Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 36, Number 81, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 June 1904 — THE MISER'S DAUGHTER [ARTICLE]

THE MISER'S DAUGHTER

By HONRE DE BALZAC

CHAPTER V. — (Continued.) "Come along, Cruchot.” said Grandet, addressing the notary, "You are one of ■sy friends;-! am going to show you what a piece of folly it is to plant poplars in good sail ■■■- -*' “Then the sixty thousand francs that you fingered for those poplars of yours in the meadows by the Loire are a mere •rifle to you?” said Cruchot, opening his •yes wide in his bewilderment. "And •uch luck as you had, too! * * * Felltog your timber just when there was no white wood to be had in Nantes, so that •very trunk fetched thirty francs!” Eugenie heard and did not hear, utterly unconscious that the. most critical moment of her life was rapidly approachtog, that a paternal and sovereign decree was about to be pronounced, and that the •Id notary was to bring all this about, firandet had reached the magnificent meadow land by the Loire. Some thirty laborers were busy digging out the roots •f the poplars that once stood there, filltog up the holes that were left and leveltog the ground. “Jean,” he called to one of the laborers, “fill up all the holes except those •long the riverside, where you can plant those poplar saplings that I bought. If yon set them along by the Loire they •will grow there finely at the expense of the government,” he added, and as he looked round at Cruchot the wen on his ■ose twitched slightly, the most sardonic ■mile could not have said more. “Yes, it is clear enough, poplars should •nly be planted in poor soil,” said Cru•hot, quite overcome with amazement at {Jrand'et’s astuteness. “Y— e — s, sir,” said the cooper irontoaily. Eugenie was looking out over the glorious landscape and along the Loire, ■without heeding her father’s words; but Crnchot’s talk with his client took another turn, and her attention was suddenaroused. “So you have a son-in-law come from Paris; they are talking about nothing hut your nephew in all Saumur. I shall soon have settlements to draw up; eh, pere Grandet?” “Did you come out early to—t —t —tell me that?” inquired Grandet, and again the wen twitched. “Very well, you are an old crony of mine; I will be plain ■with, and t—t—tell you what you w—want to know. I would rather fling my 4— d—daughter into the Loire, look you, than g—give her to her cousin. You «an give that out. But, no; I—l—let people gossip.” Everything swam before Eugenie’s ayes. Her vague hopes of distant happiness had suddenly taken definite shape, Sad sprung up and blossomed, and then her harvest of flowers had been as suddenly cut down and lay on the earth. Since yesterday she had woven the bands at happiness that unite two souls, and henceforward sorrow, it seemed, was to strengthen them. Is it not written in ■the noble destiny of woman that the grandeur of sorrow should touch her more closely than all the pomp and splen4or of fortune? How came it that a father’s feelings had been extinguished? What crime •ould be laid at Charles’ door? Mysterious questions! Mysterious and sad forebodings already surrounded her growing love, that mystery within her soul. When ■they turned to go home again she trembled in every limb; and as they went up ■the shady street, along which she had lately gone so joyously, the shadows looked gloomy, the air she breathed seemed full of the melancholy of autumn, everything about her was sad. Love, that had ■brought these keener perceptions, was quick to interpret every boding sign. As they neared home, she walked on ahead «f her father, knocked at the house door, and stood waiting beside it But Grandet, seeing that the notary carried a .newspaper still in its wrapper, asked, “How are consols?” “I know you will not take my advice, •Grandet,” Cruchot replied. “You should buy at once; the chance of making twenty per cent on them in two years is still •pen to you. You can buy now at eighty francs fifty centimes.” “We shall see,” remarked Grandet pensively, rubbing his chin. “Great heavens!” exclaimed the notary, who by this time had unfolded his •ewspaper. “Well, what is it?” cried Grandet as Gruchot put the paper in his hands and void: “Read that paragraph.” “M. Grandet, one of the most highly respected merchants in Paris, shot himself through the head yesterday after•oon, after putting in an appearance on •Change ns usual. He had previously •ent in his resignation to the President, resigning his position as Judge of the Tribunal of Commerce. His affairs had become involved through the failures of bis stock broker and notary. M. Grandet, whose character was very greatly •steemed, and whose credit stood high, would no doubt have found temporary assistance on the market which would bare enabled him to tide over his diffl•nlties. It is to be regretted that a man of such high character should have given way to the first impulse of despair ” and so forth, and so forth.

