This day was destined1 to be solemn throughout and full of events. Nanon announced the cure of the parish church. He was related to the Cruchots, and therefore in the interests of Monsieur de Bonfons. For some time past the old abbe had urged him to speak to Mademoiselle Grandet, from a purely2 religious point of view, about the duty of marriage for a woman in her position. When she saw her pastor3, Eugenie supposed he had come for the thousand francs which she gave monthly to the poor, and she told Nanon to go and fetch them; but the cure only smiled.
“To-day, mademoiselle,” he said, “I have come to speak to you about a poor girl in whom the whole town of Saumur takes an interest, who, through lack of charity to herself, neglects her Christian4 duties.”
“Monsieur le cure, you have come to me at a moment when I cannot think of my neighbor, I am filled with thoughts of myself. I am very unhappy; my only refuge is in the Church; her bosom5 is large enough to hold all human woe6, her love so full that we may draw from its depths and never drain it dry.”
“Mademoiselle, in speaking of this young girl we shall speak of you. Listen! If you wish to insure your salvation7 you have only two paths to take,—either leave the world or obey its laws. Obey either your earthly destiny or your heavenly destiny.”
“Ah! your voice speaks to me when I need to hear a voice. Yes, God has sent you to me; I will bid farewell to the world and live for God alone, in silence and seclusion8.”
“My daughter, you must think long before you take so violent a step. Marriage is life, the veil is death.”
“Yes, death,—a quick death!” she said, with dreadful eagerness.
“Death? but you have great obligations to fulfil to society, mademoiselle. Are you not the mother of the poor, to whom you give clothes and wood in winter and work in summer? Your great fortune is a loan which you must return, and you have sacredly accepted it as such. To bury yourself in a convent would be selfishness; to remain an old maid is to fail in duty. In the first place, can you manage your vast property alone? May you not lose it? You will have law-suits, you will find yourself surrounded by inextricable difficulties. Believe your pastor: a husband is useful; you are bound to preserve what God has bestowed9 upon you. I speak to you as a precious lamb of my flock. You love God too truly not to find your salvation in the midst of his world, of which you are noble ornament10 and to which you owe your example.”
At this moment Madame des Grassins was announced. She came incited11 by vengeance12 and the sense of a great despair.
“Mademoiselle,” she said—“Ah! here is monsieur le cure; I am silent. I came to speak to you on business; but I see that you are conferring with—”
“Madame,” said the cure, “I leave the field to you.”
“Oh! monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie, “come back later; your support is very necessary to me just now.”
“Ah, yes, indeed, my poor child!” said Madame des Grassins.
“What do you mean?” asked Eugenie and the cure together.
“Don’t I know about your cousin’s return, and his marriage with Mademoiselle d’Aubrion? A woman doesn’t carry her wits in her pocket.”
Eugenie blushed, and remained silent for a moment. From this day forth13 she assumed the impassible countenance14 for which her father had been so remarkable15.
“Well, madame,” she presently said, ironically, “no doubt I carry my wits in my pocket, for I do not understand you. Speak, say what you mean, before monsieur le cure; you know he is my director.”
“Well, then, mademoiselle, here is what des Grassins writes me. Read it.”
Eugenie read the following letter:—
My dear Wife,—Charles Grandet has returned from the Indies and
has been in Paris about a month—
“A month!” thought Eugenie, her hand falling to her side. After a pause she resumed the letter,—
I had to dance attendance before I was allowed to see the future
Vicomte d’Aubrion. Though all Paris is talking of his marriage and
the banns are published—
“He wrote to me after that!” thought Eugenie. She did not conclude the thought; she did not cry out, as a Parisian woman would have done, “The villain16!” but though she said it not, contempt was none the less present in her mind.
