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Is all
that fit to eat?"

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

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

Nanon opened her eyes, stupid with amazement, and looked at everybody
in the room.

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

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

"Well, then, Monsieur Grandet," said the keeper, who had come prepared
with an harangue for the purpose of settling the question of the
indemnity, "Monsieur Grandet--"

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

The poor woman was only too happy to buy peace at the cost of eleven
francs. She knew that Grandet would let her alone for a fortnight
after he had thus taken back, franc by franc, the money he had given
her.

"Here, Cornoiller," she said, slipping ten francs into the man's hand,
"some day we will reward your services."

Cornoiller could say nothing, so he went away.

"Madame," said Nanon, who had put on her black coif and taken her
basket, "I want only three francs. You keep the rest; it'll go fast
enough somehow."

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

"Something very extraordinary is going on, I am certain of it," said
Madame Grandet. "This is only the third time since our marriage that
your father has given a dinner."

* * * * *

About four o'clock, just as Eugenie and her mother had finished
setting the table for six persons, and after the master of the house
had brought up a few bottles of the exquisite wine which provincials
cherish with true affection, Charles came down into the hall. The
young fellow was pale; his gestures, the expression of his face, his
glance, and the tones of his voice, all had a sadness which was full
of grace. He was not pretending grief, he truly suffered; and the veil
of pain cast over his features gave him an interesting air dear to the
heart of women. Eugenie loved him the more for it. Perhaps she felt
that sorrow drew him nearer to her. Charles was no longer the rich and
distinguished young man placed in a sphere far above her, but a
relation plunged into frightful misery. Misery begets equality. Women
have this in common with the angels,--suffering humanity belongs to
them. Charles and Eugenie understood each other and spoke only with
their eyes; for the poor fallen dandy, orphaned and impoverished, sat
apart in a corner of the room, and was proudly calm and silent. Yet,
from time to time, the gentle and caressing glance of the young girl
shone upon him and constrained him away from his sad thoughts, drawing

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