CHAPTER VI. “I knew it,” the old vine grower said. Phlegmatic though Cruchot was, he Mt a horrible shudder run through him at the words; perhaps Grnndet of Paris had stretched imploring hands in vain to lite millions of Grandet of Saumur; the blood ran cold in his veins. “And his son?” he asked presently; “he was in such spirits yesterday even“His eon knows nothing as yet,” GranHet answered, imperturbable as ever. “Good morning, M. Grandet,” said (JruchoL He understood the position •sw, and went to reassure the President He Bonfons. Grandet found breakfast ready. Mme. (Grandet was already seated in her chair, ■Joonted on the wooden blocks, and knitMug woolen cuffs for the winter. Eugeloto ran to her mother and put her arms about her, with the eager hunger for affsetlen that comes of a hidden trouble. i “You can get your breakfast,” said ■■MB, bustling downstairs in a hurry; Hbn to sleeping like a cherub. He looks ale* with his eyes shut! I went in

and called him, but it was all one, he never heard me.” “Let him sleep,” said Grandet; “he will wake soon enough to hear bad news, in any case.” “What is the matter?” asked Eugentev She was putting into her cup the two smallest lumps of sugar, weighing goodness knows how many grains; her .worthy parent was wont to amuse himself bycutting up sugar whenever he had nothing better to do. "His father has blown his brains out.” “Oh! that poor boy!” cried Mme. Grandet. “Poor indeed!” said Grandet; “he has not a penny.” “Ah, well! he is sleeping as if he were the king of all the world,” said Nanon pityingly. Eugenie cotild not eat. Her heart was wrung as a woman’s heart can be when for the first time her whole soul is filled with sorrow and compassion for the sorrow of one she loves. She burst into tears. “You did not know your uncle, so what Is there to cry about?” said her father, with a glance like a hungry tiger's; just such a glance as he could give, no doubt, to his huaps of gold. “But who wouldn’t feel sorry for the poor young man, sir?” said the serving maid; “sleeping there like a log, and knowing nothing of his fate.” “I did not speak to you, Nanon! Hold your tongue!” In that moment Eugenie learned that a woman who loves must dissemble her feelings. She was silent. “Until I come back, Mme. Grandet, you will say nothing about him, I hope,” the old cooper continued. “They are making a ditch in my meadows, and I must ga and see after it. I shall come back for the second breakfast at noon, and then my nephew- and I will have a talk about his affairs. As for you, Mademoiselle Eugenie, if you are crying over that popinjay, let us have no more of It, child. lie will be off post-haste to the Indies directly, and you will never set eyes on him any more.” Her father took up his gloves, which were lying on the rim of his hat, put them on in his cool, deliberate way, and then h$ went out. “Oh! mamma, I can scarcely breathe!” cried Eugenie when she was aloneWvith her mother; “I have never suffered like this!” This nervous excitement in one who was usually so quiet and self-possessed produced an effect on Mme. Grandet. She looked at her daughter, and her mother’s love and sympathetic instinct told her everything. “My poor little girl!” said Mme. Grandet, drawing Eugenie’s head down till it rested upon her bosom. Her daughter lifted her face, and gave her mother a questioning look, which seemed to read her inmost thoughts. “Why must he be sent to the Indies?” said the girl. “If he is in trouble, ought he not to stay here with us? Is he not our nearest relation?” “Yes, dear child, that wduld only be natural) but your father has reasons for what he does, and we must respect them. Mother and daughter sat in silepce; the one on her chair mounted on the wooden blocks, the other in her little armchair. Both women took up their needlework. Eugenie felt that her mother understood her, and her heart was full of gratitude for such tender sympathy. *•■ “How kind you are, dear mamma!” she said, as she took her mother's hand and kissed it. “Do you like him?” For an answer Mme. Grandet smiled. Then, after a moment’s pause, she murmured, “You cannot surely love him already? That would be a pity.” “Why would it be a pity?” asked Eugenie. “You like him, Nanon likes him, why should I not like him. too? Now, then, mamma, let us set the table for his breakfast”

She threw down her work, and her mother followed her example, saying as she did so, “You are a mad girl!” But none the less did she sanction her daughter’s freak by assisting in it. Charles, after making innumerable pirouettes around his room, came down at last, singing gay little snatches of song. He had taken much pains with his appearance, and now he came in with that gracious air of condescension which sits not ill on youth and -which gave Eugenie a melancholy pleasure. He went up to his aunt quite gayly. K “I hope you slept well, dear aunt?' And you. too. cousin?” “Cousin, you must be hungry,” said Eugenie. “Sit down.” “Oh, I never breakfast before twelve o’clock, just after I rise. But I have fared so badly on my journey that I will yield to persuasion. Besides”—he drew out a dainty little watch—“dear me, it is only eleven o’clock! I have been up betimes.” “Up betimes?” asked Mme. Grandet. “Yes, but I wanted to set my things straight. Well, I am quite ready for something, something not very substantial. a fowl or a partridge.” “A partridge,” Eugenie said to herself. She would willingly have given all she had for one.

