more than
the most ironical of smiles.

"True enough; poplars should only be planted on poor soil," said
Cruchot, amazed at Grandet's calculations.

"Y-y-yes, monsieur," answered the old man satirically.

Eugenie, who was gazing at the sublime scenery of the Loire, and paying
no attention to her father's reckonings, presently turned an ear to the
remarks of Cruchot when she heard him say,--

"So you have brought a son-in-law from Paris. All Saumur is talking
about your nephew. I shall soon have the marriage-contract to draw up,
hey! Pere Grandet?"

"You g-g-got up very early to t-t-tell me that," said Grandet,
accompanying the remark with a motion of his wen. "Well, old
c-c-comrade, I'll be frank, and t-t-tell you what you want t-t-to know.
I would rather, do you see, f-f-fling my daughter into the Loire than
g-g-give her to her c-c-cousin. You may t-t-tell that everywhere,--no,
never mind; let the world t-t-talk."

This answer dazzled and blinded the young girl with sudden light. The
distant hopes upspringing in her heart bloomed suddenly, became real,
tangible, like a cluster of flowers, and she saw them cut down and
wilting on the earth. Since the previous evening she had attached
herself to Charles by those links of happiness which bind soul to soul;
from henceforth suffering was to rivet them. Is it not the noble destiny
of women to be more moved by the dark solemnities of grief than by the
splendors of fortune? How was it that fatherly feeling had died out of
her father's heart? Of what crime had Charles been guilty? Mysterious
questions! Already her dawning love, a mystery so profound, was wrapping
itself in mystery. She walked back trembling in all her limbs; and when
she reached the gloomy street, lately so joyous to her, she felt its
sadness, she breathed the melancholy which time and events had printed
there. None of love's lessons lacked. A few steps from their own door
she went on before her father and waited at the threshold. But Grandet,
who saw a newspaper in the notary's hand, stopped short and asked,--

"How are the Funds?"

"You never listen to my advice, Grandet," answered Cruchot. "Buy soon;
you will still make twenty per cent in two years, besides getting an
excellent rate of interest,--five thousand a year for eighty thousand
francs fifty centimes."

"We'll see about that," answered Grandet, rubbing his chin.

"Good God!" exclaimed the notary.

"Well, what?" cried Grandet; and at the