The faithful Nanon no sooner showed herself in the market place than people began to rail at her master and to make jokes at his expense; but however loudly public opinion condemned old Grandet, the maidservant, jealous for the honor of the family, stoutly defended him.
“Well, now,” she would say to those who spoke ill of her master, “don’t we all grow harder as we grow older? And would you have him different from other people? Just hold your lying tongues. Mademoiselle lives like a queen. She is all by herself no doubt, but she likes it; and my master and mistress have their very good reasons for what they do.”
At last, one evening towards the end of spring, Mme. Grandet, feeling that this trouble, even more than her illness, was shortening her days, and that any further attempt on her part to obtain forgiveness for Eugénie was hopeless, confided her troubles to the Cruchots.
“To put a girl of twenty-three on a diet of bread and water! …” cried the President de Bonfons, “and without just and sufficient cause! Why, that constitutes legal cruelty; she might lodge a complaint; in as much as—”
“Come, nephew,” said the notary, “that is enough of your law court jargon. Be easy, madame; I will bring this imprisonment to an end tomorrow.”
Eugénie heard, and came out of her room.
“Gentlemen,” she said, impelled by a certain pride, “do nothing in this matter, I beg of you. My father is master in his own house, and so long as I live under his roof I ought to obey him. No one has any right to criticise his conduct; he is answerable to God, and to God alone. If you have any friendly feeling for me, I entreat you to say nothing whatever about this. If you expose my father to censure, you would lower us all in the eyes of the world. I am very thankful to you, gentlemen, for the interest you have taken in me, and you will oblige me still further if you will put a stop to the gossip that is going on in the town. I only heard of it by accident.”
“She is right,” said Mme. Grandet.
“Mademoiselle, the best possible way to stop people’s talk would be to set you at liberty,” said the old notary respectfully; he was struck with the beauty which solitude and love and sadness had brought into Eugénie’s face.
“Well, Eugénie, leave it in M. Cruchot’s hands, as he seems to think success is certain. He knows your father, and he knows, too, how to put the matter before him. You and your father must be reconciled at all costs, if you want me to be happy during the little time I have yet to live.”
The next morning Grandet went out to take a certain number of turns round the little garden, a habit that he had fallen into during Eugénie’s incarceration. He chose to take the air while Eugénie was dressing; and when he had reached the great walnut tree, he stood behind it for a few moments and looked at her window. He watched her as she brushed her long hair, and there was a sharp struggle doubtless, between his natural stubborn will and a longing to take his daughter in his arms and kiss her.
He would often go to sit on the little worm-eaten bench where Charles and Eugénie had vowed to love each other forever; and she, his daughter, also watched her father furtively, or looked into her glass and saw him reflected there, and the garden and the bench. If he rose and began to walk again, she went to sit in the window. It was pleasant to her to be there. She studied the bit of old wall, the delicate sprays of wild flowers that grew in its crevices, the maidenhair fern, the morning glories, and a little plant with thick leaves and white or yellow flowers, a sort of stonecrop that grows everywhere among the vines at Saumur and Tours.
Old M. Cruchot came early on a bright June morning and found the vinegrower sitting on the little bench with his back against the wall, absorbed in watching his daughter.
“What can I do for you, M. Cruchot?” he asked, as he became aware of the notary’s presence.
“I have come about a matter of business.”
“Aha! Have you some gold to exchange for crowns?”
“No, no. It is not a question of money this time, but of your daughter Eugénie. Everybody is talking about you and her.”
“What business is it of theirs? A man’s house is his castle.”
“Just so; and a man can kill himself if he has a mind, or he can do worse, he can throw his money out of the windows.”
“What?”
“Eh! but your wife is very ill, my friend. You ought even to call in M. Bergerin, her life is in danger. If she were to die for want of proper care, you would hear of it, I am sure.”
“Tut, tut, tut! you know what is the matter with her, and when once one of these doctors sets foot in your house, they will come five or six times a day.”
“After all, Grandet, you will
