“What is it?” asked Eugenie, putting into her coffee the two little bits of sugar weighing less than half an ounce which the old miser amused himself by cutting up in his leisure hours. Madame Grandet, who did not dare to put the question, gazed at her husband.
“His father has blown his brains out.”
“My uncle?” said Eugenie.
“Poor young man!” exclaimed Madame Grandet.
“Poor indeed!” said Grandet; “he isn’t worth a sou!”
“Eh! poor boy, and he’s sleeping like the king of the world!” said Nanon in a gentle voice.
Eugenie stopped eating. Her heart was wrung, as the young heart is wrung when pity for the suffering of one she loves overflows, for the first time, the whole being of a woman. The poor girl wept.
“What are you crying about? You didn’t know your uncle,” said her father, giving her one of those hungry tigerish looks he doubtless threw upon his piles of gold.
“But, monsieur,” said Nanon, “who wouldn’t feel pity for the poor young man, sleeping there like a wooden shoe, without knowing what’s coming?”
“I didn’t speak to you, Nanon. Hold your tongue!”