortened by time, by age, by mortal ill-ness, by human chances and fatalities,—theywill understand the poor girl's tortures. Shewept as she walked in the garden, now so nar-row to her, as indeed the court, the house, thetown all seemed. She launched in thought uponthe wide expanse of the ocean he was about to

traverse. At last the eve of his departure came.That morning, in the absence of Grandet and ofNanon, the precious case which contained thetwo portraits was solemnly installed in the onlydrawer of the old cabinet which could belocked, where the now empty velvet purse waslying. This deposit was not made without agoodly number of tears and kisses. WhenEugenie placed the key within her bosom shehad no courage to forbid the kiss with whichCharles sealed the act.

"It shall never leave that place, my friend," shesaid.

"Then my heart will be always there."

"Ah! Charles, it is not right," she said, as thoughshe blamed him.

"Are we not married?" he said. "I have thypromise,—then take mine."

"Thine; I am thine forever!" they each said, re-peating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was everpurer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie hadsanctified for a moment the young man's love.

On the morrow the breakfast was sad. Nanonherself, in spite of the gold-embroidered robeand the Jeannette cross bestowed by Charles,had tears in her eyes.

"The poor dear monsieur who is going on theseas—oh, may God guide him!"

At half-past ten the whole family started toescort Charles to the diligence for Nantes.Nanon let loose the dog, locked the door, andinsisted on carrying the young man's carpet-bag. All the tradesmen in the tortuous oldstreet were on the sill of their shop-doors towatch the procession, which was joined in themarket-place by Maitre Cruchot.

"Eugenie, be sure you don't cry," said hermother.

"Nephew," said Grandet, in the doorway of theinn from which the coach started, kissingCharles on both cheeks, "depart poor, returnrich; you will find the honor of your father safe.I answer for that myself, I—Grandet; for it willonly depend on you to—"

"Ah! my uncle, you soften the bitterness of mydeparture. Is it not the best gift that you couldmake me?"

Not understanding his uncle's words which hehad thus interrupted, Charles shed tears ofgratitude upon the tanned cheeks of the oldmiser, while Eugenie pressed the hand of hercousin and that of her father with all herstrength. The notary smiled, admiring the slyspeech of the old man, which he alone had un-derstood. The family stood about the coachuntil it started; then as it disappeared upon the

bridge, and its rumble grew fainter in the dis-tance, Grandet said:

"Good-by to you!"

Happily no one but Maitre Cruchot heard theexclamation. Eugenie and her mother had goneto a corner of the quay from which they couldstill see the diligence and wave their whitehandkerchiefs, to which Charles made answerby displaying his.

"Ah! mother, would that I had the power ofGod for a single moment," said Eugenie, whenshe could no longer see her lover's handker-chief.

Not to interrupt the current of events which areabout to take place in the bosom of the Grandetfamily, it is necessary to cast a forestalling eyeupon the various operations which the good-man carried on in Paris by means of Monsieur

des Grassins. A month after the latter's depar-ture from Saumur, Grandet, became possessedof a certificate of a hundred thousand francs ayear from his investment in the Funds, boughtat eighty francs net. The particulars revealed athis death by the inventory of his propertythrew no light upon the means which his sus-picious nature took to remit the price of theinvestment and receive the certificate thereof.Maitre Cruchot was of opinion that Nanon,unknown to herself, was the trusty instrumentby which the money was transported; for aboutthis time she was absent five days, under a pre-text of putting things to rights at Froidfond,—as if the goodman were capable of leaving any-thing lying about or out of order!

In all that concerned the business of the houseof Guillaume Grandet the old cooper's inten-tions were fulfilled to the letter. The Bank ofFrance, as everybody knows, affords exact in-formation about all the large fortunes in Paris

and the provinces. The names of des Grassinsand Felix Grandet of Saumur were well knownthere, and they enjoyed the esteem bestowedon financial celebrities whose wealth comesfrom immense and unencumbered territorialpossessions. The arrival of the Saumur bankerfor the purpose, it was said, of honorably liqui-dating the affairs of Grandet of Paris, wasenough to avert the shame of protested notesfrom the memory of the defunct merchant. Theseals on the property were taken off in presenceof the creditors, and the notary employed byGrandet went to work at once on the inventoryof the assets. Soon after this, des Grassins calleda meeting of the creditors, who unanimouslyelected him, conjointly with Francois Keller, thehead of a rich banking-house and one of thoseprincipally interested in the affair, as liquida-tors, with full power to protect both the honorof the family and the interests of the claimants.The credit of Grandet of Saumur, the hopes hediffused by means of des Grassins in the minds

of all concerned, facilitated the transactions.Not a single creditor proved recalcitrant; noone thought of passing his claim to his profit-and-loss account; each and all said confidently,"Grandet of Saumur will pay."

Six months went by. The Parisians had re-deemed the notes in circulation as they fell due,and held them under lock and key in theirdesks. First result aimed at by the old cooper!Nine months after this preliminary meeting, thetwo liquidators distributed forty-seven per centto each creditor on his claim. This amount wasobtained by the sale of the securities, property,and possessions of all kinds belonging to thelate Guillaume Grandet, and was paid overwith scrupulous fidelity. Unimpeachable integ-rity was shown in the transaction. The creditorsgratefully acknowledged the remarkable andincontestable honor displayed by the Grandets.When these praises had circulated for a certainlength of time, the creditors asked for the rest

of their money. It became necessary to write acollective letter to Grandet of Saumur.

"Here it comes!" said the old man as he threwthe letter into the fire. "Patience, my goodfriends!"

In answer to the proposals contained in theletter, Grandet of Saumur demanded that allvouchers for claims against the estate of hisbrother should be deposited with a notary, to-gether with acquittances for the forty-seven percent already paid; he made this demand underpretence of sifting the accounts and finding outthe exact condition of the estate. It roused atonce a variety of difficulties. Generally speak-ing, the creditor is a species of maniac, ready toagree to anything one day, on the next breath-ing fire and slaughter; later on, he grows ami-cable and easy-going. To-day his wife is good-humored, his last baby has cut its first tooth, allis well at home, and he is determined not tolose a sou; on the morrow it rains, he can't go

out, he is gloomy, he says yes to any proposalthat is made to him, so long as it will put anend to the affair; on the third day he declares hemust have guarantees; by the end of the monthhe wants his debtor's head, and becomes atheart an executioner. The creditor is a gooddeal like the sparrow on whose tail confidingchildren are invited to put salt,—with this dif-ference, that he applies the image to his claim,the proceeds of which he is never able to layhold of. Grandet had studied the atmosphericvariations of creditors, and the creditors of hisbrother justified all his calculations. Some wereangry, and flatly refused to give in their vouch-ers.

"Very good; so much the better," said Grandet,rubbing his hands over the letter in which desGrassins announced the fact.

Others agreed to the demand, but only on con-dition that their rights should be fully guaran-teed; they renounced none, and even reserved

the power of ultimately compelling a failure.On this began a long correspondence, whichended in Grandet of Saumur agreeing to allconditions. By means of this concession theplacable creditors were able to bring the dissat-isfied creditors to reason. The deposit was thenmade, but not without sundry complaints.

"Your goodman," they said to des Grassins, "istricking us."

Twenty-three months after the death of Guil-laume Grandet many of the creditors, carriedaway by more pressing business in the marketsof Paris, had forgotten their Grandet claims, oronly thought of them to say:

"I begin to believe that forty-seven per cent isall I shall ever get out of that affair."

The old cooper had calculated on the power oftime, which, as he used to say, is a pretty gooddevil after all. By the end of the third year des

Grassins wrote to Grandet that he had broughtthe creditors to agree to give up their claims forten per cent on the two million four hundredthousand francs still due by the house ofGrandet. Grandet answered that the notary andthe broker whose shameful failures had causedthe death of his brother were still living, thatthey might now have recovered their credit,and that they ought to be sued, so as to getsomething out of them towards lessening thetotal of the deficit.

By the end of the fourth year the liabilities weredefinitely estimated at a sum of twelve hun-dred thousand francs. Many negotiations, last-ing over six months, took place between thecreditors and the liquidators, and between theliquidators and Grandet. To make a long storyshort, Grandet of Saumur, anxious by this timeto get out of the affair, told the liquidators,about the ninth month of the fourth year, thathis nephew had made a fortune in the Indies

and was disposed to pay his father's debts infull; he therefore could not take upon himself tomake any settlement without previously con-sulting him; he had written to him, and wasexpecting an answer. The creditors were held incheck until the middle of the fifth year by thewords, "payment in full," which the wily oldmiser threw out from time to time as helaughed in his beard, saying with a smile andan oath, "Those Parisians!"

But the creditors were reserved for a fate unex-ampled in the annals of commerce. When theevents of this history bring them once moreinto notice, they will be found still in the posi-tion Grandet had resolved to force them intofrom the first.

As soon as the Funds reached a hundred andfifteen, Pere Grandet sold out his interests andwithdrew two million four hundred thousandfrancs in gold, to which he added, in his coffers,the six hundred thousand francs compound

interest which he had derived from the capital.Des Grassins now lived in Paris. In the firstplace he had been made a deputy; then he be-came infatuated (father of a family as he was,though horribly bored by the provincial life ofSaumur) with a pretty actress at the Theatre deMadame, known as Florine, and he presentlyrelapsed into the old habits of his army life. It isuseless to speak of his conduct; Saumur consid-ered it profoundly immoral. His wife was for-tunate in the fact of her property being settledupon herself, and in having sufficient ability tokeep up the banking-house in Saumur, whichwas managed in her name and repaired thebreach in her fortune caused by the extrava-gance of her husband. The Cruchotines madeso much talk about the false position of thequasi-widow that she married her daughtervery badly, and was forced to give up all hopeof an alliance between Eugenie Grandet andher son. Adolphe joined his father in Paris and

became, it was said, a worthless fellow. TheCruchots triumphed.

"Your husband hasn't common sense," saidGrandet as he lent Madame des Grassins somemoney on a note securely endorsed. "I am verysorry for you, for you are a good little woman."

"Ah, monsieur," said the poor lady, "who couldhave believed that when he left Saumur to go toParis on your business he was going to hisruin?"

"Heaven is my witness, madame, that up to thelast moment I did all I could to prevent himfrom going. Monsieur le president was mostanxious to take his place; but he was deter-mined to go, and now we all see why."

In this way Grandet made it quite plain that hewas under no obligation to des Grassins.

In all situations women have more cause forsuffering than men, and they suffer more. Manhas strength and the power of exercising it; heacts, moves, thinks, occupies himself; he looksahead, and sees consolation in the future. It wasthus with Charles. But the woman stays athome; she is always face to face with the grieffrom which nothing distracts her; she goesdown to the depths of the abyss which yawnsbefore her, measures it, and often fills it withher tears and prayers. Thus did Eugenie. Sheinitiated herself into her destiny. To feel, tolove, to suffer, to devote herself,—is not this thesum of woman's life? Eugenie was to be in allthings a woman, except in the one thing thatconsoles for all. Her happiness, picked up likenails scattered on a wall—to use the fine simileof Bossuet—would never so much as fill eventhe hollow of her hand. Sorrows are never longin coming; for her they came soon. The dayafter Charles's departure the house of MonsieurGrandet resumed its ordinary aspect in the eyes

of all, except in those of Eugenie, to whom itgrew suddenly empty. She wished, if it couldbe done unknown to her father, that Charles'sroom might be kept as he had left it. MadameGrandet and Nanon were willing accomplicesin this statu quo.

"Who knows but he may come back soonerthan we think for?" she said.

"Ah, don't I wish I could see him back!" an-swered Nanon. "I took to him! He was such adear, sweet young man,—pretty too, with hiscurly hair." Eugenie looked at Nanon. "HolyVirgin! don't look at me that way, mademoi-selle; your eyes are like those of a lost soul."

From that day the beauty of MademoiselleGrandet took a new character. The solemnthoughts of love which slowly filled her soul,and the dignity of the woman beloved, gave toher features an illumination such as paintersrender by a halo. Before the coming of her

cousin, Eugenie might be compared to the Vir-gin before the conception; after he had gone,she was like the Virgin Mother,—she had givenbirth to love. These two Marys so different, sowell represented by Spanish art, embody one ofthose shining symbols with which Christianityabounds.

Returning from Mass on the morning afterCharles's departure,—having made a vow tohear it daily,—Eugenie bought a map of theworld, which she nailed up beside her looking-glass, that she might follow her cousin on hiswestward way, that she might put herself, wereit ever so little, day by day into the ship thatbore him, and see him and ask him a thousandquestions,—"Art thou well? Dost thou suffer?Dost thou think of me when the star, whosebeauty and usefulness thou hast taught me toknow, shines upon thee?" In the mornings shesat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on theworm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens,

where they had said to each other so many pre-cious things, so many trifles, where they hadbuilt the pretty castles of their future home. Shethought of the future now as she looked up-ward to the bit of sky which was all the highwalls suffered her to see; then she turned hereyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and tothe roof above the room in which he had slept.Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love,which glides into every thought and becomesthe substance, or, as our fathers might havesaid, the tissue of life. When the would-befriends of Pere Grandet came in the evening fortheir game at cards, she was gay and dissimu-lating; but all the morning she talked of Charleswith her mother and Nanon. Nanon hadbrought herself to see that she could pity thesufferings of her young mistress without failingin her duty to the old master, and she wouldsay to Eugenie,—

"If I had a man for myself I'd—I'd follow him tohell, yes, I'd exterminate myself for him; butI've none. I shall die and never know what lifeis. Would you believe, mamz'elle, that old Cor-noiller (a good fellow all the same) is alwaysround my petticoats for the sake of mymoney,—just for all the world like the rats whocome smelling after the master's cheese andpaying court to you? I see it all; I've got ashrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple.Well, mamz'elle, it pleases me, but it isn't love."

