"I came to speak to you on business."

"Ah! ah! have you brought some gold in exchange for my silver?"

"No, no, I have not come about money; it is about your daughter Eugenie.
All the town is talking of her and you."

"What does the town meddle for? A man's house is his castle."

"Very true; and a man may kill himself if he likes, or, what is worse,
he may fling his money into the gutter."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, your wife is very ill, my friend. You ought to consult Monsieur
Bergerin; she is likely to die. If she does die without receiving proper
care, you will not be very easy in mind, I take it."

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! you know a deal about my wife! These doctors, if they
once get their foot in your house, will come five and six times a day."

"Of course you will do as you think best. We are old friends; there is
no one in all Saumur who takes more interest than I in what concerns
you. Therefore, I was bound to tell you this. However, happen what may,
you have the right to do as you please; you can choose your own course.
Besides, that is not what brings me here. There is another thing which
may have serious results for you. After all, you can't wish to kill
your wife; her life is too important to you. Think of your situation in
connection with your daughter if Madame Grandet dies. You must render an
account to Eugenie, because you enjoy your wife's estate only during her
lifetime. At her death your daughter can claim a division of property,
and she may force you to sell Froidfond. In short, she is her mother's
heir, and you are not."

These words fell like a thunderbolt on the old man, who was not as wise
about law as he was about business. He had never thought of a legal
division of the estate.

"Therefore I advise you to treat her kindly," added Cruchot, in
conclusion.

"But do you know what she has done, Cruchot?"

"What?" asked the notary, curious to hear the truth and find out the
cause of the quarrel.

"She has given away her gold!"

"Well, wasn't it hers?" said the notary.

"They all tell me that!" exclaimed the old man, letting his arms fall to
his sides with a movement that was truly tragic.

"Are you going--for a mere nothing,"--resumed Cruchot, "to put obstacles
in the way of the concessions which you will be obliged to ask from your
daughter as soon as her mother dies?"

"Do you call six thousand francs a mere nothing?"

"Hey! my old friend, do you know what the inventory of your