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In the year of 1833, the novelist's correspondence alludes to several books which, like others previously spoken of, were never published, and probably never written. Among these are The Privilege, The History of a Fortunate Idea, and the Catholic Priest. Meanwhile, he did add considerably to his Droll Tales, the first series of which appeared in the same twelve months as Eugenie Grandet.
Grandet answered that the notary and the broker whose shameful failures had caused the death of his brother were still living, that they might now have recovered their credit, and that they ought to be sued, so as to get something out of them towards lessening the total of the deficit.
A foot-warmer, filled with embers from the kitchen fire, which la Grande Nanon contrived to save for them, enabled Madame and Mademoiselle Grandet to bear the chilly mornings and evenings of April and October.
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.
"My father is not a fool; my journey must have some object. Pshaw! put off serious thought till the morrow, as some Greek idiot said." "Blessed Virgin! how charming he is, my cousin!" Eugenie was saying, interrupting her prayers, which that night at least were never finished. Madame Grandet had no thoughts at all as she went to bed.
Grandet gazed at the door lined with sheet-iron which he lately put to his sanctum, and said to himself, "What a crazy idea of my brother to bequeath his son to me! A fine legacy! I have not fifty francs to give him. What are fifty francs to a dandy who looked at my barometer as if he meant to make firewood of it!"
Mother and daughter, in Grandet's absence, allowed themselves the pleasure of looking for a likeness to Charles in the portrait of his mother. "It is exactly his forehead and his mouth," Eugenie was saying as the old man opened the door. At the look which her husband cast upon the gold, Madame Grandet cried out, "O God, have pity upon us!"
She is good of course, good as gold, as Eugenie Grandet herself; and the novelist has been kind enough to allow her to be happier. But has he quite interested us in her love for David? Has he even persuaded us that the love existed in a form deserving the name?
Why did I yield to love? Why did I marry the natural daughter of a great lord? Charles has no family. Oh, my unhappy son! my son! Listen, Grandet! I implore nothing for myself, besides, your property may not be large enough to carry a mortgage of three millions, but for my son! Brother, my suppliant hands are clasped as I think of you; behold them!
At the second breakfast Charles received letters from Paris and began to read them. "Well, cousin, are you satisfied with the management of your affairs?" said Eugenie in a low voice. "Never ask such questions, my daughter," said Grandet. "What the devil! do I tell you my affairs? Why do you poke your nose into your cousin's? Let the lad alone!" "Oh! I haven't any secrets," said Charles.
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