X

Two months went by. This domestic life, onceso monotonous, was now quickened with theintense interest of a secret that bound thesewomen intimately together. For them Charles

lived and moved beneath the grim gray raftersof the hall. Night and morning Eugenie openedthe dressing-case and gazed at the portrait ofher aunt. One Sunday morning her mothersurprised her as she stood absorbed in findingher cousin's features in his mother's face. Ma-dame Grandet was then for the first time ad-mitted into the terrible secret of the exchangemade by Charles against her daughter's treas-ure.

"You gave him all!" cried the poor mother, terri-fied. "What will you say to your father on NewYear's Day when he asks to see your gold?"

Eugenie's eyes grew fixed, and the two womenlived through mortal terror for more than halfthe morning. They were so troubled in mindthat they missed high Mass, and only went tothe military service. In three days the year 1819would come to an end. In three days a terribledrama would begin, a bourgeois tragedy, with-out poison, or dagger, or the spilling of blood;

but—as regards the actors in it—more cruelthan all the fabled horrors in the family of theAtrides.

"What will become of us?" said MadameGrandet to her daughter, letting her knittingfall upon her knees.

The poor mother had gone through such anxi-ety for the past two months that the woollensleeves which she needed for the coming win-ter were not yet finished. This domestic fact,insignificant as it seems, bore sad results. Forwant of those sleeves, a chill seized her in themidst of a sweat caused by a terrible explosionof anger on the part of her husband.

"I have been thinking, my poor child, that ifyou had confided your secret to me we shouldhave had time to write to Monsieur desGrassins in Paris. He might have sent us goldpieces like yours; though Grandet knows themall, perhaps—"

"Where could we have got the money?"

"I would have pledged my own property. Be-sides, Monsieur des Grassins would have—"

"It is too late," said Eugenie in a broken, hollowvoice. "To-morrow morning we must go andwish him a happy New Year in his chamber."

"But, my daughter, why should I not consultthe Cruchots?"

"No, no; it would be delivering me up to them,and putting ourselves in their power. Besides, Ihave chosen my course. I have done right, Irepent of nothing. God will protect me. His willbe done! Ah! mother, if you had read his letter,you, too, would have thought only of him."

The next morning, January 1, 1820, the horriblefear to which mother and daughter were a preysuggested to their minds a natural excuse bywhich to escape the solemn entrance into

Grandet's chamber. The winter of 1819-1820was one of the coldest of that epoch. The snowencumbered the roofs.

Madame Grandet called to her husband as soonas she heard him stirring in his chamber, andsaid,—

"Grandet, will you let Nanon light a fire herefor me? The cold is so sharp that I am freezingunder the bedclothes. At my age I need somecomforts. Besides," she added, after a slightpause, "Eugenie shall come and dress here; thepoor child might get an illness from dressing inher cold room in such weather. Then we will goand wish you a happy New Year beside the firein the hall."

"Ta, ta, ta, ta, what a tongue! a pretty way tobegin the new year, Madame Grandet! Younever talked so much before; but you haven'tbeen sopping your bread in wine, I know that."

There was a moment's silence.

"Well," resumed the goodman, who no doubthad some reason of his own for agreeing to hiswife's request, "I'll do what you ask, MadameGrandet. You are a good woman, and I don'twant any harm to happen to you at your timeof life,—though as a general thing the Bertel-lieres are as sound as a roach. Hein! isn't thatso?" he added after a pause. "Well, I forgivethem; we got their property in the end." And hecoughed.

"You are very gay this morning, monsieur,"said the poor woman gravely.

"I'm always gay,—

"'Gai, gai, gai, le tonnelier, Raccommodez votre cuvier!'"

he answered, entering his wife's room fullydressed. "Yes, on my word, it is cold enough tofreeze you solid. We shall have a fine breakfast,

wife. Des Grassins has sent me a pate-de-foie-gras truffled! I am going now to get it at thecoach-office. There'll be a double napoleon forEugenie in the package," he whispered in Ma-dame Grandet's ear. "I have no gold left, wife. Ihad a few stray pieces—I don't mind tellingyou that—but I had to let them go in business."

Then, by way of celebrating the new year, hekissed her on the forehead.

"Eugenie," cried the mother, when Grandet wasfairly gone, "I don't know which side of the bedyour father got out of, but he is good-temperedthis morning. Perhaps we shall come out safeafter all?"

"What's happened to the master?" said Nanon,entering her mistress's room to light the fire."First place, he said, 'Good-morning; happyNew Year, you big fool! Go and light my wife'sfire, she's cold'; and then, didn't I feel sillywhen he held out his hand and gave me a six-

franc piece, which isn't worn one bit? Just lookat it, madame! Oh, the kind man! He is a goodman, that's a fact. There are some people whothe older they get the harder they grow; buthe,—why he's getting soft and improving withtime, like your ratafia! He is a good, goodman—"

The secret of Grandet's joy lay in the completesuccess of his speculation. Monsieur desGrassins, after deducting the amount which theold cooper owed him for the discount on ahundred and fifty thousand francs in Dutchnotes, and for the surplus which he had ad-vanced to make up the sum required for theinvestment in the Funds which was to producea hundred thousand francs a year, had nowsent him, by the diligence, thirty thousandfrancs in silver coin, the remainder of his firsthalf-year's interest, informing him at the sametime that the Funds had already gone up invalue. They were then quoted at eighty-nine;

the shrewdest capitalists bought in, towards thelast of January, at ninety-three. Grandet hadthus gained in two months twelve per cent onhis capital; he had simplified his accounts, andwould in future receive fifty thousand francsinterest every six months, without incurringany taxes or costs for repairs. He understood atlast what it was to invest money in the publicsecurities,—a system for which provincialshave always shown a marked repugnance,—and at the end of five years he found himselfmaster of a capital of six millions, which in-creased without much effort of his own, andwhich, joined to the value and proceeds of histerritorial possessions, gave him a fortune thatwas absolutely colossal. The six francs be-stowed on Nanon were perhaps the reward ofsome great service which the poor servant hadrendered to her master unawares.

"Oh! oh! where's Pere Grandet going? He hasbeen scurrying about since sunrise as if to a

fire," said the tradespeople to each other as theyopened their shops for the day.

When they saw him coming back from thewharf, followed by a porter from the coach-office wheeling a barrow which was laden withsacks, they all had their comments to make:—

"Water flows to the river; the old fellow wasrunning after his gold," said one.

"He gets it from Paris and Froidfond and Hol-land," said another.

"He'll end by buying up Saumur," cried a third.

"He doesn't mind the cold, he's so wrapped upin his gains," said a wife to her husband.

"Hey! hey! Monsieur Grandet, if that's tooheavy for you," said a cloth-dealer, his nearestneighbor, "I'll take it off your hands."

"Heavy?" said the cooper, "I should think so; it'sall sous!"

"Silver sous," said the porter in a low voice.

"If you want me to take care of you, keep yourtongue between your teeth," said the goodmanto the porter as they reached the door.

"The old fox! I thought he was deaf; seems hecan hear fast enough in frosty weather."

"Here's twenty sous for your New Year, andmum!" said Grandet. "Be off with you! Nanonshall take back your barrow. Nanon, are thelinnets at church?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then lend a hand! go to work!" he cried, pilingthe sacks upon her. In a few moments all werecarried up to his inner room, where he shuthimself in with them. "When breakfast is ready,

knock on the wall," he said as he disappeared."Take the barrow back to the coach-office."

The family did not breakfast that day until teno'clock.

"Your father will not ask to see your golddownstairs," said Madame Grandet as they gotback from Mass. "You must pretend to be verychilly. We may have time to replace the treas-ure before your fete-day."

Grandet came down the staircase thinking ofhis splendid speculation in government securi-ties, and wondering how he could metamor-phose his Parisian silver into solid gold; he wasmaking up his mind to invest in this way eve-rything he could lay hands on until the Fundsshould reach a par value. Fatal reverie forEugenie! As soon as he came in, the twowomen wished him a happy New Year,—hisdaughter by putting her arms round his neck

and caressing him; Madame Grandet gravelyand with dignity.

"Ha! ha! my child," he said, kissing his daugh-ter on both cheeks. "I work for you, don't yousee? I think of your happiness. Must havemoney to be happy. Without money there's nota particle of happiness. Here! there's a new na-poleon for you. I sent to Paris for it. On myword of honor, it's all the gold I have; you arethe only one that has got any gold. I want to seeyour gold, little one."

"Oh! it is too cold; let us have breakfast," an-swered Eugenie.

"Well, after breakfast, then; it will help the di-gestion. That fat des Grassins sent me the pate.Eat as much as you like, my children, it costsnothing. Des Grassins is getting along verywell. I am satisfied with him. The old fish isdoing Charles a good service, and gratis too.He is making a very good settlement of that

poor deceased Grandet's business. Hoo! hoo!"he muttered, with his mouth full, after a pause,"how good it is! Eat some, wife; that will feedyou for at least two days."

"I am not hungry. I am very poorly; you knowthat."

"Ah, bah! you can stuff yourself as full as youplease without danger, you're a Bertelliere; theyare all hearty. You are a bit yellow, that's true;but I like yellow, myself."

The expectation of ignominious and publicdeath is perhaps less horrible to a condemnedcriminal than the anticipation of what was com-ing after breakfast to Madame Grandet andEugenie. The more gleefully the old man talkedand ate, the more their hearts shrank withinthem. The daughter, however, had an inwardprop at this crisis,—she gathered strengththrough love.

"For him! for him!" she cried within her, "Iwould die a thousand deaths."

At this thought, she shot a glance at her motherwhich flamed with courage.

"Clear away," said Grandet to Nanon when,about eleven o'clock, breakfast was over, "butleave the table. We can spread your little treas-ure upon it," he said, looking at Eugenie. "Lit-tle? Faith! no; it isn't little. You possess, in ac-tual value, five thousand nine hundred andfifty-nine francs and the forty I gave you justnow. That makes six thousand francs, less one.Well, now see here, little one! I'll give you thatone franc to make up the round number. Hey!what are you listening for, Nanon? Mind yourown business; go and do your work."

Nanon disappeared.

"Now listen, Eugenie; you must give me backyour gold. You won't refuse your father, mylittle girl, hein?"

The two women were dumb.

"I have no gold myself. I had some, but it is allgone. I'll give you in return six thousand francsin livres, and you are to put them just where Itell you. You mustn't think anything moreabout your 'dozen.' When I marry you (whichwill be soon) I shall get you a husband who cangive you the finest 'dozen' ever seen in theprovinces. Now attend to me, little girl. There'sa fine chance for you; you can put your sixthousand francs into government funds, andyou will receive every six months nearly twohundred francs interest, without taxes, or re-pairs, or frost, or hail, or floods, or anythingelse to swallow up the money. Perhaps youdon't like to part with your gold, hey, my girl?Never mind, bring it to me all the same. I'll getyou some more like it,—like those Dutch coins

and the portugaises, the rupees of Mogul, andthe genovines,—I'll give you some more on yourfete-days, and in three years you'll have gotback half your little treasure. What's that yousay? Look up, now. Come, go and get it, theprecious metal. You ought to kiss me on theeyelids for telling you the secrets and the mys-teries of the life and death of money. Yes, silverand gold live and swarm like men; they come,and go, and sweat, and multiply—"

Eugenie rose; but after making a few steps to-wards the door she turned abruptly, looked herfather in the face, and said,—

"I have not got my gold."

"You have not got your gold!" cried Grandet,starting up erect, like a horse that hears a can-non fired beside him.

"No, I have not got it."

"You are mistaken, Eugenie."

"No."

"By the shears of my father!"

Whenever the old man swore that oath the raf-ters trembled.

"Holy Virgin! Madame is turning pale," criedNanon.

"Grandet, your anger will kill me," said thepoor mother.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! nonsense; you never die in yourfamily! Eugenie, what have you done with yourgold?" he cried, rushing upon her.

"Monsieur," said the daughter, falling at Ma-dame Grandet's knees, "my mother is ill. Lookat her; do not kill her."

Grandet was frightened by the pallor whichoverspread his wife's face, usually so yellow.

"Nanon, help me to bed," said the poor womanin a feeble voice; "I am dying—"

Nanon gave her mistress an arm, Eugenie gaveher another; but it was only with infinite diffi-culty that they could get her upstairs, she fellwith exhaustion at every step. Grandet re-mained alone. However, in a few moments hewent up six or eight stairs and called out,—

"Eugenie, when your mother is in bed, comedown."

"Yes, father."

She soon came, after reassuring her mother.

"My daughter," said Grandet, "you will now tellme what you have done with your gold."

"My father, if you make me presents of which Iam not the sole mistress, take them back," sheanswered coldly, picking up the napoleon fromthe chimney-piece and offering it to him.

Grandet seized the coin and slipped it into hisbreeches' pocket.

"I shall certainly never give you anything again.Not so much as that!" he said, clicking histhumb-nail against a front tooth. "Do you dareto despise your father? have you no confidencein him? Don't you know what a father is? If heis nothing for you, he is nothing at all. Where isyour gold?"

