“By the shears of my father!”
Whenever the old man swore that oath the rafters trembled.
“Holy Virgin! Madame is turning pale,” cried Nanon.
“Grandet, your anger will kill me,” said the poor mother.
“Ta, ta, ta, ta! nonsense; you never die in your family! Eugenie, what have you done with your gold?” he cried, rushing upon her.
“Monsieur,” said the daughter, falling at Madame Grandet’s knees, “my mother is ill. Look at her; do not kill her.”
Grandet was frightened by the pallor which overspread his wife’s face, usually so yellow.
“Nanon, help me to bed,” said the poor woman in a feeble voice; “I am dying—”
Nanon gave her mistress an arm, Eugenie gave her another; but it was only with infinite difficulty that they could get her upstairs, she fell with exhaustion at every step. Grandet remained alone. However, in a few moments he went up six or eight stairs and called out,—
“Eugenie, when your mother is in bed, come down.”