They all sat down to play lotto at half-past eight, except old Grandet, who never played any game.  Just as Mme. Grandet had won a pool of sixteen sous, a heavy knock at the front door startled everybody in the room.  Nanon took up one of the candles and went to the door, followed by Grandet.  Presently they returned with a young man, good-looking, and fashionably dressed.  This was Charles Grandet, the son of the old cooper’s brother, a merchant in Paris.  The young man brought a good many trunks, and while Nanon saw to the bestowal of his luggage, all the lotto players looked at the visitor.  Old Grandet took the only remaining candle from the table to read a long letter which his nephew had brought.  Charles had set off from Paris at his father’s bidding to pay a visit to his uncle at Saumur.  He was a dandy, and his appearance was in striking contrast to the attire of the Cruchots and the Des Grassins.  Moreover, he already had had a love affair with a great lady whom he called Annette, and he was a good shot.  Altogether, Charles Grandet was a vain and selfish youth, conscious of his superiority over the unfashionable provincials of Saumur, but determined at all costs to enjoy himself as best he could.

As for Eugenie, it seemed to her that she had never seen such a perfect gentleman as this cousin from Paris, and, at the risk of incurring her father’s wrath, succeeded in persuading Nanon to do what she could to make things comfortable for their guest in the cold and dreary house.

Nanon was milking the cow when Eugenie preferred her kindly and considerate request, and the faithful serving-maid at once obligingly promised to save a little cream from her master’s supply of milk.  The Cruchots and Des Grassins retired discomfited before the presence of Charles Grandet.  The young Parisian, brought up in luxury by his father, could not understand why he should have been sent to this outlandish place, and he was the more mystified by his uncle telling him they would talk over “important business” on the morrow.  Then, indeed, in plain and brutal words he learnt the contents of the fatal letter he had brought from his father.  It was twenty-three years since old Grandet had seen his brother in Paris, but this brother had become a rich man, too; of that old Grandet was aware.  And now Victor-Ange-Guillaume Grandet wrote to him from Paris, saying:  “By the time that this letter is in your hands, I shall cease to exist.  The failure of my stockbroker and my notary has ruined me, and while I owe nearly four million francs, my assets are only a quarter of my debts.  I cannot survive the disgrace of bankruptcy.  I know you cannot satisfy my creditors, but you can be a father to my unhappy child, Charles, who is now alone in the world.  Lay everything before him, and tell him that in my work he can restore the fortune he has lost.  My failure is due neither to dishonesty nor to carelessness, but to causes beyond my control.”