Eugenie sprang into his arms.
“Oh, father, how good you are!”
She kissed him with a warmth that almost made Grandet ashamed of himself, for his conscience galled him a little.
“Will it take much time to amass a million?” she asked.
“Look here!” said the old miser, “you know what a napoleon is? Well, it takes fifty thousand napoleons to make a million.”
“Mamma, we must say a great many neuvaines for him.”
“I was thinking so,” said Madame Grandet.
“That’s the way, always spending my money!” cried the father. “Do you think there are francs on every bush?”
At this moment a muffled cry, more distressing than all the others, echoed through the garrets and struck a chill to the hearts of Eugenie and her mother.
“Nanon, go upstairs and see that he does not kill himself,” said Grandet. “Now, then,” he added, looking at his wife and daughter, who had turned pale at his words, “no nonsense, you two! I must leave you; I have got to see about the Dutchmen who are going away to-day. And then I must find Cruchot, and talk with him about all this.”