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IX

The following day the family, meeting at eight o'clock for the earlybreakfast, made a picture of genuine domestic intimacy. Grief haddrawn Madame Grandet, Eugenie, and Charles /en rapport/; even Nanonsympathized, without knowing why. The four now made one family. As tothe old man, his satisfied avarice and the certainty of soon gettingrid of the dandy without having to pay more than his journey toNantes, made him nearly indifferent to his presence in the house. Heleft the two children, as he called Charles and Eugenie, free toconduct themselves as they pleased, under the eye of Madame Grandet,in whom he had implicit confidence as to all that concerned public andreligious morality. He busied himself in straightening the boundariesof his fields and ditches along the high-road, in his poplar-plantations beside the Loire, in the winter work of his vineyards, andat Froidfond. All these things occupied his whole time.

For Eugenie the springtime of love had come. Since the scene at nightwhen she gave her little treasure to her cousin, her heart hadfollowed the treasure. Confederates in the same secret, they looked ateach other with a mutual intelligence which sank to the depth of theirconsciousness, giving a closer communion, a more intimate relation totheir feelings, and putting them, so to speak, beyond the pale ofordinary life. Did not their near relationship warrant the gentlenessin their tones, the tenderness in their glances? Eugenie took delightin lulling her cousin's pain with the pretty childish joys of a new-born love. Are there no sweet similitudes between the birth of loveand the birth of life? Do we not rock the babe with gentle songs andsoftest glances? Do we not tell it marvellous tales of the goldenfuture? Hope herself, does she not spread her radiant wings above itshead? Does it not shed, with infant fickleness, its tears of sorrowand its tears of joy? Does it not fret for trifles, cry for the prettypebbles with which to build its shifting palaces, for the flowersforgotten as soon as plucked? Is it not eager to grasp the comingtime, to spring forward into life? Love is our second transformation.Childhood and love were one and the same thing to Eugenie and toCharles; it was a first passion, with all its child-like play,,themore caressing to their hearts because they now were wrapped insadness. Struggling at birth against the gloom of mourning, their lovewas only the more in harmony with the provincial plainness of thatgray and ruined house. As they exchanged a few words beside the wellin the silent court, or lingered in the garden for the sunset hour,sitting on a mossy seat saying to each other the infinite nothings oflove, or mused in the silent calm which reigned between the house andthe ramparts like that beneath the arches of a church, Charlescomprehended the sanctity of love; for his great lady, his dearAnnette, had taught him only its stormy troubles. At this moment heleft the worldly passion, coquettish, vain, and showy as it was, andturned to the true, pure love. He loved even the house, whose customsno longer seemed to him ridiculous. He got up early in the morningsthat he might talk with Eugenie for a moment before her father came todole out the provisions; when the steps of the old man sounded on thestaircase he escaped into the garden. The small criminality of thismorning /tete-a-tete/ which Nanon pretended not to see, gave to theirinnocent love the lively charm of a forbidden joy.

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