MADAME AGNES.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XI.EUGENIE.A weekafter, Louis came to see us for the first time.“Well,” inquired Victor, “do you like your new manner of life?”“Yes and no, my dear friend,” replied Louis. “Yes, because I feel that the new life on which I have entered is good for me. It is just what I needed, I must confess—for I think aloud here. It is such a relief to speak to some one who understands, who loves you, and is always ready to excuse and pardon you! But I forewarn you I need, and shall need, great indulgence, though nothing ought to seem too hard to one who was on the high-road to destruction, soul and body, and would at this very instant be lost, had not God, in his mercy, sent you to my aid. This benefit has filled me, I assure you, with so much gratitude from the first that, in view of my past life and the divine goodness, I feel I ought to be a saint in order to expiate so many transgressions—I ought to prove my sincerity by some heroic sacrifice for God.”“Oh! oh! that is somewhat ambitious.”“I suppose it is absurd. Not that it is necessarily absurd to aspire to heroism, but the means should be taken into consideration. Now, mine are fearfully, pitifully inadequate. I am cowardly, fickle, and a lover of my ease.”“Come, come! do not calumniate yourself. We must neither judge ourselves with too much leniency nor with too much severity. We must see ourselves as we are. This is difficult, but it is essential.”“Well, my kind friend, that is exactly the way I regard myself.”“I doubt it.”“You shall judge for yourself. My duties oblige me to remain night and day at St. M——. Alas! this very necessity I find harder than I can express. There is not a day in which I do not find myself regretting the city three or four times. This is very wrong, when the city has been so pernicious to me....”“Come, you exaggerate things. You were born and brought up in the city, and have always lived here till now. I see nothing astonishing at your finding it disagreeable at first to live in the country.”“What a lenient judge! We shall see if you are as much so after the other acknowledgments I have to make. There are times when work seems insupportable. To rise at six o’clock and superintend workmen and machinery the live-long day irritates and fatigues me to such a degree that I am sometimes tempted to give it all up.”“You have not yet yielded to the temptation?”“No, indeed; that would be too despicable.”“Since you yourself regard such astep as it deserves, pursue your occupation without being concerned about a slight disinclination for work. Even people who have always been accustomed to labor have such temptations. I assure you, in a year there will be no question of all this. You will have acquired a love for your business, and, active as you are, you will not be able to do without it.”“You think me at the end of my confession. The worst is to come. Mr. Smithson is polite and sincere, but reserved and ceremonious, like all Englishmen. He keeps me at a distance, and appears as if my errors and loss of property, which of course he is aware of, gave him some superiority over me. I think he does wrong to make me feel this.”“Ah! this is more serious, my dear friend. Like all people in a wrong position, you are inclined to be unduly sensitive. Watch over yourself. Endeavor to be guided by reason. I do not wish you to submit to too much haughtiness, but do not attribute to people airs, and especially intentions, they are not guilty of.”“You are a thousand times right. I appreciate your advice, and promise to follow it. It would, indeed, be foolish to make myself needlessly unhappy. St. M——, as you know, is a lovely place. The river on which the mill stands has many charming views. During my leisure hours, I can draw and paint at my ease. I have a great deal to do, and my work is frequently burdensome, but I shall become accustomed to it, for it is a source of real interest. By an excess of good luck, I have lodgings that suit me in apartments near Mr. Smithson’s house. There I can read, meditate, and pray at my leisure. One thing only is wanting—a little society in the evening; but that will come, perhaps. I am invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s next Thursday. I hope that will be the commencement of closer intercourse with the family. Hitherto, I repeat, they have kept me at a distance. I have exchanged a few words with Mme. Smithson, who appears very affable, but I have only had a glimpse of the daughter—Eugénie, I believe her name is. As far as I could judge, she is tall, fine-looking, even dignified in her appearance, with something haughty in her air. I frankly confess it will be a treat to meet these three people. I have always had a fancy for studying different characters, and shall enjoy it particularly now, I am so unoccupied in the evening.”“And your workmen—what do you make of them?”“I am constantly observing them, and assure you they are as interesting to study as any one else. What a source of reflection! We have, you must know, workmen of every grade, good and bad—yes, fearfully bad. There are four hundred and fifty people—men, women, and children—who represent every phase of humanity.”“To study mankind, my dear friend, to confine one’s self to that, is an amusement suitable for a philosopher. But a Christian has higher views: he studies human nature in order to be useful.”“That idea has occurred to me. I have even formed a series of fine projects; but I am so poor a Christian, and so inexperienced!”“No false modesty! Excuse my bluntness; but false modesty is the shield of the indolent, or their couch, whichever you please. Have you any desire to benefit the people among whom you live?”“Yes, certainly, if I can.”“You can. You only need zealand prudence; the one ought always to guide the other. Come, what plans have occurred to you?”“I should like to found an evening-school, and take charge of it. Those who are the best instructed might serve as monitors.”“Perfect! That would be a means of keeping the young men, and even those of riper years, from idleness and the wine-shops, and afford you an opportunity of giving them good advice. What else?”“I should also like to establish a fund of mutual aid.”“Excellent!... Reflect on these two projects till Sunday. I will do the same. Consult Mr. Smithson also about them, and come and dine with us in a week. We will talk it over, and you can tell me how you like the family you are about to become acquainted with. I hope you will be pleased with them.”“I hope so too, but have my fears. If they were all like Mme. Smithson, everything would be propitious. I took a fancy to her from the first. But Mr. Smithson is frigid, and his daughter seems equally unapproachable. It is singular, but I had met her once or twice before I entered her father’s employ. I thought her beautiful and intelligent, and heard her very highly spoken of. But really, I begin to believe that she, like many others, is brilliant rather than solid.”“Come, come! no rash judgments!”