When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles drew Eugénie to the old bench under the walnut tree where they so often sat of late.
“I felt sure of Alphonse, and I was right,” he said; “he has done wonders, and has settled my affairs prudently and loyally. All my debts in Paris are paid, my furniture sold well, and he tells me that he has acted on the advice of an old sea captain who had made the voyage to the Indies, and has invested the surplus money in ornaments and odds and ends for which there is a great demand out there. He has sent my packages to Nantes, where an East Indiaman is taking freight for Java, and so, Eugénie, in five days we must bid each other farewell, for a long while at any rate, and perhaps forever. My trading venture and the ten thousand francs which two of my friends have sent me, are a very poor start; I cannot expect to return for many years. Dear cousin, let us not consider ourselves bound in any way; I may die, and very likely some good opportunity for settling yourself—”
“You love me? …” she asked.
“Oh! yes, indeed,” he replied, with an earnestness of manner that betokened a like earnestness in his feelings.
“Then I will wait for you, Charles. Dieu! my father is looking out of his window,” she exclaimed, evading her cousin, who had drawn closer to embrace her.
She fled to the archway; and seeing that Charles followed her thither, she retreated further, flung back the folding door at the foot of the staircase, and with no very clear idea, save that of flight, she rushed towards the darkest corner of the passage, outside Nanon’s sleeping hole; and there Charles, who was close beside her, grasped both hands in his and pressed her to his heart; his arms went round her waist, Eugénie resisted no longer, and leaning against her lover she received and gave the purest, sweetest, and most perfect of all kisses.
“Dear Eugénie, a cousin is better than a brother; he can marry you,” said Charles.
“Amen, so be it!” cried Nanon, opening the door behind them, and emerging from her den. Her voice startled the two lovers, who fled into the dining-room, where Eugénie took up her sewing, and Charles seized on Mme. Grandet’s prayer book, opened it at the litanies of the Virgin, and began to read industriously.
“Quien!” said Nanon, “so we are all saying our prayers!”
As soon as Charles fixed the day for his departure, Grandet bustled about and affected to take the greatest interest in the whole matter. He was liberal with advice, and with anything else that cost him nothing, first seeking out a packer for Charles, and then, saying that the man wanted too much for his cases, setting to work with all his might to make them himself, using odd planks for the purpose. He was up betimes every morning planing, fitting, nailing deal boards together, squaring and shaping; and, in fact, he made some strong cases, packed all Charles’ property in them, and undertook to send them by steamer down the Loire to Nantes in time to go by the merchant ship, and to insure them during the voyage.
Since that kiss given and taken in the passage, the hours sped with terrible rapidity for Eugénie. At times she thought of following her cousin; for of all ties that bind one human being to another, this passion of love is the closest and strongest, and those who know this, and know how every day shortens love’s allotted span, and how not time alone but age and mortal sickness and all the untoward accidents of life combine to menace it—these will know the agony that Eugénie suffered. She shed many tears as she walked up and down the little garden; it had grown so narrow for her now; the courtyard, the old house, and the town had all grown narrow, and her thoughts fared forth already across vast spaces of sea.
It was the day before the day of departure. That morning, while Grandet and Nanon were out of the house, the precious casket that held the two portraits was solemnly deposited in Eugénie’s chest, beside the now empty velvet bag in the only drawer that could be locked, an installation which was not effected without many tears and kisses. When Eugénie locked the drawer and hid the key in her bosom, she had not the courage to forbid the kiss by which Charles sealed the act.
“The key shall always stay there, dear.”
“Ah! well, my heart will always be there with it too.”
“Oh! Charles, you should not say that,” she said a little reproachfully.
“Are we not married?” be replied. “I have your word; take mine.”
“Thine forever!” they said together, and repeated it a second time. No holier vow was ever made on earth; for Charles’ love had received a moment’s consecration in the presence of Eugénie’s simple sincerity.
It was a melancholy group round the breakfast-table next morning. Even Nanon herself, in spite of Charles’ gift of a new gown and a gilt cross, had a tear in her eye; but she was free to express her feelings and did so.
“Oh! that poor, delicate young gentleman who is going to sea,” was the burden of her discourse.
At half-past ten the whole family left the house to see Charles start for Nantes in the diligence. Nanon had let the dog loose, and locked the door, and meant to carry Charles’ handbag. Every shopkeeper in the ancient street was in the doorway to watch the little procession pass. M. Cruchot joined them in the marketplace.
“Eugénie,” whispered her mother, “mind you do not cry!”
They reached the gateway of the inn, and there Grandet kissed Charles on both cheeks. “Well! nephew,” he said, “set out poor and come back rich; you leave your father’s honor in safe keeping. I—Grandet—will answer to you for that; you will only have to do
