Madame Grandet cast a mother's look upon her daughter, and then
whispered in her ear,--
"Take care, you will love him!"
"Love him!" answered Eugenie. "Ah! if you did but know what my father
said to Monsieur Cruchot."
Charles turned over, and saw his aunt and cousin.
"I have lost my father, my poor father! If he had told me his secret
troubles we might have worked together to repair them. My God! my poor
father! I was so sure I should see him again that I think I kissed him
quite coldly--"
Sobs cut short the words.
"We will pray for him," said Madame Grandet. "Resign yourself to the
will of God."
"Cousin," said Eugenie, "take courage! Your loss is irreparable;
therefore think only of saving your honor."
With the delicate instinct of a woman who intuitively puts her mind
into all things, even at the moment when she offers consolation,
Eugenie sought to cheat her cousin's grief by turning his thoughts
inward upon himself.
"My honor?" exclaimed the young man, tossing aside his hair with an
impatient gesture as he sat up on his bed and crossed his arms. "Ah!
that is true. My uncle said my father had failed." He uttered a
heart-rending cry, and hid his face in his hands. "Leave me, leave me,
cousin! My God! my God! forgive my father, for he must have suffered
sorely!"
There was something terribly attractive in the sight of this young
sorrow, sincere without reasoning or afterthought. It was a virgin
grief which the simple hearts of Eugenie and her mother were fitted to
comprehend, and they obeyed the sign Charles made them to leave him to
himself.
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