“Come and take your seat,” said Mme. Grandet, addressing her nephew. The dandy sank into the armchair in a graceful attitude, much as a pretty woman might recline on her sofa. ' Eugenie and her mother drew their chairs to the fire and sat near him. “Do you always live here?” Charles inquired, thinking that the room looked even more hideous by daylight than by candle light • “Always,” Eugenie answered, watching him as she spoke. “Always, except during the vintage. Then we go to help Nanon, and we all stay at the Abbey at Noyers.” “Do you never take a walk?” “Sometimes, on Sundays, when it is fine, we walk down as far as the bridge," said Mme. Grandet, "or we sometimes go to see them cutting the hny.” “Have you a theater here?” "Go to the play!” cried Mme. Grandet; “go to see piny actors! Why, sir, do you not know that that la a mortal sin?” "There, sir,” said Nanon, bringing In

the eggs, **we will give you chickens !■ the shell.”' ~z~ ' - “Oh, new-laid eggs!” said Charlet, who, after the manner of those accu»torned to luxury, had quite forgotten all about his partridge. “Delicious! Do you happen to have any butter, eh, my good girl ?” - - £ _ “Butter? If you have butter now, you will have no cake by and by,” said the handmaid. “Yes, of course, Nanon; bring some butter,” cried Eugenie. The young girl watched her cousin while he cut his bread* and butter into strips, and felt happy. The most romantic shopgirl in Paris could not more thoroughly enjoy the spectacle of innocence triumphant in a melodrama. 'lt must be conceded that Charles, who had been brought up by a graceful and charming mother, and had received his “finishing education” from an accomplished woman of the world, was as dainty, neat and elegant in his ways as any coxcomb of the gentler sex. The girl’s quiet sympathy produced an almost magnetic effect. Charles, finding himself thus waited upon by his cousin and aunt, could not resist the influence of their overflowing kindness. He was radiant with good humor, and the look he gave Eugenie was almost a smile. As he looked at her more closely he noticed her pure, regular features, her unconscious attitude, the wonderful clearness of her eyes, Ju _which_ Jove sparkled, -though- sheas yet knew nothing of love but its pain and a wistful longing. “Really, my dear cousin,” he said, “if you were in a box at the opera and in evening dress, and I would answer for it, my aunt’s remark about deadly sin would be justified, all the men would be envious, nnd all the women jealous.” Eugenie’s heart beat fast with joy at this compliment, though it conveyed no meaning whatever to her mind. “You are laughing at a poor little country cousin,” she said. “If you knew me better, cousin, you would know that I detest banter; it sears the heart and deadens the feelings.” And he swallowed down a strip of bread and butter with perfect satisfaction. “No,” he continued, “I never make fun of others, very likely because I have not wit enough. They have a deadly trick in Paris saying, ‘He is so good natured,’ ■which, being interpreted, means—‘the poor youth is as stupid as a rhinoceros.’ But as I happen, to be rich, and it is known that I can hit the bull’s eye straight off at thirty paces, with any kind of pistol, anywhere, these witticisms are not leveled at me.” “It is evident from what you say, nephew,” said Mme. Grandet, gravely, “that you have a kind heart.” “That is a very pretty ring of yours,” said Eugenie; “is there any harm in asking to see it?” Charles took off the ring and held it out; Eugenie reddened- as her cousin’s rose-pink nails camo in contact with her finger tips. “Mother, only see how fine the work is!” * “Oh, what a lot of gold there is in it!” said Nanon, who brought in the coffee. “What is that?” asked Charles, laughing, as he pointed to an oval pipkin, made of glazed brown earthenware, ornamented without by a circular fringe of ashes. It was full of a brown, boiling liquid, in which coffee grounds were visible, as they rose to the surface and fell again. “Coffee; boiling hot!” answered Nanon.

“Oh, my dear aunt, I must at least leave some beneficent trace of my stay hej-e. You are a long way behind the times! I will show you how to make decent coffee.” Forthwith he endeavored to explain the principles involved. “Bless me; if there is all that to do about it,” said Nanon, “you would have to give your whole time to it. I’ll never make coffee that way, I know. Who is to cut the grass for our cow while I am looking after the coffee pot?” “I would do it,” said Eugenie. “Child!” said Mme. Grandet, with a look at her daughter; and at the word came a swift recollection of the misery about to overwhelm the unconscious young man, and the three women were suddenly silent, and gazed pityingly at him. He could not understand it. Just at that moment Mme. Grandet, Eugenie and Nanon, who could not think of the cobper’s return without shuddering, heard the familiar knock at the door. “That is papa!” said Eugenie. She took away the saucer full of sugar, leaving one or two lumps on the tablecloth. Nanon hurried away with the egg cups. Mme. Grandet started up like a frightened fawn. There was a sudden panic of terror, which amazed Charles, who was quite at a loss to account for it. “Why, what is the matter?” he asked. “My father is coming in,” explained Eugenie. (To be continued.)