r was shut, Eugenie came out of her room and went to
her mother.

"What courage you have had for your daughter's sake!" she said.

"Ah! my child, see where forbidden things may lead us. You forced me to
tell a lie."

"I will ask God to punish only me."

"Is it true," cried Nanon, rushing in alarmed, "that mademoiselle is to
be kept on bread and water for the rest of her life?"

"What does that signify, Nanon?" said Eugenie tranquilly.

"Goodness! do you suppose I'll eat _frippe_ when the daughter of the
house is eating dry bread? No, no!"

"Don't say a word about all this, Nanon," said Eugenie.

"I'll be as mute as a fish; but you'll see!"

* * * * *

Grandet dined alone for the first time in twenty-four years.

"So you're a widower, monsieur," said Nanon; "it must be disagreeable to
be a widower with two women in the house."

"I did not speak to you. Hold your jaw, or I'll turn you off! What is
that I hear boiling in your saucepan on the stove?"

"It is grease I'm trying out."

"There will be some company to-night. Light the fire."

The Cruchots, Madame des Grassins, and her son arrived at the usual
hour of eight, and were surprised to see neither Madame Grandet nor her
daughter.

"My wife is not very well, and Eugenie is with her," said the old
wine-grower, whose face betrayed no emotion.

At the end of an hour spent in idle conversation, Madame des Grassins,
who had gone up to see Madame Grandet, came down, and every one
inquired,--

"How is Madame Grandet?"

"Not at all well," she answered; "her condition seems to me really
alarming. At her age you ought to take every precaution, Papa Grandet."

"We'll see about it," said the old man in an absent way.

They all wished him good-night. When the Cruchots got into the street
Madame des Grassins said to them,--

"There is something going on at the Grandets. The mother is very ill
without her knowing it. The girl's eyes are red, as if she had been
crying all day. Can they be trying to marry her against her will?"

* * * * *

When Grandet had gone to bed Nanon came softly to Eugenie's room in her
stockinged feet and showed her a pate baked in a saucepan.

"See, mademoiselle," said the good soul, "Cornoiller gave me a hare. You
eat so little that this pate will last you full a week; in such frosty
weather it won't spoil. You sha'n't live on dry bread, I'm determined;
it isn't wholeso