she proudly showed him her beautiful bruised
arm, and bathed every swollen vein with tears and kisses till it was
cured with happiness. Charles, on the other hand, never so much as knew
the secret of the cruel agitation that shook and bruised the heart of
his cousin, crushed as it was by the look of the old miser.

"You are not eating your breakfast, wife."

The poor helot came forward with a piteous look, cut herself a piece of
bread, and took a pear. Eugenie boldly offered her father some grapes,
saying,--

"Taste my preserves, papa. My cousin, you will eat some, will you not? I
went to get these pretty grapes expressly for you."

"If no one stops them, they will pillage Saumur for you, nephew. When
you have finished, we will go into the garden; I have something to tell
you which can't be sweetened."

Eugenie and her mother cast a look on Charles whose meaning the young
man could not mistake.

"What is it you mean, uncle? Since the death of my poor mother"--at
these words his voice softened--"no other sorrow can touch me."

"My nephew, who knows by what afflictions God is pleased to try us?"
said his aunt.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta," said Grandet, "there's your nonsense beginning. I
am sorry to see those white hands of yours, nephew"; and he showed the
shoulder-of-mutton fists which Nature had put at the end of his own
arms. "There's a pair of hands made to pick up silver pieces. You've
been brought up to put your feet in the kid out of which we make the
purses we keep our money in. A bad look-out! Very bad!"

"What do you mean, uncle? I'll be hanged if I understand a single word
of what you are saying."

"Come!" said Grandet.

The miser closed the blade of his knife with a snap, drank the last of
his wine, and opened the door.

"My cousin, take courage!"

The tone of the young girl struck terror to Charles's heart, and he
followed his terrible uncle, a prey to disquieting thoughts. Eugenie,
her mother, and Nanon went into the kitchen, moved by irresistible
curiosity to watch the two actors in the scene which was about to take
place in the garden, where at first the uncle walked silently ahead of
the nephew. Grandet was not at all troubled at having to tell Charles of
the death of his father; but he did feel a sort of compassion in knowing
him to be without a penny, and he sought for some phrase or formula by
which to soften the communication of that cruel truth. "You have lost
your father," seemed to him a m