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"Father, the son of your brother ought to receive from us--"
"Ta, ta, ta, ta!" exclaimed the cooper on four chromatic 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 goes from here. I won't have him
revolutionize my household."
"What is 'failing,' father?" asked Eugenie.
"To fail," answered her father, "is to commit the most dishonorable
action that can disgrace a man."
"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 theft which the law, unfortunately, takes under its protection.
People have given their property to Guillaume Grandet trusting to his
reputation for honor and integrity; he has made away with it all, and
left them nothing but their eyes to weep with. A highway robber is
better than a bankrupt: the one attacks you and you can defend
yourself, he risks his own life; but the other--in short, Charles is
dishonored."
The words rang in the poor girl's heart and weighed it down with their
heavy meaning. Upright and delicate as a flower born in the depths of
a forest, she knew nothing of the world's maxims, of its deceitful
arguments and specious sophisms; she therefore believed the atrocious
explanation which her father gave her designedly, concealing the
distinction which exists between an involuntary failure and an
intentional one.
"Father, could you not have prevented such a misfortune?"
"My brother did not consult me. Besides, he owes four millions."
"What is a 'million,' father?" she asked, with the simplicity of a
child which thinks it can find out at once all that it wants to know.
"A million?" said Grandet, "why, it is a million pieces of twenty sous
each, and it takes five twenty sous pieces to make five francs."
"Dear me!" cried Eugenie, "how could my uncle possibly have had four
millions? Is there any one else in France who ever had so many
millions?" Pere Grandet stroked his chin, smiled, and his wen seemed
to dilate. "But what will become of my cousin Charles?"
"He is going off to the West Indies by his father's request, and he
will try to make his fortune there."
"Has he got the money to go with?"
"I shall pay for his journey as far as--yes, as far as Nantes."
Eugenie sprang into his arms.
"Oh, father, how good you are!"
She kissed him with a warmth that almost made Grandet ashamed of
himself, for his conscience galled him a little.
"Will it take much time to amass a million?" she asked.
"Look here!" said the old miser, "you know what a napoleon is? Well,
it takes fifty thousand napoleons to make a million."
"Mamma, we must say a great many _neuvaines_ for him."
"I was thinking so," said Madame Grandet.
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