“Yes, my dear, generous master; it has been killed two days.”
“Come, Nanon, bestir yourself,” said Grandet; “take these things, they’ll do for dinner. I have invited the two Cruchots.”
Nanon opened her eyes, stupid with amazement, and looked at everybody in the room.
“Well!” she said, “and how am I to get the lard and the spices?”
“Wife,” said Grandet, “give Nanon six francs, and remind me to get some of the good wine out of the cellar.”
“Well, then, Monsieur Grandet,” said the keeper, who had come prepared with an harangue for the purpose of settling the question of the indemnity, “Monsieur Grandet—”
“Ta, ta, ta, ta!” said Grandet; “I know what you want to say. You are a good fellow; we will see about it to-morrow, I’m too busy to-day. Wife, give him five francs,” he added to Madame Grandet as he decamped.
The poor woman was only too happy to buy peace at the cost of eleven francs. She knew that Grandet would let her alone for a fortnight after he had thus taken back, franc by franc, the money he had given her.
“Here, Cornoiller,” she said, slipping ten francs into the man’s hand, “some day we will reward your services.”
Cornoiller could say nothing, so he went away.