Eugénie Grandet

fifty thousand francs, and partly for advances of money for the purchase of a hundred thousand livres worth of consols⁠—M. des Grassins was sending him, by diligence, thirty thousand francs in crowns, the remainder (after the aforesaid deductions had been made) of the cooper’s half-yearly dividends, and informed Grandet that consols were steadily rising. They stood at eighty-nine at the present moment, and well-known capitalists were buying for the next account at the end of January at ninety-two. In two months Grandet had made twelve percent on his capital; he had straightened his accounts; and henceforward he would receive fifty thousand francs every half year, clear of taxes or any outgoing expenses. In short, he had grasped the theory of consols (a class of investment of which the provincial mind is exceedingly shy), and looking ahead, he beheld himself the master of six millions of francs in five years’ time⁠—six millions, which would go on accumulating with scarcely any trouble on his part⁠—six millions of francs! And there was the value of his landed property to add to this; he saw himself in a fair way to build up a colossal fortune. The six francs given to Nanon were perhaps in reality the payment for an immense service which the girl had unwittingly done her master.

“Oho! what can Goodman Grandet be after? He is running as if there were a fire somewhere,” the shopkeepers said to each other as they took down their shutters that New Year’s morning.

A little later when they saw him coming back from the quay followed by a porter from the coach office, who was wheeling a barrow piled up with little bags full of something⁠—

“Ah!” said they, “water always makes for the river, the old boy was hurrying after his crowns.”

“They flow in on him from Paris, and Froidfond, and Holland,” said one.

“He will buy Saumur before he has done,” cried another.

“He does not care a rap for the cold; he is always looking after his business,” said a woman to her husband.

“Hi! M. Grandet! if you have more of that than you know what to do with, I can help you to get rid of some of it.”

“Eh! they are only coppers,” said the vinegrower.

“Silver, he means,” said the porter in a low voice.

“Keep a still tongue in your head, if you want me to bear you in mind,” said the goodman as he opened the door.

“Oh! the old fox, I thought he was deaf,” said the porter to himself, “but it looks as though he could hear well enough in cold weather.”

“Here is a franc for a New Year’s gift, and keep quiet about this. Off with you! Nanon will bring back the barrow. Nanon!” cried Grandet, “are the women-folk gone to mass?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come, look sharp and lend a hand here, then,” he cried, and loaded her with the bags. In another minute the crowns were safely transferred to his room, where he locked himself in.

“Thump on the wall when breakfast is ready,” he called through the door, “and take the wheelbarrow back to the coach office.”

It was ten o’clock before the family breakfasted.

“Your father will not ask to see your gold now,” said Mme. Grandet as they came back from mass; “and if he does, you can shiver and say it is too cold to go upstairs for it. We shall have time to make up the money again before your birthday⁠ ⁠…”

Grandet came down the stairs with his head full of schemes for transforming the five-franc pieces just received from Paris into gold coin, which should be neither clipped nor light weight. He thought of his admirably-timed investment in Government stock, and made up his mind that he would continue to put his money into consols until they rose to a hundred francs. Such meditations as these boded ill for Eugénie. As soon as he came in the two women wished him a prosperous New Year, each in her own way; Mme. Grandet was grave and ceremonious, but his daughter put her arms round his neck and kissed him. “Aha! child,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks, “I am thinking and working for you, you see!⁠ ⁠… I want you to be happy and if you are to be happy, you must have money; for you won’t get anything without it. Look! here is a brand new napoleon, I sent to Paris on purpose for it. Nom d’un petit bonhomme! there is not a speck of gold in the house, except yours, you are the one who has the gold. Let me see your gold, little girl.”

“Bah! it is too cold, let us have breakfast,” Eugénie answered.

“Well, then, after breakfast we will have a look at it, eh? It will be good for our digestions. That great des Grassins sent us this, all the same,” he went on, “so get your breakfasts, children, for it costs us nothing. Des Grassins is going on nicely; I am pleased with him; the old fish is doing Charles a service, and all free gratis. Really, he is managing poor dear Grandet’s affairs very cleverly. Ououh! ououh!” he cried, with his mouth full, “this is good! Eat away, wife; there is enough here to last us for two days at least.”

“I am not hungry. I am very poorly, you know that very well.”

“Oh! Ah! but you have a sound constitution; you are a La Bertellière, and you can put away a great deal without any fear of damaging yourself. You may be a trifle sallow but I have a liking for yellow myself.”

The prisoner shrinking from a public and ignominious death could not well await his doom with a more sickening dread than Mme. Grandet and Eugénie felt as they foresaw the end of breakfast and the inevitable sequel. The more boisterously the cooper talked and ate, the lower sank their spirits; but to the girl, in this crisis, a certain support was not lacking, love was strong within her. “I would die a