“What can I say? I was deceived in her. I thought her an uncommon woman—one capable of comprehending all the delicacy of my position, and of coming to my assistance. She ought to realize that I am out of my element there. You must confess that Mlle. Smithson’s coolness does not tend to console me.”“Why, my dear friend, you are very exacting!... Would you expect as much from every one?”“No; but this young lady occupies an important place in the house, without trying, I confess, to take advantage of it.”“And an important place in your thoughts ...,” said Victor, with the friendly, significant smile so natural to him.Louis blushed.“I am inclined to think your opinion of her will be less severe in a week. I, too, have heard her highly spoken of.”These words seemed to afford Louis great satisfaction. Victor did not continue the subject.If you have carefully followed the conversation I have just related, you must see that Louis, though unaware of his sister’s hopes, already thought more of Mlle. Eugénie than he confessed or even acknowledged to himself. I think I shall only anticipate your wishes in making you acquainted at once with that young lady, who is to fill an importantrôlein my story. And this cannot be done better than in her own home.Eugénie is in her chamber. It is the morning of the day Louis and some other acquaintances are to dine with her father. She is engaged in completing her toilet. A more charming room cannot be imagined. It is furnished in exquisite style. Nothing is lacking. The pictures are all rare, and arranged with artistic taste. The book-case contains, not so many books, but solid works that will bear reading over and over again. What, above all, completes the charm of this young girl’s bower is the view to be seen from the two windows, which are like frames to a picture. They afford a glimpse of a terrestrial paradise through which flow the limpid waters of a deep stream. A breeze, playing throughthe poplars that stand on its banks, softly rustles the leaves. Directly across, on the opposite shore, is a broad meadow, bright with flowers, with here and there clumps of trees. As far as the eye can reach are objects on every side to satisfy the soul, and excite it to reverie: a windmill with its long wings of white canvas swaying in the air; a villa with its gardens; a little hamlet, and, overlooking it, a church, the slated belfry of which is glistening in the sun.The world is full of material souls whom it would be a kind of profanation to introduce into a place so attractive. They would be unable to appreciate the charm. What is nature, however beautiful, to a man eaten up with avarice and ambition?—to a woman who only dreams of pleasure?... To such degenerate souls, nature is a sealed book—a divine picture before a sightless eye.But to this number Eugénie did not belong. The daughter of a Catholic mother and a Protestant father, she had been educated in one of the best schools in Paris. Shall I call her pious? No; that would be exaggerating. Eugénie did not lack faith. Her religious instincts were well developed, but checked by her father’s coldness and her mother’s frivolity. She was by no means insensible to all the beautiful and true in religion. They filled her with admiration. She always fulfilled the obligations rigorously imposed by the church, but avoided going any farther through indifference as well as calculation. She had a horror of what she called petty religion and little practices of piety. Poor girl! she, too, closed her eyes in this respect to the light. The practices she disdained—frequent prayers, the raising of the soul to God, visits to the church, and assiduous frequentation of the sacraments—are they not what truly constitute religion, such as it ought to be, in order to be the companion, friend, and guide of the whole life?... This is what Eugénie did not comprehend, or rather, what she did not wish to comprehend. In short, she was religious in her own way—half-way religious—quite so in theory, but in reality much less so than she should have been.The somewhat indirect influence her parents exercised over her in a religious point of view also affected her in other ways. Eugénie possessed two natures: she was cold like her father, and kind like her mother, but without displaying it. Let us also add another characteristic by way of completing her portrait—she was romantic. In everything, she had a repugnance to what she called commonplace. An object, an individual, or an action, to please her, must have a peculiar stamp, an original turn, which she wished might be more frequently met with. She only liked what was out of the common course, according to the elevated standard of a certain ideal she had formed in her own mind.Eugénie’s exterior, her distinguished manners, her fluency in conversation, and the tone of her calm, well-modulated voice, all inspired a respect bordering on admiration. She was beautiful without being bewitching. She was kind, but in so inexpressive a way as to inspire at first fear rather than confidence. As has been said, she possessed a character not easily read, and, though only twenty-one years old, she passed for what is called, and with reason, a person of ability. Her father and mother doted on her: she was their only child. Yet there was a difference in their affection. Mr. Smithson tenderly loved her as a daughter: Mme. Smithsonloved her with a shade of fear, as we love a companion or friend whose superiority we feel.Her toilet otherwise completed, Eugénie rang for her waiting-maid to arrange her hair. Fanny did not keep her waiting. There was a striking contrast between mistress and maid. Fanny was towards forty years of age. She was of ordinary height, neat in person, but plain and unattractive in appearance. She had a bad complexion, large eyes hidden under thick lashes, a wide mouth, and a large fleshy nose, which made up one of those vulgar faces that are never observed except to laugh at. She was beloved by no one except her employers. This was not strange. She had an observing eye and a keen, sarcastic tongue. Her nature was soured, rather than instinctively bad. She was selfish and bitter—a good deal so. This selfishness and bitterness sprang from two causes which she would by no means have acknowledged. She was no longer young, she knew she was homely, and she had no hope of being married. Such a hope she had once, and a few days of happiness was the result. Fanny would have been so glad to be, in her turn, mistress over her own house! But her dream had vanished, and under circumstances not calculated to sweeten her temper.For some years, Fanny was a servant at Mme. Smithson’s sister’s. That lady was in the commercial line at Paris. There Fanny made the conquest of a smart young man from the country employed by her mistress as head clerk. He was an excellent person, but, like many others, wished to reconcile his affections with his interests. He said to himself that, by waiting awhile, he might, some fine day, find a wife richer, prettier, and younger than Fanny. As he was bound to her by no actual