"His father has blown his brains out."
"My uncle?" said Eugenie.
"Poor young man!" exclaimed Madame Grandet.
"Poor indeed!" said Grandet; "he isn't worth a sou!"
"Eh! poor boy, and he's sleeping like the king of the world!" said
Nanon in a gentle voice.
Eugenie stopped eating. Her heart was wrung, as the young heart is
wrung when pity for the suffering of one she loves overflows, for the
first time, the whole being of a woman. The poor girl wept.
"What are you crying about? You didn't know your uncle," said her
father, giving her one of those hungry tigerish looks he doubtless
threw upon his piles of gold.
"But, monsieur," said Nanon, "who wouldn't feel pity for the poor
young man, sleeping there like a wooden shoe, without knowing what's
coming?"
"I didn't speak to you, Nanon. Hold your tongue!"
Eugenie learned at that moment that the woman who loves must be able
to hide her feelings. She did not answer.
"You will say nothing to him about it, Ma'ame Grandet, till I return,"
said the old man. "I have to go and straighten the line of my hedge
along the high-road. I shall be back at noon, in time for the second
breakfast, and then I will talk with my nephew about his affairs. As
for you, Mademoiselle Eugenie, if it is for that dandy you are crying,
that's enough, child. He's going off like a shot to the Indies. You
will never see him again."
The father took his gloves from the brim of his hat, put them on with
his usual composure, pushed them in place by shoving the fingers of
both hands together, and went out.
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