Eugénie’s eyes were set in a fixed stare; the horror of this thought so filled the women that half the morning went by, and they were distressed to find themselves too late for high mass, and were only in time for the military mass. The year 1819 was almost over; there were only three more days left. In three days a terrible drama would begin, a drama undignified by poison, dagger or bloodshed, but fate dealt scarcely more cruelly with the princely house of Atreus than with the actors in this bourgeois tragedy.
“What is to become of us?” said Mme. Grandet, laying down her knitting on her knee.
Poor mother! all the events of the past two months had sadly hindered the knitting, the woolen cuffs for winter wear were not finished yet, a homely and apparently insignificant fact which was to work trouble enough for her. For want of the warm cuffs she caught a chill after a violent perspiration brought on by one of her husband’s fearful outbursts of rage.
“My poor child, I have been thinking, that if you had only told me about this, we should have had time to write to M. des Grassins in Paris. He might have managed to send us some gold pieces like those of yours; and although Grandet knows the look of them so well, still perhaps …”
“But where could we have found so much money?”
“I would have raised it on my property. Besides, M. des Grassins would have befriended us …”
“There is not time enough now,” faltered Eugénie in a smothered voice. “Tomorrow morning we shall have to go to his room to wish him a happy New Year, shall we not?”
“Oh! Eugénie, why not go and see the Cruchots about it?”
“No, no, that would be putting ourselves in their power; I should be entirely in their hands then. Besides, I have made up my mind. I have acted quite rightly, and I repent of nothing; God will protect me. May His holy will be done! Ah! if you had read that letter, mother, you would have thought of nothing but him.”
The next morning, January 1, 1820, the mother and daughter were in an agony of distress that they could not hide; sheer terror suggested the simple expedient of omitting the solemn visit to Grandet’s room. The bitter weather served as an excuse; the winter of 1819–20 was the coldest that had been known for years, and snow lay deep on the roofs.
Mme. Grandet called to her husband as soon as she heard him stirring, “Grandet, just let Nanon light a bit of fire in here for me, the air is so sharp that I am shivering under the bedclothes, and at my time of life I must take care of myself. And then,” she went on after a little pause, “Eugénie shall come in here to dress. The poor girl may do herself a mischief if she dresses in her own room in such cold. We will come downstairs into the sitting-room and wish you a happy New Year there by the fire.”
“Tut, tut, tut, what a tongue! What a way to begin the year, Mme. Grandet! You have never said so much in your life before. You have not had a sop of bread in wine, I suppose?”
There was a moment’s pause. Doubtless his wife’s proposal suited his notions, for he said, “Very well, I will do as you wish, Mme. Grandet. You really are a good sort of woman, it would be a pity for you to expire before you are due, though as a rule, the La Bertellières make old bones, don’t they, hey?” he cried, after a pause. “Well, their money has fallen in at last; I forgive them,” and he coughed.
“You are in spirits this morning,” said the poor wife.
“I always am in spirits.”
Hey! hey! cooper gay,
Mend your tub and take your pay.
He had quite finished dressing and came into his wife’s room, “Yes, nom d’un petit bonhomme! it is a mighty hard frost, all the same. We shall have a good breakfast today, wife. Des Grassins has sent me a pate de foies gras, truffled! I am going round to the coach office to see after it. He should have sent a double napoleon for Eugénie along with it,” said the cooper, coming closer, and lowering his voice. “I have no gold, I certainly had a few old coins still left, I may tell you that in confidence, but I had to let them go in the course of business,” and by way of celebrating the first day of the year he kissed his wife on the forehead.
“Eugénie,” cried the kind mother, as soon as Grandet had gone, “I don’t know which side of the bed your father got out on, but he is in a good humor this morning. Pshaw! we shall pull through.”
“What can have come over the master?” cried Nanon as she came into the room to light the fire. “First of all, he says, ‘Good morning, great stupid, a happy New Year! Go upstairs and light a fire in my wife’s room; she is feeling cold.’ I thought I must be off my head when I saw him holding out his hand with a six-franc piece in it that hadn’t been clipped a bit! There! madame, only look at it! Oh! he is a worthy man, all the same—he is a good man, he is. There are some as get harder-hearted the older they grow; but he turns sweeter, like your cordial that improves with keeping. He is a very good and a very excellent man …”
Grandet’s speculation had been completely successful; this was the cause of his high spirits. M. des Grassins—after deducting various amounts which the cooper owed him, partly for discounting Dutch bills to the amount of a hundred and