promise, he finally obtained another situation, and disappeared without any warning. The poor girl regarded such conduct as infamous. She felt that all hope of ever marrying was now lost, and the disappointment made her ill. Unbeknown to her, her mistress had followed all the scenes of this little domestic drama. She nursed Fanny with a care that was quite motherly. When the girl recovered, she expressed her gratitude, but begged permission to go away. The house had too many cruel associations. Her mistress willingly consented, and Fanny entered Mme. Smithson’s service. When the latter left Paris, Fanny accompanied her to St. M——, and had now been in the family several years.Having, to her great regret, no prospect of marrying, forced to acknowledge to herself that she should never have a house of her own to manage, Fanny had but one desire, but this was an ardent one—to be installed in a family which, if not her own, might prove as pleasant, and where she could rule while appearing to obey. But where find this ideal home?... She resolved to create it. And in this way: her old mistress, Mme. Smithson’s sister, had a son named Albert, who was five years older than Eugénie. Fanny had known him from his childhood. She was attached to him, and, above all, she understood his disposition. No one knew better than she that Albert would be the easiest, the most manageable, in short, the mildest of masters. On the other hand, she knew that Eugénie, energetic as she was, would not be difficult to please. “Mademoiselle lives in the clouds,” she said to herself; “she will be glad enough to have some one manage the house for her.”Fanny, therefore, resolved to make a match between the two cousins.There is reason to believe she made skilful overtures to her former mistress and to the young man himself, and that these overtures were well received. Albert was now preparing his thesis with a view to the law. As he was not rich, his cousin’s fortune was a very pleasant prospect, and still more so to his mother. Besides, Albert had always known Eugénie and loved her, as is natural to love a cousin that is pretty and intelligent. He and his mother, therefore, made Fanny their intermediary, without committing themselves to too great an extent.But Fanny had a good deal to overcome. Mr. Smithson was not partial to lawyers. The profession was not, in his estimation, clearly enough defined or very elevated. As to Eugénie, no one knew what her sentiments were with regard to her cousin. Fanny thought she had, if not a very strong attachment to him, at least an incipient affection. But she was not sure. Thence resulted continual fears. Every young man who entered the house was to her an object of alarm. Perhaps her prospects, so slowly ripening and so dear, would be again overthrown by this one!It may be imagined that Fanny looked with an unfavorable eye on Louis’ connection with the manufactory. If Mr. Smithson had chosen another kind of a man to aid him, one who was obscure, a mere common man of business, she would not have minded it. But in the course of a week, she was fully informed as to the history of the new-comer. She knew he belonged to one of the best families of the city; that he had been rich, and might become so again; that, till recently, he had been regarded as one of the most brilliant young men in society; and he was intelligent, well-educated, and of irreproachable morals. “I am lost!” thought she. “All these people are linked together to ruin my plans. This M. Louis comes here as an engineer?... Nonsense! it is an arrangement between his father and Mr. Smithson. They wish him to marry mademoiselle. What a contrivance! And that poor Albert, what will become of him?...”These suspicions quite upset her. She resolved to make inquiries, in order to relieve her mind, if by chance she was mistaken. But whom should she question?... Mr. Smithson?... That must not be thought of. Eugénie? Fanny made the attempt. Eugénie, with her usual coolness and wit, replied in such a way that Fanny retreated every time more uncertain than before.The day of which I am speaking—the notable day of the dinner—Fanny, out of patience, could endure it no longer. She resolved to carry matters so far that, whether she liked it or not, her mistress would be forced to revive her hopes, or utterly destroy them. Hardly had she entered the chamber before she opened fire:“How shall I arrange mademoiselle’s hair?”“As usual.”“Then we will dress it differently this afternoon with ribbons and flowers.”“Why such a display?”“Can mademoiselle have forgotten it is the day of the great dinner?”“Great dinner? What do you mean by such nonsense, Fanny? Why, whom are we to have at our table of so much importance? Nobody is invited that I have not known a long time: our neighbor, M. Daumier, with his wife and daughter, Dr. Ollivier, and M. Dupaigne. Really, it would be singular for me to receive them with any ceremony.”“Mademoiselle has not named all the guests.”“Whom have I forgotten?”“M. Louis Beauvais.”“Ah! that is true. I overlooked him. But his coming will not change my intention to remain as I am.”These words were uttered in a tone of perfect indifference. Fanny was overjoyed, but careful not to manifest it. Then, as she continued to busy herself about her mistress, she began to reflect. “She does not care for him,” she said to herself. “There is nothing to fear for the moment, then. But who knows how it may be by-and-by?... I must at once find out if, under favorable circumstances, she might not conceive an affection for him, and try to prevent such a misfortune. I will take the other side to find out the truth.”“A charming young man, this M. Louis, and quite worthy of interest,” said she, without appearing to attach any importance to her words.“What do you find so charming in him?”“He has a serious air, which I like.”“Yes; it might even be called gloomy.”“He may well have.”“Really! Ah! Fanny, then you know his history?”“Yes, mademoiselle; and a very curious one it is.”“Well, relate it to me. Only suppress the details; you always give too many.”“Three months ago, M. Louis was the finest dancer and the gayest young man in the city. Unfortunately, these young men are not always remarkable for uniformity. He lived like a prince for six years, and one fine morning found himself penniless.”“And what did he do then?”“They say—I am unwilling to believe it, but everybody says so—that he tried to drown himself.”“A weak brain. That is not to his credit.”“They also say that M. Barnier, the journalist, saved him at the risk of his life, and converted him so thoroughly that the poor fellow came near entering a monastery.”“A queer idea! That shows he has more imagination than reason!”“But he did not stick to his first intention. He is now established here, and will remain, I feel sure, ... and this alarms me!...”“Why are you so sure? And how can this assurance cause you any alarm?”“That is a secret. Mademoiselle will excuse me from replying. Though I have known mademoiselle from her childhood, she intimidates me.”“Not much, Fanny.”