"Father, I love and respect you, in spite of youranger; but I humbly ask you to remember that Iam twenty-three years old. You have told meoften that I have attained my majority, and I donot forget it. I have used my money as I choseto use it, and you may be sure that it was put toa good use—"

"What use?"

"That is an inviolable secret," she answered."Have you no secrets?"

"I am the head of the family; I have my ownaffairs."

"And this is mine."

"It must be something bad if you can't tell it toyour father, Mademoiselle Grandet."

"It is good, and I cannot tell it to my father."

"At least you can tell me when you parted withyour gold?"

Eugenie made a negative motion with herhead.

"You had it on your birthday, hein?"

She grew as crafty through love as her fatherwas through avarice, and reiterated the nega-tive sign.

"Was there ever such obstinacy! It's a theft,"cried Grandet, his voice going up in a cres-cendo which gradually echoed through thehouse. "What! here, in my own home, undermy very eyes, somebody has taken yourgold!—the only gold we have!—and I'm not toknow who has got it! Gold is a precious thing.Virtuous girls go wrong sometimes, and give—I don't know what; they do it among the greatpeople, and even among the bourgeoisie. Butgive their gold!—for you have given it to someone, hein?—"

Eugenie was silent and impassive.

"Was there ever such a daughter? Is it possiblethat I am your father? If you have invested itanywhere, you must have a receipt—"

"Was I free—yes or no—to do what I wouldwith my own? Was it not mine?"

"You are a child."

"Of age."

Dumbfounded by his daughter's logic, Grandetturned pale and stamped and swore. When atlast he found words, he cried: "Serpent! Cursedgirl! Ah, deceitful creature! You know I loveyou, and you take advantage of it. She'd cut herfather's throat! Good God! you've given ourfortune to that ne'er-do-well,—that dandy withmorocco boots! By the shears of my father! Ican't disinherit you, but I curse you,—you andyour cousin and your children! Nothing goodwill come of it! Do you hear? If it was toCharles—but, no; it's impossible. What! hasthat wretched fellow robbed me?—"

He looked at his daughter, who continued coldand silent.

"She won't stir; she won't flinch! She's moreGrandet than I'm Grandet! Ha! you have notgiven your gold for nothing? Come, speak thetruth!"

Eugenie looked at her father with a sarcasticexpression that stung him.

"Eugenie, you are here, in my house,—in yourfather's house. If you wish to stay here, youmust submit yourself to me. The priests tell youto obey me." Eugenie bowed her head. "Youaffront me in all I hold most dear. I will not seeyou again until you submit. Go to your cham-ber. You will stay there till I give you permis-sion to leave it. Nanon will bring you breadand water. You hear me—go!"

Eugenie burst into tears and fled up to hermother. Grandet, after marching two or threetimes round the garden in the snow withoutheeding the cold, suddenly suspected that hisdaughter had gone to her mother; only too

happy to find her disobedient to his orders, heclimbed the stairs with the agility of a cat andappeared in Madame Grandet's room just asshe was stroking Eugenie's hair, while the girl'sface was hidden in her motherly bosom.

"Be comforted, my poor child," she was saying;"your father will get over it."

"She has no father!" said the old man. "Can it beyou and I, Madame Grandet, who have givenbirth to such a disobedient child? A fine educa-tion,—religious, too! Well! why are you not inyour chamber? Come, to prison, to prison,mademoiselle!"

"Would you deprive me of my daughter, mon-sieur?" said Madame Grandet, turning towardshim a face that was now red with fever.

"If you want to keep her, carry her off! Clearout—out of my house, both of you! Thunder!where is the gold? what's become of the gold?"

Eugenie rose, looked proudly at her father, andwithdrew to her room. Grandet turned the keyof the door.

"Nanon," he cried, "put out the fire in the hall."

Then he sat down in an armchair beside hiswife's fire and said to her,—

"Undoubtedly she has given the gold to thatmiserable seducer, Charles, who only wantedour money."

"I knew nothing about it," she answered, turn-ing to the other side of the bed, that she mightescape the savage glances of her husband. "Isuffer so much from your violence that I shallnever leave this room, if I trust my own presen-timents, till I am carried out of it in my coffin.You ought to have spared me this suffering,monsieur,—you, to whom I have caused nopain; that is, I think so. Your daughter lovesyou. I believe her to be as innocent as the babe

unborn. Do not make her wretched. Revokeyour sentence. The cold is very severe; you maygive her some serious illness."

"I will not see her, neither will I speak to her.She shall stay in her room, on bread and water,until she submits to her father. What the devil!shouldn't a father know where the gold in hishouse has gone to? She owned the only rupeesin France, perhaps, and the Dutch ducats andthe genovines—"

"Monsieur, Eugenie is our only child; and evenif she had thrown them into the water—"

"Into the water!" cried her husband; "into thewater! You are crazy, Madame Grandet! What Ihave said is said; you know that well enough. Ifyou want peace in this household, make yourdaughter confess, pump it out of her. Womenunderstand how to do that better than we do.Whatever she has done, I sha'n't eat her. Is sheafraid of me? Even if she has plastered Charles

with gold from head to foot, he is on the highseas, and nobody can get at him, hein!"

"But, monsieur—" Excited by the nervous crisisthrough which she had passed, and by the fateof her daughter, which brought forth all hertenderness and all her powers of mind, Ma-dame Grandet suddenly observed a frightfulmovement of her husband's wen, and, in thevery act of replying, she changed her speechwithout changing the tones of her voice,—"But,monsieur, I have not more influence over herthan you have. She has said nothing to me; shetakes after you."

"Tut, tut! Your tongue is hung in the middlethis morning. Ta, ta, ta, ta! You are setting meat defiance, I do believe. I daresay you are inleague with her."

He looked fixedly at his wife.

"Monsieur Grandet, if you wish to kill me, youhave only to go on like this. I tell you, mon-sieur,—and if it were to cost me my life, Iwould say it,—you do wrong by your daugh-ter; she is more in the right than you are. Thatmoney belonged to her; she is incapable ofmaking any but a good use of it, and God alonehas the right to know our good deeds. Mon-sieur, I implore you, take Eugenie back intofavor; forgive her. If you will do this you willlessen the injury your anger has done me; per-haps you will save my life. My daughter! oh,monsieur, give me back my daughter!"

"I shall decamp," he said; "the house is not hab-itable. A mother and daughter talking and ar-guing like that! Broooouh! Pouah! A fine NewYear's present you've made me, Eugenie," hecalled out. "Yes, yes, cry away! What you'vedone will bring you remorse, do you hear?What's the good of taking the sacrament sixtimes every three months, if you give away

your father's gold secretly to an idle fellowwho'll eat your heart out when you've nothingelse to give him? You'll find out some day whatyour Charles is worth, with his morocco bootsand supercilious airs. He has got neither heartnor soul if he dared to carry off a young girl'streasure without the consent of her parents."

When the street-door was shut, Eugenie cameout of her room and went to her mother.

"What courage you have had for your daugh-ter's sake!" she said.

"Ah! my child, see where forbidden things maylead us. You forced me to tell a lie."

"I will ask God to punish only me."

"Is it true," cried Nanon, rushing in alarmed,"that mademoiselle is to be kept on bread andwater for the rest of her life?"

"What does that signify, Nanon?" said Eugenietranquilly.

"Goodness! do you suppose I'll eat frippe whenthe daughter of the house is eating dry bread?No, no!"

"Don't say a word about all this, Nanon," saidEugenie.

"I'll be as mute as a fish; but you'll see!"

Grandet dined alone for the first time intwenty-four years.

"So you're a widower, monsieur," said Nanon;"it must be disagreeable to be a widower withtwo women in the house."

"I did not speak to you. Hold your jaw, or I'llturn you off! What is that I hear boiling in yoursaucepan on the stove?"

"It is grease I'm trying out."

"There will be some company to-night. Lightthe fire."

The Cruchots, Madame des Grassins, and herson arrived at the usual hour of eight, and weresurprised to see neither Madame Grandet norher daughter.

"My wife is not very well, and Eugenie is withher," said the old wine-grower, whose face be-trayed no emotion.

At the end of an hour spent in idle conversa-tion, Madame des Grassins, who had gone upto see Madame Grandet, came down, and everyone inquired,—

"How is Madame Grandet?"

"Not at all well," she answered; "her conditionseems to me really alarming. At her age youought to take every precaution, Papa Grandet."

"We'll see about it," said the old man in an ab-sent way.

They all wished him good-night. When theCruchots got into the street Madame desGrassins said to them,—

"There is something going on at the Grandets.The mother is very ill without her knowing it.The girl's eyes are red, as if she had been cryingall day. Can they be trying to marry her againsther will?"

When Grandet had gone to bed Nanon camesoftly to Eugenie's room in her stockinged feetand showed her a pate baked in a saucepan.

"See, mademoiselle," said the good soul, "Cor-noiller gave me a hare. You eat so little that thispate will last you full a week; in such frostyweather it won't spoil. You sha'n't live on drybread, I'm determined; it isn't wholesome."

"Poor Nanon!" said Eugenie, pressing her hand.

"I've made it downright good and dainty, andhe never found it out. I bought the lard and thespices out of my six francs: I'm the mistress ofmy own money"; and she disappeared rapidly,fancying she heard Grandet.

XI

For several months the old wine-grower cameconstantly to his wife's room at all hours of theday, without ever uttering his daughter's name,or seeing her, or making the smallest allusion toher. Madame Grandet did not leave her cham-ber, and daily grew worse. Nothing softenedthe old man; he remained unmoved, harsh, andcold as a granite rock. He continued to go and

come about his business as usual; but ceased tostutter, talked less, and was more obdurate inbusiness transactions than ever before. Often hemade mistakes in adding up his figures.

"Something is going on at the Grandets," saidthe Grassinists and the Cruchotines.

"What has happened in the Grandet family?"became a fixed question which everybodyasked everybody else at the little evening-parties of Saumur. Eugenie went to Mass es-corted by Nanon. If Madame des Grassins saida few words to her on coming out of church,she answered in an evasive manner, withoutsatisfying any curiosity. However, at the end oftwo months, it became impossible to hide, ei-ther from the three Cruchots or from Madamedes Grassins, the fact that Eugenie was in con-finement. There came a moment when all pre-texts failed to explain her perpetual absence.Then, though it was impossible to discover bywhom the secret had been betrayed, all the

town became aware that ever since New Year'sday Mademoiselle Grandet had been kept inher room without fire, on bread and water, byher father's orders, and that Nanon cooked lit-tle dainties and took them to her secretly atnight. It was even known that the youngwoman was not able to see or take care of hermother, except at certain times when her fatherwas out of the house.

Grandet's conduct was severely condemned.The whole town outlawed him, so to speak;they remembered his treachery, his hard-heartedness, and they excommunicated him.When he passed along the streets, peoplepointed him out and muttered at him. Whenhis daughter came down the winding street,accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass orVespers, the inhabitants ran to the windowsand examined with intense curiosity the bear-ing of the rich heiress and her countenance,which bore the impress of angelic gentleness

and melancholy. Her imprisonment and thecondemnation of her father were as nothing toher. Had she not a map of the world, the littlebench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Didshe not taste upon her lips the honey that love'skisses left there? She was ignorant for a timethat the town talked about her, just as Grandethimself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure inheart before God, her conscience and her lovehelped her to suffer patiently the wrath andvengeance of her father.

One deep grief silenced all others. Her mother,that gentle, tender creature, made beautiful bythe light which shone from the inner to theouter as she approached the tomb,—her motherwas perishing from day to day. Eugenie oftenreproached herself as the innocent cause of theslow, cruel malady that was wasting her away.This remorse, though her mother soothed it,bound her still closer to her love. Every morn-ing, as soon as her father left the house, she

went to the bedside of her mother, and thereNanon brought her breakfast. The poor girl,sad, and suffering through the sufferings of hermother, would turn her face to the old servantwith a mute gesture, weeping, and yet not dar-ing to speak of her cousin. It was MadameGrandet who first found courage to say,—

"Where is he? Why does he not write?"

"Let us think about him, mother, but not speakof him. You are ill—you, before all."

"All" meant "him."

"My child," said Madame Grandet, "I do notwish to live. God protects me and enables meto look with joy to the end of my misery."

Every utterance of this woman was unfalter-ingly pious and Christian. Sometimes, duringthe first months of the year, when her husbandcame to breakfast with her and tramped up and

down the room, she would say to him a fewreligious words, always spoken with angelicsweetness, yet with the firmness of a woman towhom approaching death lends a courage shehad lacked in life.

"Monsieur, I thank you for the interest you takein my health," she would answer when hemade some commonplace inquiry; "but if youreally desire to render my last moments lessbitter and to ease my grief, take back yourdaughter: be a Christian, a husband, and a fa-ther."

When he heard these words, Grandet would sitdown by the bed with the air of a man who seesthe rain coming and quietly gets under theshelter of a gateway till it is over. When thesetouching, tender, and religious supplicationshad all been made, he would say,—

"You are rather pale to-day, my poor wife."

Absolute forgetfulness of his daughter seemedgraven on his stony brow, on his closed lips. Hewas unmoved by the tears which flowed downthe white cheeks of his unhappy wife as shelistened to his meaningless answers.

"May God pardon you," she said, "even as Ipardon you! You will some day stand in needof mercy."

