aning. Upright and delicate as a flower born in the depths of
a forest, she knew nothing of the world's maxims, of its deceitful
arguments and specious sophisms; she therefore believed the atrocious
explanation which her father gave her designedly, concealing the
distinction which exists between an involuntary failure and an
intentional one.

"Father, could you not have prevented such a misfortune?"

"My brother did not consult me. Besides, he owes four millions."

"What is a 'million,' father?" she asked, with the simplicity of a child
which thinks it can find out at once all that it wants to know.

"A million?" said Grandet, "why, it is a million pieces of twenty sous
each, and it takes five twenty sous pieces to make five francs."

"Dear me!" cried Eugenie, "how could my uncle possibly have had
four millions? Is there any one else in France who ever had so many
millions?" Pere Grandet stroked his chin, smiled, and his wen seemed to
dilate. "But what will become of my cousin Charles?"

"He is going off to the West Indies by his father's request, and he will
try to make his fortune there."

"Has he got the money to go with?"

"I shall pay for his journey as far as--yes, as far as Nantes."

Eugenie sprang into his arms.

"Oh, father, how good you are!"

She kissed him with a warmth that almost made Grandet ashamed of
himself, for his conscience galled him a little.

"Will it take much time to amass a million?" she asked.

"Look here!" said the old miser, "you know what a napoleon is? Well, it
takes fifty thousand napoleons to make a million."

"Mamma, we must say a great many _neuvaines_ for him."

"I was thinking so," said Madame Grandet.

"That's the way, always spending my money!" cried the father. "Do you
think there are francs on every bush?"

At this moment a muffled cry, more distressing than all the others,
echoed through the garrets and struck a chill to the hearts of Eugenie
and her mother.

"Nanon, go upstairs and see that he does not kill himself," said
Grandet. "Now, then," he added, looking at his wife and daughter, who
had turned pale at his words, "no nonsense, you two! I must leave you; I
have got to see about the Dutchmen who are going away to-day. And then I
must find Cruchot, and talk with him about all this."

He departed. As soon as he had shut the door Eugenie and her mother
breathed more freely. Until this morning the young girl had never felt
constrained in the presence of