“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I do not understand you.”“You understand me perfectly, but I have to dot your i’s for you. Well, I will do so. I do not intimidate you much, I say. You dare not tell me what you mean, but you give me a hint of it. What are you afraid of? Tell me. I insist upon it.”“As mademoiselle insists upon it, I feel obliged to tell her what she wishes to know. Mademoiselle is not to be resisted. But I should prefer keeping it to myself. If it were to displease mademoiselle ...”“No; go on.”“Well, then, mademoiselle, I have everything to fear! This young man has lost his property.... He passes himself off here as a creditable person.... He has secret designs ...”“What designs?”“Mademoiselle puts me in an awkward position.... It is such a delicatepoint to speak to mademoiselle about.”“That M. Beauvais aspires to my hand through interested motives?”“I should not have dared say so.”“Well, that would be audacious! I accept a man for a husband whom poverty, disgraceful poverty, alone inclines towards me!”“Without doubt, he has committed many faults, but there is mercy for the greatest sinner, and he is so pious just now!”“I know—he goes to church often, even during the week. That is his own affair. That is enough, Fanny. Let there be no further question of this between us. You take too much interest in what concerns me, as I have told you before. I am astonished you should force me to repeat it.”Fanny, thus dismissed, went away furious and more uneasy than ever. But if she could have read Eugénie’s inmost thoughts, her fury would have turned to joy. As soon as she was gone, Eugénie seated herself in a low arm-chair, and began, as she sometimes laughingly said, to put her thoughts in order.“That malicious girl is no fool,” she said to herself. “This young man may have entered my father’s service from secret motives, perhaps suggested by his family. Who knows but my parents themselves smile on his projects? My father seems to be on the best of terms with his father. Perhaps they have come to an understanding with a mere word, or even without speaking at all. That would be too much! Well, if it is so, if the whole world conspires against me, I will defeat their calculations.... In the first place, I do not fancy this M. Louis, and I will soon let him see it, as well as those who favor him. The mere supposition that I could ever be his wife makes me indignant and angry. I marry a man who has ruined himself, who only aimed at my fortune, and would squander it in a few years! I give my heart to a man who does not love me, and, even if he sincerely vowed he loved me, would be in such a position that I should always have reason to doubt it! And, besides, what a weak mind this hare-brained fellow must have to play so manyrôlesone after the other! I wish my husband to have purer motives and a stronger head. This man must have a false heart. He is an intriguer, and that includes everything....”CHAPTER XII.MORE ABOUT EUGENIE—A REAL FRIEND.Thatevening, Louis found himself for the first time in the midst of the Smithson family. We often thought of him that night, and wished we could know at once what kind of a reception he had met with, especially from Eugénie. But we were obliged to wait for these interesting details till Louis could relate them himself. We did not have to wait long. When he came, he was gloomy and dispirited. Victor pretended not to observe his dejection.“Well,” said he, “you have now made the acquaintance of the Smithsons. What do you think of them?”“A good many things, but I can sum up my impressions in a word: they are queer people!”“Indeed! did they hurt your feelings in any way?”“Yes; ... yet I do wrong to be angry, or even to be astonished. I should have expected it.”“This great dinner, then, did not turn out as I hoped—a means of cementingamicable, if not affectionate, relations between you?”“By no means.”“You greatly astonish me!”“It is just so.... The way things were managed shows the Smithsons to be sagacious people. They invited me, in order to make me understand at once the position I hold in their estimation—that of engineer and superintendent, nothing more.”“I am really amazed!”“And I am equally so. I did not expect it, but the fact is too evident.”“Well, tell me all that happened, without omitting anything.”“Not to omit anything would make the story long, and it is not worth the trouble. I will briefly relate what I think will interest you, that you may have an idea of this first visit. There were but four other guests, whom I only regarded with indifference. They were neither pleasing nor displeasing, so it is useless to speak of them. We will confine ourselves to the leading members of the household. I will first speak of the real though unacknowledged head. My mind is made up on this point. As I saw from the first, it is Mlle. Eugénie who rules the house.”“Even her father?”“Yes; even her father; not as openly and directly as she does her mother, but as unmistakably by dint of management.”“Is she really a superior woman, as I have been told, or is she merely shrewd and imperious?”“Oh! no. Those who have sounded her praises have not deceived you. She is by no means a common person. In the first place, it must be confessed she is really handsome. There is especially a rare intelligence and dignity in her appearance. She converses well, often says something profound, and is always interesting. She is a lover of the arts, and all she says, all she does, evinces an elevated mind.”“Such a person as is seldom met with, then—a model of perfection?”“She has all that is necessary to become so, ... and yet she is not. One fault spoils everything, one or two at the most, but they are serious. She is proud or egotistical, perhaps both.”“Are you not too severe upon her? You scarcely know her, and yet you are very decided in your condemnation.”“I have reasons for my opinion. You shall judge for yourself. My position with respect to Mr. Smithson is very trying. He knows, and doubtless the rest of the family too, all the follies I have committed within a few years, and how I regret them. He cannot be ignorant, nor they either, that the office I hold under him, however respectable, must awaken a susceptibility that is natural and excusable, even if exaggerated. In this state of things, I had a right to expect that Mr. Smithson and his family, if they were really people of any soul or breeding, would treat me with a delicacy that, without compromising them, would put me at my ease.”“I am of your opinion. And have they been wanting therein?”“Yes; and in a very disagreeable way. It is little things that betray shades of feeling, and it was thereby I was hurt. In leaving thesalonfor the dining-room, each guest offered his arm to a lady. Mr. Smithson, his daughter, and myself were the last. Mlle. Eugénie took her father’s arm with an eagerness that was really uncivil.”“It was from timidity, perhaps.”