Since Madame Grandet's illness he had notdared to make use of his terrible "Ta, ta, ta, ta!"Yet, for all that, his despotic nature was notdisarmed by this angel of gentleness, whoseugliness day by day decreased, driven out bythe ineffable expression of moral qualitieswhich shone upon her face. She was all soul.The spirit of prayer seemed to purify her andrefine those homely features and make themluminous. Who has not seen the phenomenonof a like transfiguration on sacred faces wherethe habits of the soul have triumphed over theplainest features, giving them that spiritual

illumination whose light comes from the purityand nobility of the inward thought? The spec-tacle of this transformation wrought by thestruggle which consumed the last shreds of thehuman life of this woman, did somewhat affectthe old cooper, though feebly, for his naturewas of iron; if his language ceased to be con-temptuous, an imperturbable silence, whichsaved his dignity as master of the household,took its place and ruled his conduct.

When the faithful Nanon appeared in the mar-ket, many quips and quirks and complaintsabout the master whistled in her ears; but how-ever loudly public opinion condemned Mon-sieur Grandet, the old servant defended him,for the honor of the family.

"Well!" she would say to his detractors, "don'twe all get hard as we grow old? Why shouldn'the get horny too? Stop telling lies. Mademoi-selle lives like a queen. She's alone, that's true;

but she likes it. Besides, my masters have goodreasons."

At last, towards the end of spring, MadameGrandet, worn out by grief even more than byillness, having failed, in spite of her prayers, toreconcile the father and daughter, confided hersecret troubles to the Cruchots.

"Keep a girl of twenty-three on bread and wa-ter!" cried Monsieur de Bonfons; "without anyreason, too! Why, that constitutes wrongfulcruelty; she can contest, as much in as upon—"

"Come, nephew, spare us your legal jargon,"said the notary. "Set your mind at ease, ma-dame; I will put a stop to such treatment to-morrow."

Eugenie, hearing herself mentioned, came outof her room.

"Gentlemen," she said, coming forward with aproud step, "I beg you not to interfere in thismatter. My father is master in his own house.As long as I live under his roof I am bound toobey him. His conduct is not subject to the ap-probation or the disapprobation of the world;he is accountable to God only. I appeal to yourfriendship to keep total silence in this affair. Toblame my father is to attack our family honor. Iam much obliged to you for the interest youhave shown in me; you will do me an addition-al service if you will put a stop to the offensiverumors which are current in the town, of whichI am accidentally informed."

"She is right," said Madame Grandet.

"Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such ru-mors is to procure your liberty," answered theold notary respectfully, struck with the beautywhich seclusion, melancholy, and love hadstamped upon her face.

"Well, my daughter, let Monsieur Cruchotmanage the matter if he is so sure of success.He understands your father, and how to man-age him. If you wish to see me happy for myfew remaining days, you must, at any cost, bereconciled to your father."

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a cus-tom he had begun since Eugenie's imprison-ment, took a certain number of turns up anddown the little garden; he had chosen the hourwhen Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair.When the old man reached the walnut-tree hehid behind its trunk and remained for a fewmoments watching his daughter's movements,hesitating, perhaps, between the course towhich the obstinacy of his character impelledhim and his natural desire to embrace his child.Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old benchwhere Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternallove; and then she, too, looked at her fathersecretly in the mirror before which she stood. If

he rose and continued his walk, she sat downobligingly at the window and looked at theangle of the wall where the pale flowers hung,where the Venus-hair grew from the creviceswith the bindweed and the sedum,—a white oryellow stone-crop very abundant in the vi-neyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cru-chot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on thelittle bench, his back against the division wallof the garden, engaged in watching his daugh-ter.

"What may you want, Maitre Cruchot?" he said,perceiving the notary.

"I came to speak to you on business."

"Ah! ah! have you brought some gold in ex-change for my silver?"

"No, no, I have not come about money; it isabout your daughter Eugenie. All the town istalking of her and you."

"What does the town meddle for? A man'shouse is his castle."

"Very true; and a man may kill himself if helikes, or, what is worse, he may fling his moneyinto the gutter."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, your wife is very ill, my friend. Youought to consult Monsieur Bergerin; she is like-ly to die. If she does die without receivingproper care, you will not be very easy in mind,I take it."

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! you know a deal about my wife!These doctors, if they once get their foot in yourhouse, will come five and six times a day."

"Of course you will do as you think best. Weare old friends; there is no one in all Saumurwho takes more interest than I in what con-cerns you. Therefore, I was bound to tell youthis. However, happen what may, you have theright to do as you please; you can choose yourown course. Besides, that is not what brings mehere. There is another thing which may haveserious results for you. After all, you can't wishto kill your wife; her life is too important toyou. Think of your situation in connection withyour daughter if Madame Grandet dies. Youmust render an account to Eugenie, becauseyou enjoy your wife's estate only during herlifetime. At her death your daughter can claima division of property, and she may force youto sell Froidfond. In short, she is her mother'sheir, and you are not."

These words fell like a thunderbolt on the oldman, who was not as wise about law as he was

about business. He had never thought of a legaldivision of the estate.

"Therefore I advise you to treat her kindly,"added Cruchot, in conclusion.

"But do you know what she has done, Cru-chot?"

"What?" asked the notary, curious to hear thetruth and find out the cause of the quarrel.

"She has given away her gold!"

"Well, wasn't it hers?" said the notary.

"They all tell me that!" exclaimed the old man,letting his arms fall to his sides with a move-ment that was truly tragic.

"Are you going—for a mere nothing,"—resumed Cruchot, "to put obstacles in the wayof the concessions which you will be obliged to

ask from your daughter as soon as her motherdies?"

"Do you call six thousand francs a mere noth-ing?"

"Hey! my old friend, do you know what theinventory of your wife's property will cost, ifEugenie demands the division?"

"How much?"

"Two, three, four thousand francs, perhaps! Theproperty would have to be put up at auctionand sold, to get at its actual value. Instead ofthat, if you are on good terms with—"

"By the shears of my father!" cried Grandet,turning pale as he suddenly sat down, "we willsee about it, Cruchot."

After a moment's silence, full of anguish per-haps, the old man looked at the notary andsaid,—

"Life is very hard! It has many griefs! Cruchot,"he continued solemnly, "you would not deceiveme? Swear to me upon your honor that allyou've told me is legally true. Show me the law;I must see the law!"

"My poor friend," said the notary, "don't I knowmy own business?"

"Then it is true! I am robbed, betrayed, killed,destroyed by my own daughter!"

"It is true that your daughter is her mother'sheir."

"Why do we have children? Ah! my wife, I loveher! Luckily she's sound and healthy; she's aBertelliere."

"She has not a month to live."

Grandet struck his forehead, went a few steps,came back, cast a dreadful look on Cruchot,and said,—

"What can be done?"

"Eugenie can relinquish her claim to her moth-er's property. Should she do this you would notdisinherit her, I presume?—but if you want tocome to such a settlement, you must not treather harshly. What I am telling you, old man, isagainst my own interests. What do I live by, if itisn't liquidations, inventories, conveyances,divisions of property?—"

"We'll see, we'll see! Don't let's talk any moreabout it, Cruchot; it wrings my vitals. Have youreceived any gold?"

"No; but I have a few old louis, a dozen or so,which you may have. My good friend, make itup with Eugenie. Don't you know all Saumur ispelting you with stones?"

"The scoundrels!"

"Come, the Funds are at ninety-nine. Do besatisfied for once in your life."

"At ninety-nine! Are they, Cruchot?"

"Yes."

"Hey, hey! Ninety-nine!" repeated the old man,accompanying the notary to the street-door.Then, too agitated by what he had just heard tostay in the house, he went up to his wife's roomand said,—

"Come, mother, you may have your daughterto spend the day with you. I'm going to Froid-fond. Enjoy yourselves, both of you. This is ourwedding-day, wife. See! here are sixty francsfor your altar at the Fete-Dieu; you've wantedone for a long time. Come, cheer up, enjoyyourself, and get well! Hurrah for happiness!"

He threw ten silver pieces of six francs eachupon the bed, and took his wife's head betweenhis hands and kissed her forehead.

"My good wife, you are getting well, are notyou?"

"How can you think of receiving the God ofmercy in your house when you refuse to for-give your daughter?" she said with emotion.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta!" said Grandet in a coaxing voice."We'll see about that."

"Merciful heaven! Eugenie," cried the mother,flushing with joy, "come and kiss your father;he forgives you!"

But the old man had disappeared. He wasgoing as fast as his legs could carry him to-wards his vineyards, trying to get his confusedideas into order. Grandet had entered his se-venty-sixth year. During the last two years his

avarice had increased upon him, as all the per-sistent passions of men increase at a certainage. As if to illustrate an observation whichapplies equally to misers, ambitious men, andothers whose lives are controlled by any domi-nant idea, his affections had fastened upon onespecial symbol of his passion. The sight of gold,the possession of gold, had become a monoma-nia. His despotic spirit had grown in propor-tion to his avarice, and to part with the controlof the smallest fraction of his property at thedeath of his wife seemed to him a thing"against nature." To declare his fortune to hisdaughter, to give an inventory of his property,landed and personal, for the purposes of divi-sion—

"Why," he cried aloud in the midst of a fieldwhere he was pretending to examine a vine, "itwould be cutting my throat!"

He came at last to a decision, and returned toSaumur in time for dinner, resolved to unbend

to Eugenie, and pet and coax her, that he mightdie regally, holding the reins of his millions inhis own hands so long as the breath was in hisbody. At the moment when the old man, whochanced to have his pass-key in his pocket,opened the door and climbed with a stealthystep up the stairway to go into his wife's room,Eugenie had brought the beautiful dressing-case from the oak cabinet and placed it on hermother's bed. Mother and daughter, in Gran-det's absence, allowed themselves the pleasureof looking for a likeness to Charles in the por-trait of his mother.

"It is exactly his forehead and his mouth," Eu-genie was saying as the old man opened thedoor. At the look which her husband cast uponthe gold, Madame Grandet cried out,—

"O God, have pity upon us!"

The old man sprang upon the box as a fa-mished tiger might spring upon a sleepingchild.

"What's this?" he said, snatching the treasureand carrying it to the window. "Gold, goodgold!" he cried. "All gold,—it weighs twopounds! Ha, ha! Charles gave you that for yourmoney, did he? Hein! Why didn't you tell meso? It was a good bargain, little one! Yes, youare my daughter, I see that—" Eugenie trem-bled in every limb. "This came from Charles, ofcourse, didn't it?" continued the old man.

"Yes, father; it is not mine. It is a sacred trust."

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! He took your fortune, and nowyou can get it back."

"Father!"

Grandet took his knife to pry out some of thegold; to do this, he placed the dressing-case on

a chair. Eugenie sprang forward to recover it;but her father, who had his eye on her and onthe treasure too, pushed her back so violentlywith a thrust of his arm that she fell upon hermother's bed.

"Monsieur, monsieur!" cried the mother, liftingherself up.

Grandet had opened his knife, and was aboutto apply it to the gold.

"Father!" cried Eugenie, falling on her kneesand dragging herself close to him with claspedhands, "father, in the name of all the saints andthe Virgin! in the name of Christ who diedupon the cross! in the name of your eternal sal-vation, father! for my life's sake, father!—do nottouch that! It is neither yours nor mine. It is atrust placed in my hands by an unhappy rela-tion: I must give it back to him uninjured!"

"If it is a trust, why were you looking at it? Tolook at it is as bad as touching it."

"Father, don't destroy it, or you will disgraceme! Father, do you hear?"

"Oh, have pity!" said the mother.

"Father!" cried Eugenie in so startling a voicethat Nanon ran upstairs terrified. Eugeniesprang upon a knife that was close at hand.

"Well, what now?" said Grandet coldly, with acallous smile.

"Oh, you are killing me!" said the mother.

"Father, if your knife so much as cuts a frag-ment of that gold, I will stab myself with thisone! You have already driven my mother to herdeath; you will now kill your child! Do as youchoose! Wound for wound!"

Grandet held his knife over the dressing-caseand hesitated as he looked at his daughter.

"Are you capable of doing it, Eugenie?" he said.

"Yes, yes!" said the mother.

"She'll do it if she says so!" cried Nanon. "Bereasonable, monsieur, for once in your life."

The old man looked at the gold and then at hisdaughter alternately for an instant. MadameGrandet fainted.

"There! don't you see, monsieur, that madameis dying?" cried Nanon.

"Come, come, my daughter, we won't quarrelfor a box! Here, take it!" he cried hastily, fling-ing the case upon the bed. "Nanon, go and fetchMonsieur Bergerin! Come, mother," said he,kissing his wife's hand, "it's all over! There!we've made up—haven't we, little one? Nomore dry bread; you shall have all you want—

Ah, she opens her eyes! Well, mother, littlemother, come! See, I'm kissing Eugenie! Sheloves her cousin, and she may marry him if shewants to; she may keep his case. But don't die,mother; live a long time yet, my poor wife!Come, try to move! Listen! you shall have thefinest altar that ever was made in Saumur."

"Oh, how can you treat your wife and daughterso!" said Madame Grandet in a feeble voice.

"I won't do so again, never again," cried herhusband; "you shall see, my poor wife!" Hewent to his inner room and returned with ahandful of louis, which he scattered on the bed."Here, Eugenie! see, wife! all these are for you,"he said, fingering the coins. "Come, be happy,wife! feel better, get well; you sha'n't want foranything, nor Eugenie either. Here's a hundredlouis d'or for her. You won't give these away,will you, Eugenie, hein?"

