The Best Works of Balzac. Оноре де Бальзак

with such a noise that the women all jumped in their chairs.

      “There is no man in Saumur who would knock like that,” said the notary.

      “How can they bang in that way!” exclaimed Nanon; “do they want to break in the door?”

      “Who the devil is it?” cried Grandet.

      III

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      Nanon took one of the candles and went to open the door, followed by her master.

      “Grandet! Grandet!” cried his wife, moved by a sudden impulse of fear, and running to the door of the room.

      All the players looked at each other.

      “Suppose we all go?” said Monsieur des Grassins; “that knock strikes me as evil-intentioned.”

      Hardly was Monsieur des Grassins allowed to see the figure of a young man, accompanied by a porter from the coach-office carrying two large trunks and dragging a carpet-bag after him, than Monsieur Grandet turned roughly on his wife and said,—

      “Madame Grandet, go back to your loto; leave me to speak with monsieur.”

      Then he pulled the door quickly to, and the excited players returned to their seats, but did not continue the game.

      “Is it any one belonging to Saumur, Monsieur des Grassins?” asked his wife.

      “No, it is a traveller.”

      “He must have come from Paris.”

      “Just so,” said the notary, pulling out his watch, which was two inches thick and looked like a Dutch man-of-war; “it’s nine o’clock; the diligence of the Grand Bureau is never late.”

      “Is the gentleman young?” inquired the Abbe Cruchot.

      “Yes,” answered Monsieur des Grassins, “and he has brought luggage which must weigh nearly three tons.”

      “Nanon does not come back,” said Eugenie.

      “It must be one of your relations,” remarked the president.

      “Let us go on with our game,” said Madame Grandet gently. “I know from Monsieur Grandet’s tone of voice that he is annoyed; perhaps he would not like to find us talking of his affairs.”

      “Mademoiselle,” said Adolphe to his neighbor, “it is no doubt your cousin Grandet,—a very good-looking young man; I met him at the ball of Monsieur de Nucingen.” Adolphe did not go on, for his mother trod on his toes; and then, asking him aloud for two sous to put on her stake, she whispered: “Will you hold your tongue, you great goose!”

      At this moment Grandet returned, without la Grande Nanon, whose steps, together with those of the porter, echoed up the staircase; and he was followed by the traveller who had excited such curiosity and so filled the lively imaginations of those present that his arrival at this dwelling, and his sudden fall into the midst of this assembly, can only be likened to that of a snail into a beehive, or the introduction of a peacock into some village poultry-yard.

      “Sit down near the fire,” said Grandet.

      Before seating himself, the young stranger saluted the assembled company very gracefully. The men rose to answer by a courteous inclination, and the women made a ceremonious bow.

      “You are cold, no doubt, monsieur,” said Madame Grandet; “you have, perhaps, travelled from—”

      “Just like all women!” said the old wine-grower, looking up from a letter he was reading. “Do let monsieur rest himself!”

      “But, father, perhaps monsieur would like to take something,” said Eugenie.

      “He has got a tongue,” said the old man sternly.

      The stranger was the only person surprised by this scene; all the others were well-used to the despotic ways of the master. However, after the two questions and the two replies had been exchanged, the newcomer rose, turned his back towards the fire, lifted one foot so as to warm the sole of its boot, and said to Eugenie,—

      “Thank you, my cousin, but I dined at Tours. And,” he added, looking at Grandet, “I need nothing; I am not even tired.”

      “Monsieur has come from the capital?” asked Madame des Grassins.

      Monsieur Charles,—such was the name of the son of Monsieur Grandet of Paris,—hearing himself addressed, took a little eye-glass, suspended by a chain from his neck, applied it to his right eye to examine what was on the table, and also the persons sitting round it. He ogled Madame des Grassins with much impertinence, and said to her, after he had observed all he wished,—

      “Yes, madame. You are playing at loto, aunt,” he added. “Do not let me interrupt you, I beg; go on with your game: it is too amusing to leave.”

      “I was certain it was the cousin,” thought Madame des Grassins, casting repeated glances at him.

      “Forty-seven!” cried the old abbe. “Mark it down, Madame des Grassins. Isn’t that your number?”

      Monsieur des Grassins put a counter on his wife’s card, who sat watching first the cousin from Paris and then Eugenie, without thinking of her loto, a prey to mournful presentiments. From time to time the young heiress glanced furtively at her cousin, and the banker’s wife easily detected a crescendo of surprise and curiosity in her mind.

      Monsieur Charles Grandet, a handsome young man of twenty-two, presented at this moment a singular contrast to the worthy provincials, who, considerably disgusted by his aristocratic manners, were all studying him with sarcastic intent. This needs an explanation. At twenty-two, young people are still so near childhood that they often conduct themselves childishly. In all probability, out of every hundred of them fully ninety-nine would have behaved precisely as Monsieur Charles Grandet was now behaving.

      Some days earlier than this his father had told him to go and spend several months with his uncle at Saumur. Perhaps Monsieur Grandet was thinking of Eugenie. Charles, sent for the first time in his life into the provinces, took a fancy to make his appearance with the superiority of a man of fashion, to reduce the whole arrondissement to despair by his luxury, and to make his visit an epoch, importing into those country regions all the refinements of Parisian life. In short, to explain it in one word, he mean to pass more time at Saumur in brushing his nails than he ever thought of doing in Paris, and to assume the extra nicety and elegance of dress which a young man of fashion often lays aside for a certain negligence which in itself is not devoid of grace. Charles therefore brought with him a complete hunting-costume, the finest gun, the best hunting-knife in the prettiest sheath to be found in all Paris. He brought his whole collection of waistcoats. They were of all kinds,—gray, black, white, scarabaeus-colored: some were shot with gold, some spangled, some chined; some were double-breasted and crossed like a shawl, others were straight in the collar; some had turned-over collars, some buttoned up to the top with gilt buttons. He brought every variety of collar and cravat in fashion at that epoch. He brought two of Buisson’s coats and all his finest linen He brought his pretty gold toilet-set,—a present from his mother. He brought all his dandy knick-knacks, not forgetting a ravishing little desk presented to him by the most amiable of women,—amiable for him, at least,—a fine lady whom he called Annette and who at this moment was travelling, matrimonially and wearily, in Scotland, a victim to certain suspicions which required a passing sacrifice of happiness; in the desk was much pretty note-paper on which to write to her once a fortnight.

      In short, it was as complete a cargo of Parisian frivolities as it was possible for him to get together,—a collection of all the implements of husbandry with which the youth of leisure tills his life, from the little whip which helps to begin a duel, to the handsomely chased pistols which end it. His father having told him