The marriage, however, will not come off. The Marquis d’Aubrion
will never give his daughter to the son of a bankrupt. I went to
tell Grandet of the steps his uncle and I took in his father’s
business, and the clever manoeuvres by which we had managed to
keep the creditor17’s quiet until the present time. The insolent18
fellow had the face to say to me—to me, who for five years have
devoted19 myself night and day to his interests and his honor!—that
his father’s affairs were not his! A solicitor20 would have had
the right to demand fees amounting to thirty or forty thousand
francs, one per cent on the total of the debts. But patience!
there are twelve hundred thousand francs legitimately21 owing to the
creditors22, and I shall at once declare his father a bankrupt.
I went into this business on the word of that old crocodile
Grandet, and I have made promises in the name of his family. If
Monsieur de vicomte d’Aubrion does not care for his honor, I care
for mine. I shall explain my position to the creditors. Still, I
have too much respect for Mademoiselle Eugenie (to whom under
happier circumstances we once hoped to be allied) to act in this
matter before you have spoken to her about it—
There Eugenie paused, and coldly returned the letter without finishing it.
“I thank you,” she said to Madame des Grassins.
“Ah! you have the voice and manner of your deceased father,” Madame des Grassins replied.
“Madame, you have eight thousand francs to pay us,” said Nanon, producing Charles’s cheque.
“That’s true; have the kindness to come with me now, Madame Cornoiller.”
“Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin23 after marriage?”
“That is a case of conscience whose solution is not within my knowledge. If you wish to know what the celebrated24 Sanchez says of it in his treatise25 ‘De Matrimonio,’ I shall be able to tell you to-morrow.”
The cure went away; Mademoiselle Grandet went up to her father’s secret room and spent the day there alone, without coming down to dinner, in spite of Nanon’s entreaties26. She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful27 the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny28, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung29 her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy30 speeches. She hid her misery31 behind a veil of courtesy. Towards nine o’clock the games ended and the players left the tables, paying their losses and discussing points of the game as they joined the rest of the company. At the moment when the whole party rose to take leave, an unexpected and striking event occurred, which resounded32 through the length and breadth of Saumur, from thence through the arrondissement, and even to the four surrounding prefectures.
“Stay, monsieur le president,” said Eugenie to Monsieur de Bonfons as she saw him take his cane33.
There was not a person in that numerous assembly who was unmoved by these words. The president turned pale, and was forced to sit down.
“The president gets the millions,” said Mademoiselle de Gribeaucourt.
“It is plain enough; the president marries Mademoiselle Grandet,” cried Madame d’Orsonval.
“All the trumps34 in one hand,” said the abbe.
“A love game,” said the notary35.
Each and all said his say, made his pun, and looked at the heiress mounted on her millions as on a pedestal. The drama begun nine years before had reached its conclusion. To tell the president, in face of all Saumur, to “stay,” was surely the same thing as proclaiming him her husband. In provincial36 towns social conventionalities are so rigidly37 enforced than an infraction39 like this constituted a solemn promise.
“Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront40 him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. But you can possess my hand and my fortune only at the cost of doing me an inestimable service.”
“I am ready for all things,” said the president.
“Here are fifteen hundred thousand francs,” she said, drawing from her bosom a certificate of a hundred shares in the Bank of France. “Go to Paris,—not to-morrow, but instantly. Find Monsieur des Grassins, learn the names of my uncle’s creditors, call them together, pay them in full all that was owing, with interest at five per cent from the day the debt was incurred41 to the present time. Be careful to obtain a full and legal receipt, in proper form, before a notary. You are a magistrate42, and I can trust this matter in your hands. You are a man of honor; I will put faith in your word, and meet the dangers of life under shelter of your name. Let us have mutual43 indulgence. We have known each other so long that we are almost related; you would not wish to render me unhappy.”
The president fell at the feet of the rich heiress, his heart beating and wrung with joy.
“I will be your slave!” he said.
“When you obtain the receipts, monsieur,” she resumed, with a cold glance, “you will take them with all the other papers to my cousin Grandet, and you will give him this letter. On your return I will keep my word.”
The president understood perfectly44 that he owed the acquiescence
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