“She timid?... I must undeceive you! She certainly is not bold, but she is far from being timid.At table, I found myself consigned to the lowest place. None of the guests were great talkers, and more than once I took part in the conversation. Mlle. Smithson undisguisedly pretended not to listen to me. She even interrupted me by speaking of something quite foreign to what I was saying.”“Her education has been defective.”“Pardon me, she is perfectly well-bred. To see her an hour would convince you of this. When she is deficient in politeness, it is because she wishes to be.”“I believe you, but cannot comprehend it all.”“I have not told you everything. The worst is to come. Towards the end of dinner, the conversation fell on a certain cousin of Mlle. Eugénie’s. His name, I think, is Albert. She praised him highly, to which I have nothing to say; but she added—and this was very unreasonable or very malicious—that this dear cousin did not imitate the young men of fashion, who were extravagant in their expenditures, acquired nothing, and ended by falling into pitiful embarrassment. I was, I confess, provoked and angry. I felt strongly tempted to make Mlle. Smithson feel the rudeness and unkindness of her remark. But I bethought myself that I was a Christian, and that, after all, the most genuine proof of repentance is humility. Therefore I restrained my feelings, and remained silent. The rest of the evening I cut a sorry figure. Mlle. Smithson seemed perfectly unconcerned as to what I might think.”“Her behavior is so inexplicable,” said Victor, “that, if I had these details from any one else, I should refuse to believe them.”(At this part of her story, Mme. Agnes made a remark it may be well to repeat to the reader: “You must bear in mind,” said she, “that neither Victor nor I then had any means of knowing what I related a few moments ago as to Fanny’s projects and Eugénie’s suspicions; and we were completely ignorant of her turn of mind and romantic notions.”)“Well,” resumed Louis, “her way of acting, at which you are astonished, does not amaze me. I can easily explain it. Mlle. Eugénie imagines that I aspire to her hand, or rather, to her fortune. She is mistaken; I aspire to neither. I acknowledge she has a combination of qualities calculated to please me, but her disdain excites my indignation. I mean, therefore, to put a speedy end to her injurious suspicions. Then I will leave the place. I have already begun to put my project into execution.”“Do not be precipitate, I beg of you. It is a delicate matter. What steps have you taken?”“None of any importance. This morning, the work-rooms being closed as usual on Sunday, I went, before Mass, to sketch a delightful view not a hundred steps from the manufactory. I was wholly absorbed in my work, when Mlle. Smithson approached. I will not deny I was moved at seeing her.”“Then you are no longer indifferent to her?”“Oh! I think I can vouch for the perfect indifference of my sentiments for the moment. But would this coldness towards her always last if I did not watch over my heart?... She has so many captivating qualities! I have seen so few women to be compared to her! No, no; I will not allow myself to be captivated unawares; that would be too great a misfortune for me.... I have resolved to raise myself in her estimation. I will clearly convince her she has calumniated me in her heart; that Iam in no respect the man she thinks; and, when I have done that, I shall leave. So, when she approached, I bowed to her with respect and politeness.“‘You are sketching, monsieur?’ she said, bending down to look at my work. ‘It is charming.’“‘It ought to be, mademoiselle. There could not be a landscape better calculated to inspire an artist. But while I am admiring what is before me, I regret my unskilfulness in depicting it. It is my own fault. I have so long neglected the art of drawing. I have acted like so many other young men, and lost some of the best years of my life.’“She understood the allusion—perhaps too direct—to her sally of the other day. A slight blush rose to her face. ‘One would not suspect it, monsieur,’ she said. ‘But as for that, even if you have lost your skill, it can easily be regained in the midst of the delightful views in this vicinity.’“‘It is true, mademoiselle! A lovelier region it would be difficult to find. I wish some of these views for my sketch-book, as I may leave any day.’“I uttered these words in a cool, deliberate tone, and then resumed my work. Mlle. Eugénie seemed to wish to continue the conversation, but, slightly abashed, had not the courage, I think, to make any advances. I bowed ceremoniously, and she went away. My opinion is, she stopped out of mere curiosity. She had shown how little she esteemed me, and was not afraid of my attaching any importance to her speaking to me. Such a course favors my plans.”“Wonderfully! But—nothing headlong! Forbear leaving Mr. Smithson too precipitately. You are now near your family. Time may show things to you in a different light. And, above all, it seems to me great good can be done there, and more easily than in most places. Tell me something of your workmen. Have you thought of the two projects we talked about the other day? Have you spoken to Mr. Smithson about them?”“No; it seems to me they would not particularly please him. I really do not know whether this Englishman has any heart or not. I am inclined to regard him as an egotist, merely employing men to increase his wealth, and not very solicitous about their welfare.”“I must undeceive you. I have reason to think Mr. Smithson a very different person from what you suppose. We have not many Protestants here, you know, but still there are a few. Among them are some who are really actuated by good motives. They assembled a few months ago at the house of Mr. Carrand, the rich lawyer you are acquainted with. They wished to establish a charitable society, in imitation of our Conferences of S. Vincent de Paul, but did not succeed in their plans. To effect such an enterprise, there must be the zeal and charity that animate the Catholic Church. To her alone God grants the sublime privilege of devoting herself with constancy and success to the physical and moral welfare of mankind. Though their project remained unfruitful, it revealed a generosity much to the credit of the Protestants interested in it Mr. Smithson himself was one of the foremost on this occasion to manifest how earnestly he had at heart the welfare of the poor; and this without any evidence of being influenced by selfish motives.”“What you say surprises me, but it gives me great pleasure. I shall henceforth be less reserved with him.”“And you will do well. I even advise you to consult Mme. and Mlle. Smithson about your charitable plans. They are Catholics, and will comprehend you at once.”“I have no great confidence in their piety.”“My dear friend, I regard you with the affection of a brother....”“Say, rather, of a father, as you are, in one sense, having saved my life; and also by another title, in aiding me to become an earnest Christian, such as I once was.”