ere nothing to say; fathers die before
their children. But "you are absolutely without means,"--all the
misfortunes of life were summed up in those words! Grandet walked round
the garden three times, the gravel crunching under his heavy step.

In the crucial moments of life our minds fasten upon the locality where
joys or sorrows overwhelm us. Charles noticed with minute attention the
box-borders of the little garden, the yellow leaves as they fluttered
down, the dilapidated walls, the gnarled fruit-trees,--picturesque
details which were destined to remain forever in his memory, blending
eternally, by the mnemonics that belong exclusively to the passions,
with the recollections of this solemn hour.

"It is very fine weather, very warm," said Grandet, drawing a long
breath.

"Yes, uncle; but why--"

"Well, my lad," answered his uncle, "I have some bad news to give you.
Your father is ill--"

"Then why am I here?" said Charles. "Nanon," he cried, "order
post-horses! I can get a carriage somewhere?" he added, turning to his
uncle, who stood motionless.

"Horses and carriages are useless," answered Grandet, looking at
Charles, who remained silent, his eyes growing fixed. "Yes, my poor boy,
you guess the truth,--he is dead. But that's nothing; there is something
worse: he blew out his brains."

"My father!"

"Yes, but that's not the worst; the newspapers are all talking about it.
Here, read that."

Grandet, who had borrowed the fatal article from Cruchot, thrust the
paper under his nephew's eyes. The poor young man, still a child, still
at an age when feelings wear no mask, burst into tears.

"That's good!" thought Grandet; "his eyes frightened me. He'll be all
right if he weeps,--That is not the worst, my poor nephew," he said
aloud, not noticing whether Charles heard him, "that is nothing; you
will get over it: but--"

"Never, never! My father! Oh, my father!"

"He has ruined you, you haven't a penny."

"What does that matter? My father! Where is my father?"

His sobs resounded horribly against those dreary walls and reverberated
in the echoes. The three women, filled with pity, wept also; for tears
are often as contagious as laughter. Charles, without listening further
to his uncle, ran through the court and up the staircase to his chamber,
where he threw himself across the bed and hid his face in the sheets, to
weep in peace for his lost parents.

"The first burst must have its way," said Grandet, ent