Madame Grandet and her daughter looked ateach other in astonishment.

"Take back your money, father; we ask fornothing but your affection."

"Well, well, that's right!" he said, pocketing thecoins; "let's be good friends! We will all godown to dinner to-day, and we'll play lotoevery evening for two sous. You shall both behappy. Hey, wife?"

"Alas! I wish I could, if it would give you plea-sure," said the dying woman; "but I cannot risefrom my bed."

"Poor mother," said Grandet, "you don't knowhow I love you! and you too, my daughter!" Hetook her in his arms and kissed her. "Oh, howgood it is to kiss a daughter when we havebeen angry with her! There, mother, don't yousee it's all over now? Go and put that away,Eugenie," he added, pointing to the case. "Go,

don't be afraid! I shall never speak of it again,never!"

Monsieur Bergerin, the celebrated doctor ofSaumur, presently arrived. After an examina-tion, he told Grandet positively that his wifewas very ill; but that perfect peace of mind, agenerous diet, and great care might prolong herlife until the autumn.

"Will all that cost much?" said the old man."Will she need medicines?"

"Not much medicine, but a great deal of care,"answered the doctor, who could scarcely re-strain a smile.

"Now, Monsieur Bergerin," said Grandet, "youare a man of honor, are not you? I trust to you!Come and see my wife how and when youthink necessary. Save my good wife! I loveher,—don't you see?—though I never talkabout it; I keep things to myself. I'm full of

trouble. Troubles began when my brother died;I have to spend enormous sums on his affairs inParis. Why, I'm paying through my nose;there's no end to it. Adieu, monsieur! If you cansave my wife, save her. I'll spare no expense,not even if it costs me a hundred or two hun-dred francs."

In spite of Grandet's fervent wishes for thehealth of his wife, whose death threatenedmore than death to him; in spite of the consid-eration he now showed on all occasions for theleast wish of his astonished wife and daughter;in spite of the tender care which Eugenie la-vished upon her mother,—Madame Grandetrapidly approached her end. Every day shegrew weaker and wasted visibly, as women ofher age when attacked by serious illness arewont to do. She was fragile as the foliage inautumn; the radiance of heaven shone throughher as the sun strikes athwart the witheringleaves and gilds them. It was a death worthy of

her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sub-lime? In the month of October, 1822, her vir-tues, her angelic patience, her love for herdaughter, seemed to find special expression;and then she passed away without a murmur.Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regret-ting only the sweet companion of her cold anddreary life, for whom her last glance seemed toprophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank fromleaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone inthe midst of a selfish world that sought to stripher of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

"My child," she said as she expired, "there is nohappiness except in heaven; you will know itsome day."

XII

On the morrow of this death Eugenie felt a newmotive for attachment to the house in whichshe was born, where she had suffered so much,where her mother had just died. She could notsee the window and the chair on its castorswithout weeping. She thought she had mista-ken the heart of her old father when she foundherself the object of his tenderest cares. Hecame in the morning and gave her his arm totake her to breakfast; he looked at her for hourstogether with an eye that was almost kind; hebrooded over her as though she had been gold.The old man was so unlike himself, he trem-bled so often before his daughter, that Nanonand the Cruchotines, who witnessed his weak-ness, attributed it to his great age, and fearedthat his faculties were giving away. But the dayon which the family put on their mourning,and after dinner, to which meal Maitre Cruchot

(the only person who knew his secret) had beeninvited, the conduct of the old miser was ex-plained.

"My dear child," he said to Eugenie when thetable had been cleared and the doors carefullyshut, "you are now your mother's heiress, andwe have a few little matters to settle betweenus. Isn't that so, Cruchot?"

"Yes."

"Is it necessary to talk of them to-day, father?"

"Yes, yes, little one; I can't bear the uncertaintyin which I'm placed. I think you don't want togive me pain?"

"Oh! father—"

"Well, then! let us settle it all to-night."

"What is it you wish me to do?"

"My little girl, it is not for me to say. Tell her,Cruchot."

"Mademoiselle, your father does not wish todivide the property, nor sell the estate, nor payenormous taxes on the ready money which hemay possess. Therefore, to avoid all this, hemust be released from making the inventory ofhis whole fortune, part of which you inheritfrom your mother, and which is now undi-vided between you and your father—"

"Cruchot, are you quite sure of what you aresaying before you tell it to a mere child?"

"Let me tell it my own way, Grandet."

"Yes, yes, my friend. Neither you nor mydaughter wish to rob me,—do you, little one?"

"But, Monsieur Cruchot, what am I to do?" saidEugenie impatiently.

"Well," said the notary, "it is necessary to signthis deed, by which you renounce your rightsto your mother's estate and leave your fatherthe use and disposition, during his lifetime, ofall the property undivided between you, ofwhich he guarantees you the capital."

"I do not understand a word of what you aresaying," returned Eugenie; "give me the deed,and show me where I am to sign it."

Pere Grandet looked alternately at the deedand at his daughter, at his daughter and at thedeed, undergoing as he did so such violentemotion that he wiped the sweat from hisbrow.

"My little girl," he said, "if, instead of signingthis deed, which will cost a great deal to record,you would simply agree to renounce yourrights as heir to your poor dear, deceasedmother's property, and would trust to me forthe future, I should like it better. In that case I

will pay you monthly the good round sum of ahundred francs. See, now, you could pay for asmany masses as you want for anybody—Hein!a hundred francs a month—in livres?"

"I will do all you wish, father."

"Mademoiselle," said the notary, "it is my dutyto point out to you that you are despoilingyourself without guarantee—"

"Good heavens! what is all that to me?"

"Hold your tongue, Cruchot! It's settled, allsettled," cried Grandet, taking his daughter'shand and striking it with his own. "Eugenie,you won't go back on your word?—you are anhonest girl, hein?"

"Oh! father!—"

He kissed her effusively, and pressed her in hisarms till he almost choked her.

"Go, my good child, you restore your father'slife; but you only return to him that which hegave you: we are quits. This is how businessshould be done. Life is a business. I bless you!you are a virtuous girl, and you love your fa-ther. Do just what you like in future. To-morrow, Cruchot," he added, looking at thehorrified notary, "you will see about preparingthe deed of relinquishment, and then enter it onthe records of the court."

The next morning Eugenie signed the papersby which she herself completed her spoliation.At the end of the first year, however, in spite ofhis bargain, the old man had not given hisdaughter one sou of the hundred francs he hadso solemnly pledged to her. When Eugeniepleasantly reminded him of this, he could nothelp coloring, and went hastily to his secrethiding-place, from whence he brought downabout a third of the jewels he had taken fromhis nephew, and gave them to her.

"There, little one," he said in a sarcastic tone,"do you want those for your twelve hundredfrancs?"

"Oh! father, truly? will you really give them tome?"

"I'll give you as many more next year," he said,throwing them into her apron. "So before longyou'll get all his gewgaws," he added, rubbinghis hands, delighted to be able to speculate onhis daughter's feelings.

Nevertheless, the old man, though still robust,felt the importance of initiating his daughterinto the secrets of his thrift and its manage-ment. For two consecutive years he made herorder the household meals in his presence andreceive the rents, and he taught her slowly andsuccessively the names and remunerative ca-pacity of his vineyards and his farms. Aboutthe third year he had so thoroughly accus-tomed her to his avaricious methods that they

had turned into the settled habits of her ownlife, and he was able to leave the householdkeys in her charge without anxiety, and to in-stall her as mistress of the house.

Five years passed away without a single eventto relieve the monotonous existence of Eugenieand her father. The same actions were per-formed daily with the automatic regularity ofclockwork. The deep sadness of MademoiselleGrandet was known to every one; but if otherssurmised the cause, she herself never uttered aword that justified the suspicions which allSaumur entertained about the state of the richheiress's heart. Her only society was made upof the three Cruchots and a few of their particu-lar friends whom they had, little by little, intro-duced into the Grandet household. They hadtaught her to play whist, and they came everynight for their game. During the year 1827 herfather, feeling the weight of his infirmities, was

obliged to initiate her still further into the se-crets of his landed property, and told her thatin case of difficulty she was to have recourse toMaitre Cruchot, whose integrity was wellknown to him.

Towards the end of this year the old man, theneighty-two, was seized by paralysis, whichmade rapid progress. Dr. Bergerin gave himup. Eugenie, feeling that she was about to beleft alone in the world, came, as it were, nearerto her father, and clasped more tightly this lastliving link of affection. To her mind, as in thatof all loving women, love was the whole of life.Charles was not there, and she devoted all hercare and attention to the old father, whose fa-culties had begun to weaken, though his ava-rice remained instinctively acute. The death ofthis man offered no contrast to his life. In themorning he made them roll him to a spot be-tween the chimney of his chamber and the doorof the secret room, which was filled, no doubt,

with gold. He asked for an explanation of everynoise he heard, even the slightest; to the greatastonishment of the notary, he even heard thewatch-dog yawning in the court-yard. He wokeup from his apparent stupor at the day andhour when the rents were due, or when ac-counts had to be settled with his vine-dressers,and receipts given. At such times he workedhis chair forward on its castors until he facedthe door of the inner room. He made hisdaughter open it, and watched while sheplaced the bags of money one upon another inhis secret receptacles and relocked the door.Then she returned silently to her seat, after giv-ing him the key, which he replaced in hiswaistcoat pocket and fingered from time totime. His old friend the notary, feeling sure thatthe rich heiress would inevitably marry hisnephew the president, if Charles Grandet didnot return, redoubled all his attentions; he cameevery day to take Grandet's orders, went on hiserrands to Froidfond, to the farms and the

fields and the vineyards, sold the vintages, andturned everything into gold and silver, whichfound their way in sacks to the secret hiding-place.

At length the last struggle came, in which thestrong frame of the old man slowly yielded todestruction. He was determined to sit at thechimney-corner facing the door of the secretroom. He drew off and rolled up all the cover-ings which were laid over him, saying to Na-non, "Put them away, lock them up, for fearthey should be stolen."

So long as he could open his eyes, in which hiswhole being had now taken refuge, he turnedthem to the door behind which lay his trea-sures, saying to his daughter, "Are they there?are they there?" in a tone of voice which re-vealed a sort of panic fear.

"Yes, my father," she would answer.

"Take care of the gold—put gold before me."

Eugenie would then spread coins on a tablebefore him, and he would sit for hours togetherwith his eyes fixed upon them, like a child who,at the moment it first begins to see, gazes instupid contemplation at the same object, andlike the child, a distressful smile would flickerupon his face.

"It warms me!" he would sometimes say, as anexpression of beatitude stole across his features.

When the cure of the parish came to administerthe last sacraments, the old man's eyes, sight-less, apparently, for some hours, kindled at thesight of the cross, the candlesticks, and the ho-ly-water vessel of silver; he gazed at them fix-edly, and his wen moved for the last time.When the priest put the crucifix of silver-gilt tohis lips, that he might kiss the Christ, he made afrightful gesture, as if to seize it; and that lasteffort cost him his life. He called Eugenie,

whom he did not see, though she was kneelingbeside him bathing with tears his stiffeninghand, which was already cold.

"My father, bless me!" she entreated.

"Take care of it all. You will render me an ac-count yonder!" he said, proving by these lastwords that Christianity must always be thereligion of misers.

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world inthat gray house, with none but Nanon to whomshe could turn with the certainty of being heardand understood,—Nanon the sole being wholoved her for herself and with whom she couldspeak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was aprovidence for Eugenie. She was not a servant,but a humble friend. After her father's deathEugenie learned from Maitre Cruchot that shepossessed an income of three hundred thou-sand francs from landed and personal property

in the arrondissement of Saumur; also six mil-lions invested at three per cent in the Funds(bought at sixty, and now worth seventy-sixfrancs); also two millions in gold coin, and ahundred thousand francs in silver crown-pieces, besides all the interest which was still tobe collected. The sum total of her propertyreached seventeen millions.

"Where is my cousin?" was her one thought.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in tohis client a clear and exact schedule of thewhole inheritance, Eugenie remained alonewith Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in thevacant hall, where all was now a memory, fromthe chair on castors which her mother had satin, to the glass from which her cousin drank.

"Nanon, we are alone—"

"Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where hewas, the darling, I'd go on foot to find him."

"The ocean is between us," she said.

While the poor heiress wept in company of anold servant, in that cold dark house, which wasto her the universe, the whole province rang,from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeenmillions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among herfirst acts she had settled an annuity of twelvehundred francs on Nanon, who, already pos-sessed of six hundred more, became a rich andenviable match. In less than a month that goodsoul passed from single to wedded life underthe protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who wasappointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Gran-det's estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed onestriking advantage over her contemporaries.Although she was fifty-nine years of age, shedid not look more than forty. Her strong fea-tures had resisted the ravages of time. Thanksto the healthy customs of her semi-conventuallife, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution.

Perhaps she never looked as well in her life asshe did on her marriage-day. She had all thebenefits of her ugliness, and was big and fatand strong, with a look of happiness on herindestructible features which made a goodmany people envy Cornoiller.

"Fast colors!" said the draper.

"Quite likely to have children," said the saltmerchant. "She's pickled in brine, saving yourpresence."

"She is rich, and that fellow Cornoiller has donea good thing for himself," said a third man.

