“Ah! Now you look like a man who is ready to set out, and means to make his way in the world,” he said, as he saw his nephew in a plain, black overcoat of rough cloth. “Good, very good!”
“I beg you to believe, sir,” Charles replied, “that I shall face my position with proper spirit.”
“What does this mean?” asked his worthy relative; there was an eager look in the goodman’s eyes at the sight of a handful of gold which Charles held out to him.
“I have gathered together my studs and rings and everything of any value that I have; I am not likely to want them now; but I know of nobody in Saumur, and this morning I thought I would ask you—”
“To buy it?” Grandet broke in upon him.
“No, uncle, to give me the name of some honest man who—”
“Give it to me, nephew; I will take it upstairs and find out what it is worth, and let you know the value to a centime. Jeweler’s gold,” he commented, after an examination of a long chain, “jeweler’s gold, eighteen to nineteen carats, I should say.”
The worthy soul held out his huge hand for it, and carried off the whole collection.
“Cousin Eugénie,” said Charles, “permit me to offer you these two clasps; you might use them to fasten ribbons around your wrists, that sort of bracelet is all the rage just now.”
“I do not hesitate to take it, cousin,” she said, with a look of intelligence.
“And, aunt, this is my mother’s thimble; I have treasured it up till now in my dressing-case,” and he gave a pretty gold thimble to Mme. Grandet, who for the past ten years had longed for one.
“It is impossible to thank you in words, dear nephew,” said the old mother, as her eyes filled with tears. “But morning and evening I shall repeat the prayer for travelers, and pray most fervently for you. If anything should happen to me, Eugénie shall take care of it for you.”
“It is worth nine hundred and eighty-nine francs seventy-five centimes, nephew,” said Grandet, as he came in at the door. “But to save you the trouble of selling it, I will let you have the money in livres.”
This expression “in livres” means, in the districts along the Loire, that a crown of six livres is to be considered worth six francs, without deduction.
“I did not venture to suggest such a thing,” Charles answered, “but I shrank from hawking my trinkets about in the town where you are living. Dirty linen ought not to be washed in public, as Napoleon used to say. Thank you for obliging me.”
Grandet scratched his ear, and there was a moment’s silence in the room.
“And, dear uncle,” Charles went on, somewhat nervously, and as though he feared to wound his uncle’s susceptibilities, “my cousin and aunt have consented to receive trifling mementoes from me; will you not in your turn accept these sleeve-links, which are useless to me now; they may perhaps recall to your memory a poor boy, in a far-off country, whose thought will certainly often turn to those who are all that remain to him now of his family.”
“Oh! my boy, my boy, you must not strip yourself like that for us—”
“What have you there, wife?” said the cooper, turning eagerly towards her. “Ah! a gold thimble? And you, little girl? Diamond clasps; what next! Come, I will accept your studs, my boy,” he continued, squeezing Charles’ hand. “But … you must let me pay … your … yes, your passage out to the Indies. Yes, I mean to pay your passage. Besides, my boy, when I estimated your jewelry I only took it at its value as metal, you see, without reckoning the workmanship, and it may be worth a trifle more on that account. So that is settled. I will pay you fifteen hundred francs … in livres; Cruchot will lend it me, for I have not a brass farthing in the house; unless Perrotet, who is getting behindhand with his dues, will pay me in coin. There! there! I will go and see about it,” and he took up his hat, put on his gloves, and went forthwith.
“Then you are going?” said Eugénie, with sad, admiring eyes.
“I cannot help myself,” he answered, with his head bent down.
For several days Charles looked, spoke, and behaved like a man who is in deep trouble, but who feels the weight of such heavy obligations, that his misfortunes only brace him for greater effort. He had ceased to pity himself; he had become a man. Never had Eugénie augured better of her cousin’s character than she did on the day when she watched him come downstairs in his plain, black mourning suit, which set off his pale, sad face to such advantage. The two women had also gone into mourning, and went with Charles to the Requiem mass celebrated in the parish church for the soul of the late Guillaume Grandet.
Charles received letters from Paris as they took the midday meal; he opened and read them.
“Well, cousin,” said Eugénie, in a low voice, “are your affairs going on satisfactorily?”
“Never put questions of that sort, my girl,” remarked Grandet. “I never talk to you about my affairs, and why the devil should you meddle in your cousin’s? Just let the boy alone.”
“Oh! I have no secrets of any sort,” said Charles.
“Tut, tut, tut. You will find out that you must bridle your tongue in
