Cruchot’s words were like a bolt from the blue; for much as the worthy cooper knew about business, he knew very little law. The idea of a forced sale had never occurred to him.
“So I should strongly recommend you to treat her kindly,” the notary concluded.
“But do you know what she has done, Cruchot?”
“No. What was it?” asked the notary; he felt curious to know the reason of the quarrel, and a confidence from old Grandet was an interesting novelty.
“She has given away her gold.”
“Oh! well, it belonged to her, didn’t it?”
“That is what they all say!” said the goodman, letting his arms fall with a tragic gesture.
“And for a trifle like that you would not shut yourself out from all hope of any concessions which you will want her to make if her mother dies?”
“Ah! do you call six thousand francs in gold a trifle?”
“Eh! my old friend, have you any idea what it will cost you to have your property valued and divided if Eugénie should compel you to do so?”
“What would it cost?”
“Two, three, or even four thousand francs. How could you know what it is worth unless you put it up to public auction? While if you come to an understanding—”
“By my father’s pruning-hook!” cried the vinegrower, sinking back, and turning quite pale. “We will see about this, Cruchot.”
After a moment of agony or of dumb bewilderment, the worthy man spoke, with his eyes fixed on his neighbor’s face. “Life is very hard!” he said. “It is full of troubles. Cruchot,” he went on, earnestly, “you are incapable of deceiving me; give me your word of honor that this ditty of yours has a solid foundation. Let me look at the Code; I want to see the Code!”
“My poor friend,” said the notary, “I ought to understand my own profession.”
“Then it is really true? I shall be plundered, cheated, robbed, and murdered by my own daughter!”
“She is her mother’s heiress.”
“Then what is the good of having children? Oh! my wife, I love my wife; luckily she has a sound constitution; she is a La Bertellière.”
“She has not a month to live.”
The cooper struck his forehead, took a few paces, and then came hack again.
“What is to be done?” he demanded of Cruchot, with a tragic expression on his face.
“Well, perhaps Eugénie might simply give up her claims to her mother’s property. You do not mean to disinherit her, do you? But do not treat her harshly if you want her to make a concession of that kind. I am speaking against my own interests, my friend. How do I make a living but by drawing up inventories and conveyances and deeds of arrangement and by winding up estates?”
“We shall see, we shall see. Let us say no more about this now, Cruchot. You have wrung my very soul. Have you taken any gold lately?”
“No; but I have some old louis, nine or ten perhaps, which you can have. Look here, my good friend, make it up with Eugénie; all Saumur is pointing a finger at you.”
“The rogues!”
“Well, consols have risen to ninety-nine, so you should be satisfied for once in your life.”
“At ninety-nine, Cruchot?”
“Yes.”
“Hey! hey! ninety-nine!” the old man said, as he went with the notary to the street door. He felt too much agitated by what he had just heard to stay quietly at home; so he went up to his wife’s room.
“Come, mother, you may spend the day with your daughter, I am going to Froidfond. Be good, both of you, while I am away. This is our wedding day, dear wife.—Stay! here are ten crowns for you, for the Fête-Dieu procession; you have wanted to give it for long enough. Take a holiday! have some fun, keep up your spirits and get well. Vive la joie!”
He threw down ten crowns of six francs each upon the bed, took her face in his hands, and kissed her on the forehead.
“You are feeling better, dear wife, are you not?”
“But how can you think of receiving God, who forgives, into your house, when you have shut your heart against your daughter?” she said, with deep feeling in her voice.
“Tut, tut, tut!” said the father soothingly; “we will see about that.”
“Merciful heaven! Eugénie!” called her mother, her face flushed with joy; “Eugénie, come and give your father a kiss, you are forgiven!” But her worthy father had vanished. He fled with all his might in the direction of his vineyards, where he set himself to the task of constructing his new world out of this chaos of strange ideas.
Grandet had just entered upon his sixty-seventh year. Avarice had gained a stronger hold upon him during the past two years of his life; indeed, all lasting passions grow with man’s growth; and it had come to pass with him, as with all men whose lives are ruled by one master-idea, that he clung with all the force of his imagination to the symbol which represented that idea for him. Gold—to have gold, that he might see and touch it, had become with him