When she came forth from the old house on herway to the parish church, Nanon, who wasloved by all the neighborhood, received manycompliments as she walked down the tortuousstreet. Eugenie had given her three dozen silverforks and spoons as a wedding present. Cor-noiller, amazed at such magnificence, spoke of

his mistress with tears in his eyes; he wouldwillingly have been hacked in pieces in herbehalf. Madame Cornoiller, appointed house-keeper to Mademoiselle Grandet, got as muchhappiness out of her new position as she didfrom the possession of a husband. She tookcharge of the weekly accounts; she locked upthe provisions and gave them out daily, afterthe manner of her defunct master; she ruledover two servants,—a cook, and a maid whosebusiness it was to mend the house-linen andmake mademoiselle's dresses. Cornoiller com-bined the functions of keeper and bailiff. It isunnecessary to say that the women-servantsselected by Nanon were "perfect treasures."Mademoiselle Grandet thus had four servants,whose devotion was unbounded. The farmersperceived no change after Monsieur Grandet'sdeath; the usages and customs he had sternlyestablished were scrupulously carried out byMonsieur and Madame Cornoiller.

At thirty years of age Eugenie knew none of thejoys of life. Her pale, sad childhood had glidedon beside a mother whose heart, always mi-sunderstood and wounded, had known onlysuffering. Leaving this life joyfully, the motherpitied the daughter because she still must live;and she left in her child's soul some fugitiveremorse and many lasting regrets. Eugenie'sfirst and only love was a wellspring of sadnesswithin her. Meeting her lover for a few briefdays, she had given him her heart between twokisses furtively exchanged; then he had left her,and a whole world lay between them. Thislove, cursed by her father, had cost the life ofher mother and brought her only sorrow, min-gled with a few frail hopes. Thus her upwardspring towards happiness had wasted herstrength and given her nothing in exchange forit. In the life of the soul, as in the physical life,there is an inspiration and a respiration; thesoul needs to absorb the sentiments of anothersoul and assimilate them, that it may render

them back enriched. Were it not for this glo-rious human phenomenon, there would be nolife for the heart; air would be wanting; itwould suffer, and then perish. Eugenie hadbegun to suffer. For her, wealth was neither apower nor a consolation; she could not liveexcept through love, through religion, throughfaith in the future. Love explained to her themysteries of eternity. Her heart and the Gospeltaught her to know two worlds; she bathed,night and day, in the depths of two infinitethoughts, which for her may have had but onemeaning. She drew back within herself, loving,and believing herself beloved. For seven yearsher passion had invaded everything. Her trea-suries were not the millions whose revenueswere rolling up; they were Charles's dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, thejewels recovered from her father and proudlyspread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of theoaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used fora while by her mother, which she wore reli-

giously as she worked at a piece of embroi-dery,—a Penelope's web, begun for the solepurpose of putting upon her finger that gold sorich in memories.

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandetwould marry during the period of her mourn-ing. Her genuine piety was well known. Con-sequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sage-ly guided by the old abbe, contented them-selves for the time being with surrounding thegreat heiress and paying her the most affectio-nate attentions. Every evening the hall wasfilled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, whosang the praises of its mistress in every key. Shehad her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner,her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, herprime minister; above all, her chancellor, achancellor who would fain have said much toher. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer,one would instantly have been found. She wasa queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never

emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of littleminds, who thus still further belittle themselvesto worm their way into the vital being of thepersons around whom they crawl. Flatterymeans self-interest. So the people who, nightafter night, assembled in Mademoiselle Gran-det's house (they called her Mademoiselle deFroidfond) outdid each other in expressions ofadmiration. This concert of praise, never beforebestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush underits novelty; but insensibly her ear became habi-tuated to the sound, and however coarse thecompliments might be, she soon was so accus-tomed to hear her beauty lauded that if anynew-comer had seemed to think her plain, shewould have felt the reproach far more than shemight have done eight years earlier. She endedat last by loving the incense, which she secretlylaid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grewaccustomed to be treated as a sovereign and tosee her court pressing around her every even-ing.

Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the littlecircle, where his wit, his person, his education,his amiability, were perpetually praised. One oranother would remark that in seven years hehad largely increased his fortune, that Bonfonsbrought in at least ten thousand francs a year,and was surrounded, like the other possessionsof the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the hei-ress.

"Do you know, mademoiselle," said an habitualvisitor, "that the Cruchots have an income offorty thousand francs among them!"

"And then, their savings!" exclaimed an elderlyfemale Cruchotine, Mademoiselle de Gribeau-court.

"A gentleman from Paris has lately offeredMonsieur Cruchot two hundred thousandfrancs for his practice," said another. "He willsell it if he is appointed juge de paix."

"He wants to succeed Monsieur de Bonfons aspresident of the Civil courts, and is takingmeasures," replied Madame d'Orsonval. "Mon-sieur le president will certainly be made coun-cillor."

"Yes, he is a very distinguished man," saidanother,—"don't you think so, mademoiselle?"

Monsieur de Bonfons endeavored to put him-self in keeping with the role he sought to play.In spite of his forty years, in spite of his duskyand crabbed features, withered like most judi-cial faces, he dressed in youthful fashions,toyed with a bamboo cane, never took snuff inMademoiselle de Froidfond's house, and camein a white cravat and a shirt whose pleated frillgave him a family resemblance to the race ofturkeys. He addressed the beautiful heiressfamiliarly, and spoke of her as "Our dear Euge-nie." In short, except for the number of visitors,the change from loto to whist, and the disap-pearance of Monsieur and Madame Grandet,

the scene was about the same as the one withwhich this history opened. The pack were stillpursuing Eugenie and her millions; but thehounds, more in number, lay better on thescent, and beset the prey more unitedly. IfCharles could have dropped from the IndianIsles, he would have found the same peopleand the same interests. Madame des Grassins,to whom Eugenie was full of kindness andcourtesy, still persisted in tormenting the Cru-chots. Eugenie, as in former days, was the cen-tral figure of the picture; and Charles, as here-tofore, would still have been the sovereign ofall. Yet there had been some progress. Theflowers which the president formerly presentedto Eugenie on her birthdays and fete-days hadnow become a daily institution. Every eveninghe brought the rich heiress a huge and magnifi-cent bouquet, which Madame Cornoiller placedconspicuously in a vase, and secretly threw intoa corner of the court-yard when the visitors haddeparted.

Early in the spring, Madame des Grassins at-tempted to trouble the peace of the Cruchotinesby talking to Eugenie of the Marquis de Froid-fond, whose ancient and ruined family mightbe restored if the heiress would give him backhis estates through marriage. Madame desGrassins rang the changes on the peerage andthe title of marquise, until, mistaking Eugenie'sdisdainful smile for acquiescence, she wentabout proclaiming that the marriage with"Monsieur Cruchot" was not nearly as certainas people thought.

"Though Monsieur de Froidfond is fifty," shesaid, "he does not look older than MonsieurCruchot. He is a widower, and he has children,that's true. But then he is a marquis; he will bepeer of France; and in times like these whereyou will find a better match? I know it for a factthat Pere Grandet, when he put all his moneyinto Froidfond, intended to graft himself upon

that stock; he often told me so. He was a deepone, that old man!"

"Ah! Nanon," said Eugenie, one night as shewas going to bed, "how is it that in seven yearshe has never once written to me?"

XIII

While these events were happening in Saumur,Charles was making his fortune in the Indies.His commercial outfit had sold well. He beganby realizing a sum of six thousand dollars.Crossing the line had brushed a good manycobwebs out of his brain; he perceived that thebest means of attaining fortune in tropical re-gions, as well as in Europe, was to buy and sellmen. He went to the coast of Africa and bought

Negroes, combining his traffic in human fleshwith that of other merchandise equally advan-tageous to his interests. He carried into thisbusiness an activity which left him not a mo-ment of leisure. He was governed by the desireof reappearing in Paris with all the prestige of alarge fortune, and by the hope of regaining aposition even more brilliant than the one fromwhich he had fallen.

By dint of jostling with men, travelling throughmany lands, and studying a variety of conflict-ing customs, his ideas had been modified andhad become sceptical. He ceased to have fixedprinciples of right and wrong, for he saw whatwas called a crime in one country lauded as avirtue in another. In the perpetual struggle ofselfish interests his heart grew cold, then con-tracted, and then dried up. The blood of theGrandets did not fail of its destiny; Charlesbecame hard, and eager for prey. He sold Chi-namen, Negroes, birds' nests, children, artists;

he practised usury on a large scale; the habit ofdefrauding custom-houses soon made him lessscrupulous about the rights of his fellow men.He went to the Island of St. Thomas andbought, for a mere song, merchandise that hadbeen captured by pirates, and took it to portswhere he could sell it at a good price. If thepure and noble face of Eugenie went with himon his first voyage, like that image of the Virginwhich Spanish mariners fastened to their masts,if he attributed his first success to the magicinfluence of the prayers and intercessions of hisgentle love, later on women of other kinds,—blacks, mulattoes, whites, and Indian dancing-girls,—orgies and adventures in many lands,completely effaced all recollection of his cousin,of Saumur, of the house, the bench, the kisssnatched in the dark passage. He rememberedonly the little garden shut in with crumblingwalls, for it was there he learned the fate thathad overtaken him; but he rejected all connec-tion with his family. His uncle was an old dog

who had filched his jewels; Eugenie had noplace in his heart nor in his thoughts, thoughshe did have a place in his accounts as a credi-tor for the sum of six thousand francs.

Such conduct and such ideas explain CharlesGrandet's silence. In the Indies, at St. Thomas,on the coast of Africa, at Lisbon, and in theUnited States the adventurer had taken thepseudonym of Shepherd, that he might notcompromise his own name. Charles Shepherdcould safely be indefatigable, bold, grasping,and greedy of gain, like a man who resolves tosnatch his fortune quibus cumque viis, andmakes haste to have done with villany, that hemay spend the rest of his life as an honest man.

With such methods, prosperity was rapid andbrilliant; and in 1827 Charles Grandet returnedto Bordeaux on the "Marie Caroline," a fine brigbelonging to a royalist house of business. Hebrought with him nineteen hundred thousandfrancs worth of gold-dust, from which he ex-

pected to derive seven or eight per cent more atthe Paris mint. On the brig he met a gentleman-in-ordinary to His Majesty Charles X., Mon-sieur d'Aubrion, a worthy old man who hadcommitted the folly of marrying a woman offashion with a fortune derived from the WestIndia Islands. To meet the costs of Madamed'Aubrion's extravagance, he had gone out tothe Indies to sell the property, and was nowreturning with his family to France.

Monsieur and Madame d'Aubrion, of the houseof d'Aubrion de Buch, a family of southernFrance, whose last captal, or chief, died before1789, were now reduced to an income of abouttwenty thousand francs, and they possessed anugly daughter whom the mother was resolvedto marry without a dot,—the family fortunebeing scarcely sufficient for the demands of herown life in Paris. This was an enterprise whosesuccess might have seemed problematical tomost men of the world, in spite of the clever-

ness with which such men credit a fashionablewoman; in fact, Madame d'Aubrion herself,when she looked at her daughter, almost des-paired of getting rid of her to any one, even to aman craving connection with nobility. Made-moiselle d'Aubrion was a long, spare, spindlingdemoiselle, like her namesake the insect; hermouth was disdainful; over it hung a nose thatwas too long, thick at the end, sallow in itsnormal condition, but very red after a meal,—asort of vegetable phenomenon which is particu-larly disagreeable when it appears in the mid-dle of a pale, dull, and uninteresting face. Inone sense she was all that a worldly mother,thirty-eight years of age and still a beauty withclaims to admiration, could have wished. How-ever, to counterbalance her personal defects,the marquise gave her daughter a distin-guished air, subjected her to hygienic treatmentwhich provisionally kept her nose at a reasona-ble flesh-tint, taught her the art of dressingwell, endowed her with charming manners,

showed her the trick of melancholy glanceswhich interest a man and make him believethat he has found a long-sought angel, taughther the manoeuvre of the foot,—letting it peepbeneath the petticoat, to show its tiny size, atthe moment when the nose became aggressive-ly red; in short, Madame d'Aubrion had clever-ly made the very best of her offspring. Bymeans of full sleeves, deceptive pads, puffeddresses amply trimmed, and high-pressurecorsets, she had obtained such curious femininedevelopments that she ought, for the instruc-tion of mothers, to have exhibited them in amuseum.

Charles became very intimate with Madamed'Aubrion precisely because she was desirousof becoming intimate with him. Persons whowere on board the brig declared that the hand-some Madame d'Aubrion neglected no meansof capturing so rich a son-in-law. On landing atBordeaux in June, 1827, Monsieur, Madame,

Mademoiselle d'Aubrion, and Charles lodgedat the same hotel and started together for Paris.The hotel d'Aubrion was hampered with mort-gages; Charles was destined to free it. Themother told him how delighted she would beto give up the ground-floor to a son-in-law. Notsharing Monsieur d'Aubrion's prejudices on thescore of nobility, she promised Charles Grandetto obtain a royal ordinance from Charles X.which would authorize him, Grandet, to takethe name and arms of d'Aubrion and to suc-ceed, by purchasing the entailed estate for thir-ty-six thousand francs a year, to the titles ofCaptal de Buch and Marquis d'Aubrion. Bythus uniting their fortunes, living on goodterms, and profiting by sinecures, the two fami-lies might occupy the hotel d'Aubrion with anincome of over a hundred thousand francs.

