and watched while she placed the bags of money one upon another in his
secret receptacles and relocked the door. Then she returned silently to
her seat, after giving him the key, which he replaced in his waistcoat
pocket and fingered from time to time. His old friend the notary,
feeling sure that the rich heiress would inevitably marry his nephew
the president, if Charles Grandet did not return, redoubled all his
attentions; he came every day to take Grandet's orders, went on his
errands to Froidfond, to the farms and the fields and the vineyards,
sold the vintages, and turned everything into gold and silver, which
found their way in sacks to the secret hiding-place.

At length the last struggle came, in which the strong frame of the
old man slowly yielded to destruction. He was determined to sit at
the chimney-corner facing the door of the secret room. He drew off and
rolled up all the coverings which were laid over him, saying to Nanon,
"Put them away, lock them up, for fear they should be stolen."

So long as he could open his eyes, in which his whole being had now
taken refuge, he turned them to the door behind which lay his treasures,
saying to his daughter, "Are they there? are they there?" in a tone of
voice which revealed a sort of panic fear.

"Yes, my father," she would answer.

"Take care of the gold--put gold before me."

Eugenie would then spread coins on a table before him, and he would sit
for hours together with his eyes fixed upon them, like a child who, at
the moment it first begins to see, gazes in stupid contemplation at the
same object, and like the child, a distressful smile would flicker upon
his face.

"It warms me!" he would sometimes say, as an expression of beatitude
stole across his features.

When the cure of the parish came to administer the last sacraments, the
old man's eyes, sightless, apparently, for some hours, kindled at the
sight of the cross, the candlesticks, and the holy-water vessel of
silver; he gazed at them fixedly, and his wen moved for the last time.
When the priest put the crucifix of silver-gilt to his lips, that he
might kiss the Christ, he made a frightful gesture, as if to seize it;
and that last effort cost him his life. He called Eugenie, whom he
did not see, though she was kneeling beside him bathing with tears his
stiffening hand, which was already cold.

"My father, bless me!" she entreated.

"Take care of it all. You will render me an account yonder!"