“Well, then, let us use a medium term. My regard for you shall be that of an elder brother. I thank you for allowing me this title. My affection for you makes me take an interest in all that concerns you. I have obtained very exact information respecting the Smithson ladies from a reliable source. They are not as pious as they might be, but they do not lack faith, and they fulfil the absolute requirements of the church. I know that Mlle. Eugénie is keenly alive to the poetical side of religion. You have, I believe, an importantrôleto fill in the family and in the whole establishment. You can do good to every one there, and, at the same time, to yourself. The course to be pursued seems to me very simple. I feel sure Mlle. Smithson has some misconception concerning you—some injurious suspicions. Endeavor to remove them from her mind. Act prudently, but as promptly as possible. That done, induce her to take an interest in the work you are going to undertake. She will lead her father to participate in it. In a short time, you will see the good effect on your workmen, and derive from your charitable efforts the reward that never fails to follow—an ever-increasing love of doing good, and a livelier desire of sanctifying your own soul. The exercise of charity is of all things the most salutary. I can safely predict that the Smithson ladies will both become pious if they second you; and as for you, you will be more and more strengthened in your good resolutions. Who knows?—perhaps you may have the sweet surprise of seeing Mr. Smithson converted when he sees that Catholicism alone enables us to confer on others a real benefit.”“These are fine projects, and very attractive; but I foresee many obstacles and dangers.”“What ones?”“Of all kinds. First, I expose myself to conceive an affection for Mlle. Smithson it would be prudent to guard against. She does not like me. I imagine she loves some one else—the cousin she praises so willingly.”“A supposition without proof! What I have heard from others, as well as yourself, convinces me that Mlle. Smithson has not yet made her choice. The praise she so publicly lavishes on her cousin is, in my opinion, a proof of her indifference towards him.”“But if I were to love her—love her seriously, and she continued to disdain me; if her prejudice against me could not be overcome?...”“I should be the first to regret it. But listen to me. You were once truly pious, my friend, and wish to become so again. This desire is sincere, I know. Well, it is time to take a correct view of life. For the most of us, especially those who are called to effect some good in the world, life is only one long sacrifice. Jesus Christ suffered and died to redeem mankind; the way he chose for himself he also appointed for those who become his disciples. It is by self-sacrifice that we acquire the inappreciable gift of being useful to our fellow-men. Do not cherish any illusion with regard to this!”Louis and I exchanged a sorrowful glance as Victor spoke. Poor dear fellow! how he realized what he was saying! He was about to die at thirty-six years of age, in the very height of his usefulness, and this because he likewise had voluntarily chosen the rough path of sacrifice that was leading even unto death!“My friend,” replied Louis, “what you say is true. I feel it. You are yourself an eloquent proof of it—you whom I have stopped in the midst of your career....”“Do not talk so,” interrupted Victor; “you pain me. Your manner of interpreting my words makes me regret uttering them. Do not mistake my meaning. What I would say may be summed up thus: to effect a reformation in Mr. Smithson’s manufactory, where there are many bad men who corrupt the good; to enkindle a spirit of piety in the hearts of the Smithson ladies, by associating them in the good you are to effect. Whatever may be the result, devote yourself to this work without any reserve. You must not hesitate! Your sufferings, if you have any to endure, will not be without fruit, and perhaps God may not suffer them to be of long duration.”“You have decided me. I will begin to-morrow. I will commence with the evening-school, and by visiting the most destitute families.”“Do not forget that the destitution most to be pitied is moral destitution. Visit those who have nothing, but especially those who are depraved.”Louis went away in a totally different frame of mind from that with which he had come. Victor, in his gentle way, had increased his esteem for Mr. Smithson, and inflamed him with the zeal—the ardent desire of usefulness with which he was filled himself. When he was gone, Victor and I talked a long time about him. I confessed I had no great faith in his perseverance. Victor replied: “His mother’s piety and careful training must lead to his thorough conversion. And how he has already changed! He realizes the worthlessness of the aims to which he once gave himself up. There is no fear of his receding. He has taken the surest means of persevering—the apostolic work of doing good. Nevertheless, I acknowledge I wish he could find some one to aid him. And what a powerful aid it would be if he loved and felt himself loved! Ardent as he is, he would communicate his piety to the object of his affection. And how much good would result from their combined efforts! But I fear it will not be thus! Our poor friend will, perhaps, purchase the right of winning a few souls at the expense of his own happiness.”CHAPTER XIII.LOUIS AT WORK.Louistook two whole days to reflect on the important subject of his conversation with my husband. Was the profound love he subsequently felt for Eugénie already springing up in his heart? Such is my opinion, though I dare not say so positively. He probably was not conscious himself of the real state of his mind. Since that time, I have often dwelt on all that took place then and afterwards, and it has always seemed to me that, from the very moment Louis first knew and appreciated Mlle. Smithson, he conceived an affection for her as seriousas it was sudden. This affection was one of those that seem destined, from the beginning, to a continual increase. Does this mean that I have adopted the foolish and erroneous theory of novel writers, who regard love as an overmastering passion to which one is forced at all hazards to submit?... Neither religion nor reality will allow one to yield to such an error. But they do not hinder me from believing there are inclinations and affections that all at once assert themselves with so much force that, if one would not be speedily overcome by passion, he must at once raise an insurmountable barrier against it, such as flight, reason armed with contempt, and, what is a thousand times better than all—prayer. Such, in my opinion, was the love Louis at once conceived for Mlle. Smithson.How shall I account for his being so captivated, when Eugénie had wounded him so deeply, and was so proud and every way original? For he too was proud, and his pride was allied with an unvarying simplicity which by no means accorded with Mlle. Smithson’s turn of mind.... I account for this in many ways. Eugénie had very distinguished manners. This naturally pleased Louis, for he had been