"And when a man has a hundred thousandfrancs a year, a name, a family, and a positionat court,—for I will get you appointed as gen-

tleman-of-the-bedchamber,—he can do what helikes," she said to Charles. "You can then be-come anything you choose,—master of the rollsin the council of State, prefect, secretary to anembassy, the ambassador himself, if you like.Charles X. is fond of d'Aubrion; they haveknown each other from childhood."

Intoxicated with ambition, Charles toyed withthe hopes thus cleverly presented to him in theguise of confidences poured from heart toheart. Believing his father's affairs to have beensettled by his uncle, he imagined himself sud-denly anchored in the Faubourg Saint-Germain,—that social object of all desire,where, under shelter of Mademoiselle Ma-thilde's purple nose, he was to reappear as theComte d'Aubrion, very much as the Dreuxreappeared in Breze. Dazzled by the prosperityof the Restoration, which was tottering whenhe left France, fascinated by the splendor ofaristocratic ideas, his intoxication, which began

on the brig, increased after he reached Paris,and he finally determined to take the courseand reach the high position which the selfishhopes of his would-be mother-in-law pointedout to him. His cousin counted for no morethan a speck in this brilliant perspective; but hewent to see Annette. True woman of the world,Annette advised her old friend to make themarriage, and promised him her support in allhis ambitious projects. In her heart she wasenchanted to fasten an ugly and uninterestinggirl on Charles, whose life in the West Indieshad rendered him very attractive. His complex-ion had bronzed, his manners had grown de-cided and bold, like those of a man accustomedto make sharp decisions, to rule, and to suc-ceed. Charles breathed more at his ease in Par-is, conscious that he now had a part to play.

Des Grassins, hearing of his return, of his ap-proaching marriage and his large fortune, cameto see him, and inquired about the three hun-

dred thousand francs still required to settle hisfather's debts. He found Grandet in conferencewith a goldsmith, from whom he had orderedjewels for Mademoiselle d'Aubrion's corbeille,and who was then submitting the designs.Charles had brought back magnificent di-amonds, and the value of their setting, togetherwith the plate and jewelry of the new estab-lishment, amounted to more than two hundredthousand francs. He received des Grassins,whom he did not recognize, with the imperti-nence of a young man of fashion conscious ofhaving killed four men in as many duels in theIndies. Monsieur des Grassins had alreadycalled several times. Charles listened to himcoldly, and then replied, without fully under-standing what had been said to him,—

"My father's affairs are not mine. I am muchobliged, monsieur, for the trouble you havebeen good enough to take,—by which, howev-er, I really cannot profit. I have not earned two

millions by the sweat of my brow to fling themat the head of my father's creditors."

"But suppose that your father's estate werewithin a few days to be declared bankrupt?"

"Monsieur, in a few days I shall be called theComte d'Aubrion; you will understand, there-fore, that what you threaten is of no conse-quence to me. Besides, you know as well as I dothat when a man has an income of a hundredthousand francs his father has never failed." Sosaying, he politely edged Monsieur des Gras-sins to the door.

At the beginning of August in the same year,Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden benchwhere her cousin had sworn to love her eternal-ly, and where she usually breakfasted if theweather were fine. The poor girl was happy, forthe moment, in the fresh and joyous summerair, letting her memory recall the great and the

little events of her love and the catastropheswhich had followed it. The sun had justreached the angle of the ruined wall, so full ofchinks, which no one, through a caprice of themistress, was allowed to touch, though Cor-noiller often remarked to his wife that "it wouldfall and crush somebody one of these days." Atthis moment the postman knocked, and gave aletter to Madame Cornoiller, who ran into thegarden, crying out:

"Mademoiselle, a letter!" She gave it to her mi-stress, adding, "Is it the one you expected?"

The words rang as loudly in the heart of Euge-nie as they echoed in sound from wall to wallof the court and garden.

"Paris—from him—he has returned!"

Eugenie turned pale and held the letter for amoment. She trembled so violently that shecould not break the seal. La Grande Nanon

stood before her, both hands on her hips, herjoy puffing as it were like smoke through thecracks of her brown face.

"Read it, mademoiselle!"

"Ah, Nanon, why did he return to Paris? Hewent from Saumur."

"Read it, and you'll find out."

Eugenie opened the letter with trembling fin-gers. A cheque on the house of "Madame desGrassins and Coret, of Saumur," fluttereddown. Nanon picked it up. My dear Cousin,—

"No longer 'Eugenie,'" she thought, and herheart quailed.

You—

"He once said 'thou.'" She folded her arms anddared not read another word; great tears ga-thered in her eyes.

"Is he dead?" asked Nanon.

"If he were, he could not write," said Eugenie.

She then read the whole letter, which was asfollows:

My dear Cousin,—You will, I am sure, hearwith pleasure of the success of my enterprise. You brought meluck; I have come back rich, and I have followed the advice of myuncle, whose death, together with that of my aunt, I have justlearned from Monsieur des Grassins. The death of parents is in thecourse of nature, and we must succeed them. I trust you are by thistime consoled. Nothing can resist time, as I am well aware.Yes, my dear cousin, the day of illusions is, unfortunately, gone forme. How could it

be otherwise? Travelling through many lands,I have reflected upon life. I was a child when I went away,—I havecome back a man. To-day, I think of many I did not dream ofthen. You are free, my dear cousin, and I am free still. Nothing ap-parently hinders the realization of our early hopes; but my natureis too loyal to hide from you the situation in which I find myself.I have not forgotten our relations; I have always remem-bered, throughout my long wanderings, the little wooden seat—

Eugenie rose as if she were sitting on live coals,and went away and sat down on the stonesteps of the court.

—the little wooden seat where we vowed tolove each other

forever, the passage, the gray hall, my atticchamber, and the night when, by your delicate kindness, youmade my future easier to me. Yes, these recollections sustained mycourage; I said in my heart that you were thinking of me at the hourwe had agreed upon. Have you always looked at the clouds at nineo'clock? Yes, I am sure of it. I cannot betray so true a friend-ship,—no, I must not deceive you. An alliance has been proposed tome which satisfies all my ideas of matrimony. Love in marriageis a delusion. My present experience warns me that in marryingwe are bound to obey all social laws and meet the conventional de-mands of the world. Now, between you and me there are differ-ences which might affect

your future, my dear cousin, even more thanthey would mine. I will not here speak of your customs and incli-nations, your education, nor yet of your habits, none ofwhich are in keeping with Parisian life, or with the future which Ihave marked out for myself. My intention is to keep my householdon a stately footing, to receive much company,—in short, to live inthe world; and I think I remember that you love a quiet andtranquil life. I will be frank, and make you the judge of my situa-tion; you have the right to understand it and to judge it.

I possess at the present moment an income ofeighty thousand francs. This fortune enables me to marry intothe family of

Aubrion, whose heiress, a young girl nineteenyears of age, brings me a title, a place of gentleman-of-the-bed-chamber to His Majesty, and a very brilliant position. I willadmit to you, my dear cousin, that I do not love Mademoiselled'Aubrion; but in marrying her I secure to my children a socialrank whose advantages will one day be incalculable: mo-narchical principles are daily coming more and more into favor.Thus in course of time my son, when he becomes Marquis d'Aubrion,having, as he then will have, an entailed estate with a rental of fortythousand francs a year, can obtain any position in the Statewhich he may think proper to select. We owe ourselves to ourchildren.

You see, my cousin, with what good faith I laythe state of my heart, my hopes, and my fortune before you.Possibly, after seven years' separation, you have yourself forgottenour youthful loves; but I have never forgotten either your kind-ness or my own words. I remember all, even words that were lightlyuttered,—words by which a man less conscientious than I, with aheart less youthful and less upright, would scarcely feel himselfbound. In telling you that the marriage I propose to make issolely one of convenience, that I still remember our childishlove, am I not putting myself entirely in your hands andmaking you the mistress

of my fate? am I not telling you that if I mustrenounce my social ambitions, I shall willingly content myselfwith the pure and simple happiness of which you have shownme so sweet an image?

"Tan, ta, ta—tan, ta, ti," sang Charles Grandet tothe air of Non piu andrai, as he signed himself,—

Your devoted cousin, Charles.

"Thunder! that's doing it handsomely!" he said,as he looked about him for the cheque; havingfound it, he added the words:—

P.S.—I enclose a cheque on the des Grassinsbank for eight thousand francs to your order, payable ingold, which includes the capital and interest of the sum you were kindenough to lend me. I am expecting a case from Bordeaux whichcontains a few things

which you must allow me to offer you as amark of my unceasing gratitude. You can send my dressing-case bythe diligence to the hotel d'Aubrion, rue Hillerin-Bertin.

"By the diligence!" said Eugenie. "A thing forwhich I would have laid down my life!"

Terrible and utter disaster! The ship wentdown, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vastocean of hope! Some women when they seethemselves abandoned will try to tear theirlover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her,and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaf-fold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; themotive of the crime is a great passion, whichawes even human justice. Other women bowtheir heads and suffer in silence; they go theirway dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, pray-ing, and recollecting, till they draw their lastbreath. This is love,—true love, the love of an-gels, the proud love which lives upon its an-

guish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie's loveafter she had read that dreadful letter. Sheraised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the lastwords uttered by her dying mother, who, withthe prescience of death, had looked into thefuture with clear and penetrating eyes: Euge-nie, remembering that prophetic death, thatprophetic life, measured with one glance herown destiny. Nothing was left for her; shecould only unfold her wings, stretch upward tothe skies, and live in prayer until the day of herdeliverance.

"My mother was right," she said, weeping. "Suf-fer—and die!"

XIV

Eugenie came slowly back from the garden tothe house, and avoided passing, as was hercustom, through the corridor. But the memoryof her cousin was in the gray old hall and onthe chimney-piece, where stood a certain saucerand the old Sevres sugar-bowl which she usedevery morning at her breakfast.

This day was destined to be solemn throughoutand full of events. Nanon announced the cureof the parish church. He was related to the Cru-chots, and therefore in the interests of Monsieurde Bonfons. For some time past the old abbehad urged him to speak to MademoiselleGrandet, from a purely religious point of view,about the duty of marriage for a woman in herposition. When she saw her pastor, Eugeniesupposed he had come for the thousand francswhich she gave monthly to the poor, and she

told Nanon to go and fetch them; but the cureonly smiled.

"To-day, mademoiselle," he said, "I have cometo speak to you about a poor girl in whom thewhole town of Saumur takes an interest, who,through lack of charity to herself, neglects herChristian duties."

"Monsieur le cure, you have come to me at amoment when I cannot think of my neighbor, Iam filled with thoughts of myself. I am veryunhappy; my only refuge is in the Church; herbosom is large enough to hold all human woe,her love so full that we may draw from itsdepths and never drain it dry."

"Mademoiselle, in speaking of this young girlwe shall speak of you. Listen! If you wish toinsure your salvation you have only two pathsto take,—either leave the world or obey itslaws. Obey either your earthly destiny or yourheavenly destiny."

"Ah! your voice speaks to me when I need tohear a voice. Yes, God has sent you to me; I willbid farewell to the world and live for Godalone, in silence and seclusion."

"My daughter, you must think long before youtake so violent a step. Marriage is life, the veil isdeath."

"Yes, death,—a quick death!" she said, withdreadful eagerness.

"Death? but you have great obligations to fulfilto society, mademoiselle. Are you not themother of the poor, to whom you give clothesand wood in winter and work in summer?Your great fortune is a loan which you mustreturn, and you have sacredly accepted it assuch. To bury yourself in a convent would beselfishness; to remain an old maid is to fail induty. In the first place, can you manage yourvast property alone? May you not lose it? Youwill have law-suits, you will find yourself su-

rrounded by inextricable difficulties. Believeyour pastor: a husband is useful; you are boundto preserve what God has bestowed upon you.I speak to you as a precious lamb of my flock.You love God too truly not to find your salva-tion in the midst of his world, of which you arenoble ornament and to which you owe yourexample."

At this moment Madame des Grassins was an-nounced. She came incited by vengeance andthe sense of a great despair.

"Mademoiselle," she said—"Ah! here is mon-sieur le cure; I am silent. I came to speak to youon business; but I see that you are conferringwith—"

"Madame," said the cure, "I leave the field toyou."

"Oh! monsieur le cure," said Eugenie, "comeback later; your support is very necessary to mejust now."

"Ah, yes, indeed, my poor child!" said Madamedes Grassins.

"What do you mean?" asked Eugenie and thecure together.

"Don't I know about your cousin's return, andhis marriage with Mademoiselle d'Aubrion? Awoman doesn't carry her wits in her pocket."

Eugenie blushed, and remained silent for amoment. From this day forth she assumed theimpassible countenance for which her fatherhad been so remarkable.

"Well, madame," she presently said, ironically,"no doubt I carry my wits in my pocket, for I donot understand you. Speak, say what you me-

an, before monsieur le cure; you know he is mydirector."

"Well, then, mademoiselle, here is what desGrassins writes me. Read it."

Eugenie read the following letter:— My dear Wife,—Charles Grandet has returnedfrom the Indies and has been in Paris about a month—

"A month!" thought Eugenie, her hand fallingto her side. After a pause she resumed the let-ter,—

I had to dance attendance before I was allo-wed to see the future Vicomte d'Aubrion. Though all Paris is talkingof his marriage and the banns are published—

"He wrote to me after that!" thought Eugenie.She did not conclude the thought; she did notcry out, as a Parisian woman would have done,

"The villain!" but though she said it not, con-tempt was none the less present in her mind.

