ve broken the
bottle; but I'd sooner have broken my elbow holding it up high."

"Poor Nanon!" said Grandet, filling a glass.

"Did you hurt yourself?" asked Eugenie, looking kindly at her.

"No, I didn't fall; I threw myself back on my haunches."

"Well! as it is Eugenie's birthday," said Grandet, "I'll have the step
mended. You people don't know how to set your foot in the corner where
the wood is still firm."

Grandet took the candle, leaving his wife, daughter, and servant without
any other light than that from the hearth, where the flames were lively,
and went into the bakehouse to fetch planks, nails, and tools.

"Can I help you?" cried Nanon, hearing him hammer on the stairs.

"No, no! I'm an old hand at it," answered the former cooper.

At the moment when Grandet was mending his worm-eaten staircase and
whistling with all his might, in remembrance of the days of his youth,
the three Cruchots knocked at the door.

"Is it you, Monsieur Cruchot?" asked Nanon, peeping through the little
grating.

"Yes," answered the president.

Nanon opened the door, and the light from the hearth, reflected on the
ceiling, enabled the three Cruchots to find their way into the room.

"Ha! you've come a-greeting," said Nanon, smelling the flowers.

"Excuse me, messieurs," cried Grandet, recognizing their voices; "I'll
be with you in a moment. I'm not proud; I am patching up a step on my
staircase."

"Go on, go on, Monsieur Grandet; a man's house is his castle," said the
president sententiously.

Madame and Mademoiselle Grandet rose. The president, profiting by the
darkness, said to Eugenie:

"Will you permit me, mademoiselle, to wish you, on this the day of your
birth, a series of happy years and the continuance of the health which
you now enjoy?"

He offered her a huge bouquet of choice flowers which were rare in
Saumur; then, taking the heiress by the elbows, he kissed her on each
side of her neck with a complacency that made her blush. The president,
who looked like a rusty iron nail, felt that his courtship was
progressing.

"Don't stand on ceremony," said Grandet, entering. "How well you do
things on fete-days, Monsieur le president!"

"When it concerns mademoiselle," said the abbe, armed with his own
bouquet, "every day is a fete-day for my nephew."

The abbe kissed Eugenie's hand. As for Maitre Cruchot, he boldly kissed
her on both cheeks, remarking: "How we sprout up, to be sure! Every year
is twelve m