brought up by a mother who was a model of distinction. Eugénie had a noble soul. Her opinions were not always correct, but they were always of an elevated nature. She was, it is true, peculiar and romantic, and Louis was not. But he liked all these peculiarities in her. They seemed to him charming. Lastly, and this is one of my strongest reasons, I think it was because Louis felt himself worthy of being Eugénie’s husband, and, seeing himself slighted by her, was the more strongly tempted to win her.As Victor and I were his confidential friends, he kept us informed of all his proceedings, and, I may safely say, even of his thoughts. It is therefore easy for me to retrace the story of his love, which I will do without any exaggeration.But first, let us return to his charitable projects, and the way in which he executed them. Louis was not merely an engineer in Mr. Smithson’s establishment, but a Christian, and all the more zealous because he was anxious to expiate his past errors. He knew by experience to what an abyss the passions lead, and was desirous of warning others. If he had been a man of ordinary mind and heart, he would no doubt have been animated by entirely different motives. After his ruin, and rescue from a watery grave, desirous of regaining not only his father’s esteem, but that of the world, he might have chosen the very position he now occupied, but he would have taken care to live as easily as possible. He would perhaps have sought to win Eugénie’s affections, and in the end would have thought only of her and labored for her alone. Such a life would not be worth relating. The lives of ordinary men are as unworthy of interest as the egotism that is the mainspring of their actions.Louis’ life was a very different one. That is why I am desirous of making it known. But do not suppose his nature was thus transformed in an instant. God did not work one of those miracles that consist in the complete, instantaneous change of a man’s character. Our faults veil our better qualities, but do not suppress them; so a return to piety gives them new brilliancy, but does not create them. Louis, as I afterwards learned, had in his youth manifested uncommon elevation and purity of mind, and the piety of a saint. After hisarrival at manhood, deprived of his mother’s influence, and led away by his passions, he placed no bounds to his follies. But suddenly arrested in the midst of his disorderly career, providentially saved at the very moment of being for ever lost, he at once broke loose from his pernicious habits. Like a traveller who returns to the right path after going astray for awhile, he resumed his course in the way of perfection with as much ardor as if he had never left it. There was only one reproach to be made against him at the onset. With his earnest nature and tendency to extremes, he manifested too openly the interior operations of grace. The difference between the young exquisite whom everybody knew, and the new convert observed of all eyes, was rather too marked. Louis’ serious and somewhat stern air, his austere look, and his habitual reserve, repelled those who had no faith in his entire conversion. Thence arose backbitings, suspicions, and accusations of hypocrisy which did not come to our poor friend’s ears, but were the cause of more than one annoyance. I must, however, acknowledge, to Mr. Smithson’s credit, that he showed a great deal of charity for Louis at that time. If he sometimes accused him of undue zeal, he was from the first disposed to believe it sincere.I will briefly relate what Louis accomplished during the few weeks subsequent to his last conversation with Victor. My husband had advised him not to undertake anything till he had consulted Mr. Smithson. Louis followed his advice, and begged an interview with his employer. It was then in the month of June. The conversation took place without witnesses, in the open air, on a fine summer evening. I give it as related by Louis.“Monsieur,” said he, “I am aware of your interest in benevolent objects. The workmen you employ, and whom I superintend under your orders, are not in your eyes mere instruments for the increase of wealth, but men to whom you wish to be as useful as circumstances will allow.”Mr. Smithson was never lavish of his words. He made a sign of assent, and appeared pleased with what was said.Louis continued: “I also am desirous of being useful to my fellow-men. I have done many foolish things, and would like to preserve others from similar mistakes, for the consequences are often fatal. With your permission, I will not content myself with aiding you in the management of the mill, but beg the honor of being associated, in proportion to my ability, with all the good you are desirous of doing.”“Monsieur,” said Mr. Smithson, “your unexpected offer somewhat embarrasses me. I am quite ready to accede to your wishes, but could not, in truth, consider you my co-laborer. What I have hitherto done has been but little, but I know not what else to do. I assist the needy, and give good advice here and there; that is all. You can follow my example. I shall be glad. Is that what you wish? Or do you happen to have anything better and more extensive to propose? If so, go on. I am ready to hear it.”“Yes, monsieur; I have some other plans to suggest.”“State them without any hesitation. I only hope they are of a nature to second my views. The first condition for that is, to propose only what is simple and practical. Doubtless too great an effort cannot be made at this time to aid and improve our workmen, both for their own interest and for ours. Everything is dear. The country is in aferment. Among those we employ, there are a number of turbulent fellows and many wretchedly poor.”“Precisely so. What I wish is, to aid the needy, and reform the bad.”“Your design is worthy of all praise—as a theory; ... but its realization will be difficult, not to say impossible. Listen to me, monsieur; I have a frank avowal to make. I have been engaged in this business but a short time. I know the common people but little. I belong to a country and a religion that have a special way of aiding the indigent. The government takes charge of that with us. In France, it is different: private individuals take part in it. You find me therefore greatly embarrassed. Enlighten me, if you can. I ask for nothing better.”“Well, monsieur, it seems to me that beneficence should be exercised in three different ways. First, it is our duty to come to the assistance of those in distress; ... only I cannot, in this respect, do all I would like.... I could have done so once ... now ...”“Do not let that worry you. My purse is open to you on condition that you only aid those whose destitution you can personally vouch for. It is also advisable to ascertain what use they make of that which is given them.”