The marriage, however, will not come off. TheMarquis d'Aubrion will never give his daughter to the son of abankrupt. I went to tell Grandet of the steps his uncle and I took inhis father's business, and the clever manoeuvres by whichwe had managed to keep the creditor's quiet until the present time.The insolent fellow had the face to say to me—to me, whofor five years have devoted myself night and day to his interestsand his honor!—thathis father's affairs were not his! A solicitor would

have had the right to demand fees amounting to thirtyor forty thousand francs, one per cent on the total of the debts.But patience!

there are twelve hundred thousand francslegitimately owing to the creditors, and I shall at once declare his fathera bankrupt.

I went into this business on the word of thatold crocodile Grandet, and I have made promises in thename of his family. If Monsieur de vicomte d'Aubrion does not carefor his honor, I care for mine. I shall explain my position to thecreditors. Still, I have too much respect for Mademoiselle Eu-genie (to whom under happier circumstances we once hoped to beallied) to act in this matter before you have spoken to her aboutit—

There Eugenie paused, and coldly returned theletter without finishing it.

"I thank you," she said to Madame des Gras-sins.

"Ah! you have the voice and manner of yourdeceased father," Madame des Grassins replied.

"Madame, you have eight thousand francs topay us," said Nanon, producing Charles's che-que.

"That's true; have the kindness to come with menow, Madame Cornoiller."

"Monsieur le cure," said Eugenie with a noblecomposure, inspired by the thought she wasabout to express, "would it be a sin to remain avirgin after marriage?"

"That is a case of conscience whose solution isnot within my knowledge. If you wish to knowwhat the celebrated Sanchez says of it in histreatise 'De Matrimonio,' I shall be able to tellyou to-morrow."

The cure went away; Mademoiselle Grandetwent up to her father's secret room and spentthe day there alone, without coming down todinner, in spite of Nanon's entreaties. She ap-peared in the evening at the hour when theusual company began to arrive. Never was theold hall so full as on this occasion. The news ofCharles's return and his foolish treachery hadspread through the whole town. But howeverwatchful the curiosity of the visitors might be,it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expectedscrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotionsthat wrung her soul to appear on the calm sur-face of her face. She was able to show a smilingfront in answer to all who tried to testify theirinterest by mournful looks or melancholy spee-ches. She hid her misery behind a veil of cour-tesy. Towards nine o'clock the games endedand the players left the tables, paying their los-ses and discussing points of the game as theyjoined the rest of the company. At the momentwhen the whole party rose to take leave, an

unexpected and striking event occurred, whichresounded through the length and breadth ofSaumur, from thence through the arrondisse-ment, and even to the four surrounding prefec-tures.

"Stay, monsieur le president," said Eugenie toMonsieur de Bonfons as she saw him take hiscane.

There was not a person in that numerous as-sembly who was unmoved by these words. Thepresident turned pale, and was forced to sitdown.

"The president gets the millions," said Made-moiselle de Gribeaucourt.

"It is plain enough; the president marries Ma-demoiselle Grandet," cried Madame d'Orson-val.

"All the trumps in one hand," said the abbe.

"A love game," said the notary.

Each and all said his say, made his pun, andlooked at the heiress mounted on her millionsas on a pedestal. The drama begun nine yearsbefore had reached its conclusion. To tell thepresident, in face of all Saumur, to "stay," wassurely the same thing as proclaiming him herhusband. In provincial towns social conventio-nalities are so rigidly enforced than an infrac-tion like this constituted a solemn promise.

"Monsieur le president," said Eugenie in a voiceof some emotion when they were left alone, "Iknow what pleases you in me. Swear to leaveme free during my whole life, to claim none ofthe rights which marriage will give you overme, and my hand is yours. Oh!" she added,seeing him about to kneel at her feet, "I havemore to say. I must not deceive you. In myheart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling.Friendship is the only sentiment which I cangive to a husband. I wish neither to affront him

nor to violate the laws of my own heart. Butyou can possess my hand and my fortune onlyat the cost of doing me an inestimable service."

"I am ready for all things," said the president.

"Here are fifteen hundred thousand francs," shesaid, drawing from her bosom a certificate of ahundred shares in the Bank of France. "Go toParis,—not to-morrow, but instantly. FindMonsieur des Grassins, learn the names of myuncle's creditors, call them together, pay themin full all that was owing, with interest at fiveper cent from the day the debt was incurred tothe present time. Be careful to obtain a full andlegal receipt, in proper form, before a notary.You are a magistrate, and I can trust this matterin your hands. You are a man of honor; I willput faith in your word, and meet the dangers oflife under shelter of your name. Let us havemutual indulgence. We have known each otherso long that we are almost related; you wouldnot wish to render me unhappy."

The president fell at the feet of the rich heiress,his heart beating and wrung with joy.

"I will be your slave!" he said.

"When you obtain the receipts, monsieur," sheresumed, with a cold glance, "you will takethem with all the other papers to my cousinGrandet, and you will give him this letter. Onyour return I will keep my word."

The president understood perfectly that heowed the acquiescence of Mademoiselle Gran-det to some bitterness of love, and he madehaste to obey her orders, lest time should effecta reconciliation between the pair.

When Monsieur de Bonfons left her, Eugeniefell back in her chair and burst into tears. Allwas over.

The president took the mail-post, and reachedParis the next evening. The morning after his

arrival he went to see des Grassins, and toget-her they summoned the creditors to meet at thenotary's office where the vouchers had beendeposited. Not a single creditor failed to bepresent. Creditors though they were, justicemust be done to them,—they were all punctual.Monsieur de Bonfons, in the name of Made-moiselle Grandet, paid them the amount oftheir claims with interest. The payment of in-terest was a remarkable event in the Parisiancommerce of that day. When the receipts wereall legally registered, and des Grassins had re-ceived for his services the sum of fifty thousandfrancs allowed to him by Eugenie, the presidentmade his way to the hotel d'Aubrion and foundCharles just entering his own apartment after aserious encounter with his prospective father-in-law. The old marquis had told him plainlythat he should not marry his daughter until allthe creditors of Guillaume Grandet had beenpaid in full.

The president gave Charles the following let-ter:—

My Cousin,—Monsieur le president de Bon-fons has undertaken to place in your hands the aquittance for allclaims upon my uncle, also a receipt by which I acknowledge havingreceived from you the sum total of those claims. I have heard of apossible failure, and I think that the son of a bankrupt may not beable to marry Mademoiselle d'Aubrion. Yes, my cousin, youjudged rightly of my mind and of my manners. I have, it is true, nopart in the world; I understand neither its calculations nor itscustoms; and I could not give you the pleasures that you seek in it.Be happy, according to the social conventions to whichyou have sacrificed

our love. To make your happiness complete Ican only offer you your father's honor. Adieu! You will alwayshave a faithful friend in your cousin

Eugenie.

The president smiled at the exclamation whichthe ambitious young man could not repress ashe received the documents.

"We shall announce our marriages at the sametime," remarked Monsieur de Bonfons.

"Ah! you marry Eugenie? Well, I am delighted;she is a good girl. But," added Charles, struckwith a luminous idea, "she must be rich?"

"She had," said the president, with a mischie-vous smile, "about nineteen millions four daysago; but she has only seventeen millions to-day."

Charles looked at him thunderstruck.

"Seventeen mil—"

"Seventeen millions; yes, monsieur. We shallmuster, Mademoiselle Grandet and I, an inco-me of seven hundred and fifty thousand francswhen we marry."

"My dear cousin," said Charles, recovering alittle of his assurance, "we can push each other'sfortunes."

"Agreed," said the president. "Here is also alittle case which I am charged to give into yourown hands," he added, placing on the table theleather box which contained the dressing-case.

"Well, my dear friend," said Madame d'Au-brion, entering the room without noticing thepresident, "don't pay any attention to what po-or Monsieur d'Aubrion has just said to you; theDuchesse de Chaulieu has turned his head. I

repeat, nothing shall interfere with the marria-ge—"

"Very good, madame. The three millions whichmy father owed were paid yesterday."

"In money?" she asked.

"Yes, in full, capital and interest; and I amabout to do honor to his memory—"

"What folly!" exclaimed his mother-in-law."Who is this?" she whispered in Grandet's ear,perceiving the president.

"My man of business," he answered in a lowvoice.

The marquise bowed superciliously to Mon-sieur de Bonfons.

"We are pushing each other's fortunes already,"said the president, taking up his hat. "Good-by,cousin."

"He is laughing at me, the old cockatoo! I'd liketo put six inches of iron into him!" mutteredCharles.

The president was out of hearing. Three dayslater Monsieur de Bonfons, on his return toSaumur, announced his marriage with Eugenie.Six months after the marriage he was ap-pointed councillor in the Cour royale at An-gers. Before leaving Saumur Madame de Bon-fons had the gold of certain jewels, once so pre-cious to her, melted up, and put, together withthe eight thousand francs paid back by hercousin, into a golden pyx, which she gave tothe parish church where she had so longprayed for him. She now spent her time be-tween Angers and Saumur. Her husband, whohad shown some public spirit on a certain occa-sion, became a judge in the superior courts, andfinally, after a few years, president of them. Hewas anxiously awaiting a general election, inthe hope of being returned to the Chamber of

deputies. He hankered after a peerage; andthen—

"The king will be his cousin, won't he?" saidNanon, la Grande Nanon, Madame Cornoiller,bourgeoise of Saumur, as she listened to hermistress, who was recounting the honors towhich she was called.

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he hadfinally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot)did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. Hedied eight days after his election as deputy ofSaumur. God, who sees all and never strikesamiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordidcalculations and the legal cleverness withwhich, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up hismarriage contract, in which husband and wifegave to each other, "in case they should have nochildren, their entire property of every kind,landed or otherwise, without exception or res-ervation, dispensing even with the formality ofan inventory; provided that said omission of

said inventory shall not injure their heirs andassigns, it being understood that this deed ofgift is, etc., etc." This clause of the contract willexplain the profound respect which monsieurle president always testified for the wishes, andabove all, for the solitude of Madame de Bon-fons. Women cited him as the most considerateand delicate of men, pitied him, and even wentso far as to find fault with the passion and griefof Eugenie, blaming her, as women know sowell how to blame, with cruel but discreet in-sinuation.

"Madame de Bonfons must be very ill to leaveher husband entirely alone. Poor woman! Is shelikely to get well? What is it? Something gas-tric? A cancer?"—"She has grown perfectly yel-low. She ought to consult some celebrated doc-tor in Paris."—"How can she be happy withouta child? They say she loves her husband; thenwhy not give him an heir?—in his position,too!"—"Do you know, it is really dreadful! If it

is the result of mere caprice, it is unpardonable.Poor president!"

Endowed with the delicate perception which asolitary soul acquires through constant medita-tion, through the exquisite clear-sightednesswith which a mind aloof from life fastens on allthat falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught bysuffering and by her later education to divinethought, knew well that the president desiredher death that he might step into possession oftheir immense fortune, augmented by theproperty of his uncle the notary and his unclethe abbe, whom it had lately pleased God tocall to himself. The poor solitary pitied thepresident. Providence avenged her for the cal-culations and the indifference of a husbandwho respected the hopeless passion on whichshe spent her life because it was his surest safe-guard. To give life to a child would give deathto his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys

of ambition, which the president cherished ashe looked into the future.

God thus flung piles of gold upon this prisonerto whom gold was a matter of indifference,who longed for heaven, who lived, pious andgood, in holy thoughts, succoring the unfortu-nate in secret, and never wearying of suchdeeds. Madame de Bonfons became a widow atthirty-six. She is still beautiful, but with thebeauty of a woman who is nearly forty years ofage. Her face is white and placid and calm; hervoice gentle and self-possessed; her mannersare simple. She has the noblest qualities of sor-row, the saintliness of one who has never soiledher soul by contact with the world; but she hasalso the rigid bearing of an old maid and thepetty habits inseparable from the narrow roundof provincial life. In spite of her vast wealth,she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet oncelived. The fire is never lighted on her hearthuntil the day when her father allowed it to be

lighted in the hall, and it is put out in confor-mity with the rules which governed her youth-ful years. She dresses as her mother dressed.The house in Saumur, without sun, withoutwarmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is animage of her life. She carefully accumulates herincome, and might seem parsimonious did shenot disarm criticism by a noble employment ofher wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, ahospital for old age, Christian schools for chil-dren, a public library richly endowed, bear tes-timony against the charge of avarice whichsome persons lay at her door. The churches ofSaumur owe much of their embellishment toher. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironicallyspoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for themost part reverential respect: and yet that nobleheart, beating only with tenderest emotions,has been, from first to last, subjected to the cal-culations of human selfishness; money has castits frigid influence upon that hallowed life and

taught distrust of feelings to a woman who isall feeling.

"I have none but you to love me," she says toNanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secretwounds in many families. She goes on her wayto heaven attended by a train of benefactions.The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrow-ness of her education and the petty habits ofher early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who isin the world but not of it; who, created to besupremely a wife and mother, has neither hus-band nor children nor family. Lately there hasbeen some question of her marrying again. TheSaumur people talk of her and of the Marquisde Froidfond, whose family are beginning tobeset the rich widow just as, in former days, theCruchots laid siege to the rich heiress. Nanonand Cornoiller are, it is said, in the interests of

the marquis. Nothing could be more false. Nei-ther la Grande Nanon nor Cornoiller has suffi-cient mind to understand the corruptions of theworld.