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"Well?" she said, as soon as they were alone. Eugenie's face was an answer; it was bright with a joy which some persons might have attributed to the satisfaction of vanity. "He can be saved, dear; but for three months only; during which time we must plan some other means of doing it permanently.
Of Eugénie, still a few words remain to say. About a year after Fenwick's return she lost her father. A little later Elsie Welby died. To the end of her life she had never willingly accepted Eugénie's service, and the memory of this, alack, is for Eugénie among the pains that endure. What influence it may have had upon her later course can hardly be discussed here.
I've earned it," said Nanon; "most people would have broken the bottle; but I'd sooner have broken my elbow holding it up high." "Poor Nanon!" said Grandet, filling a glass. "Did you hurt yourself?" asked Eugenie, looking kindly at her. "No, I didn't fall; I threw myself back on my haunches." "Well! as it is Eugenie's birthday," said Grandet, "I'll have the step mended.
In such a scene Eugénie's patient acquiescence in middle age becomes a visible fact, is divined and accepted at once, without further insistence; it is latent in the scene from the beginning, even at the time of the small romance of her youth.
Eugenie's hand is sought by several suitors, and in particular by the son of the banker des Grassins and the son of the notary Cruchot, these two families waging a diplomatic warfare on behalf of their respective candidates. Into this midst suddenly comes the fashionable nephew Charles Grandet, whose father has, unknown to him, just committed suicide to escape bankruptcy.
It is impossible to say what description of "loud" place had dwelt in the mind of Sophonisba's mamma as the locale where the Empress Eugénie's milliner "made" for her Majesty. Perhaps she hoped to see two cent gardes doing duty at the door of an or-molu paradise.
They were not, alack, of a kind to help the search for Phoebe; but, interpreted by the aid of her own quick imagination, they drew a picture of the lost mother and child, which sank deep, deep, into Eugénie's soul. Mrs. Fenwick, said Mrs. Hewson, scarcely spoke on the journey south.
'Look at the park, he cried, 'the fields, the woods. Look at the old castle in which your fathers have lived for eight hundred years. You have but to say the word and it is all yours once more. There flashed up into my memory the little red-brick house at Ashford, and Eugenie's sweet pale face looking over the laurel bushes which grew by the window. 'It is impossible! said I.
Eugénie's heart was wrung with pity for the young maimed creature; but the peevish image of the wife was swept away by the more truly tragic image of the husband. Eugénie might try to persuade herself of the possibility of Elsie's recovery; her real instinct denied it. Yet life was not necessarily threatened, it seemed, though certain fatal accidents might end it in a week.
He discussed it calmly with himself. It presented itself to him as an act altogether unworthy of her. What hurt him most, however, at these times, was the occasional sudden memory of Eugénie's face, trembling with pain, under some slight or unkindness shown her by his wife.
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