“I promise this, and thank you. No; it is not sufficient to give them money. One must see it is made a good use of. The poor should be taught to double their resources by economy. The assistance of the needy, then, is the first benevolent effort I would propose. I now come to moral beneficence. This does not refer to the indigence of the body, but to that of the soul. I think it especially desirable to preserve from corruption those of our workmen who are at present leading upright lives, particularly the young. This does not hinder me from thinking it necessary to bring those who have gone astray under good influences.”“Fine projects! I, too, have made similar ones, as I said, but I was discouraged by the difficulty of executing them. What means do you propose to employ?”“What would you say to the formation of a library in one of the rooms of the manufactory—for instance, that which overlooks the river? It is now unoccupied. The workmen might be allowed to go there and read in the evening, and even to smoke, if they like.... This library could be used, during the hours of cessation from labor, as a schoolroom, where all could come to learn, in a social way, what they are ignorant of.—Would not this be a means of keeping them away from the wine-shops, and afford one an opportunity of conversing with them, and giving them good advice—advice which comes from the heart?”“I like the idea. It really seems to me you have conceived a happy combination of plans; but nothing can be done without a person to put them in execution.”“I will do it if you will allow me. I am eager to try the experiment.”“Your courage and enthusiasm will soon give out. At every step, you will meet with difficulties impossible to be foreseen. I have mingled only a little with the working classes, but enough to know they are difficult to manage, and often ungrateful to those who try to be useful to them.”“God will aid me. He will reward me, and they may too. But I shall not be difficult to please. If some of them correspond to my efforts, it will be enough. I will forget the ingratitude of the rest.”Mr. Smithson was amazed at hiszeal. His own religion, cold and formal, had never taught him to take so much pains for those who might prove ungrateful. He and Louis separated quite pleased with each other. Louis felt he had been comprehended. He had also the promise of assistance. Mr. Smithson, with all his reserve, was captivated by Louis’ enthusiasm for doing good. But though he had promised to aid Louis, he pitied him. “He will fail,” he said to himself.The work was begun a few days after, thanks to the co-operation of Mr. Smithson, who smoothed away the difficulties inseparable from all beginnings. At seven in the evening, Louis, laying aside the title and functions of an engineer, became the friend and teacher of the workmen. They assembled in a large room where benches, tables, and a library were arranged. At first a certain number of workmen came through mere curiosity. They found what they did not expect—a teacher who was competent, kind, ready to converse with them and teach them what they wished to learn, and this with a heartiness quite different from an ordinary schoolmaster. Louis devoted himself with so much pleasure to these evening exercises that his pupils soon learned to like them, and gave so captivating an account of them to the rest that the number of scholars increased from day to day. Thus the school was permanently established without much delay, and numbered about thirty men of all ages and varieties of character. Louis showed perfect tact in profiting by so happy a commencement. Every evening, he gave oral instructions, sometimes on historical subjects, sometimes on a question of moral or political economy. In each of these lectures, the young master mingled good advice, which was willingly listened to, given, as it was, in the midst of instructions that excited the liveliest interest. The workmen felt they were learning a thousand things they could never have acquired from books. A book is a voiceless teacher that requires too much application from unaccustomed pupils.Mr. Smithson watched over the development of this work, and became more and more interested in it in proportion as its success, which at first he had doubted, became more probable, and its utility more evident. At the same time, without acknowledging it to himself, suspicion and distrust began to spring up in his heart. Even the best of men under certain circumstances, unless checked by profound piety, are accessible to the lowest sentiments. Mr. Smithson began to be jealous of his assistant, and even to fear him.“What!” he said to himself, “shall he succeed in a work I dared not undertake myself! He will acquire a moral influence in the establishment superior to mine!...” Then, as his unjust suspicions increased: “It is not the love of doing good that influences him: it is ambition,” he thought.Louis had no suspicion of what was passing in his employer’s mind, and therefore resolutely continued to pursue the course he had begun. He had formerly accompanied his mother in her visits among the poor, and thus learned how to benefit them. She had taught him it was not sufficient to give them money: it was necessary to mingle with them, talk with them, give them good advice—in a word, to treat them as brethren and friends. Having organized his evening-school, he resolved to visit the most destitute and ignorant families in the village, which was about a kilometre and a half from the manufactory. He went thereevery evening towards six, and spent an hour in going from one house to another. Chance, as an unbeliever would say, or Providence, to speak more correctly, led him to the house of a poor woman quite worthy of his interest. She was fifty years of age, and slowly wasting away from disease of the lungs, complicated with an affection of the heart. This woman was one of those lovely souls developed by the Catholic religion oftener than is supposed. People little suspected how much she suffered, or with how much patience she bore her sufferings, but God knew. She was a real martyr. Married to a drunken, brutal man of her own age, she had endured all the abuse and ill-treatment with which he loaded her without a murmur. She had brought up her son piously, and labored as long as she was able to supply her own wants and those of her child. Broken down by illness and the continual ill-treatment of her husband, she would have died of want, had not Mlle. Smithson come to her aid.When Louis went to see this poor woman, whom we will call Françoise, she spoke of Eugénie so enthusiastically, and with so much emotion, that he was greatly impressed. It was sweet to hear the praises of one whom he dreamed, if not of marrying, at least of associating in his good works.The next day, he repeated his call on the sick woman, and for several days in succession. I think he had a secret hope of meeting Eugénie, without daring to acknowledge it to himself. As yet, he had merely seen her. He found her, as you know, handsome, stylish, and intelligent, but cool towards him. He longed to observe her in this miserable dwelling. Here, apart from other influences, she might show herself, as he hoped she really was—exempt from the imperfections he had remarked in her at home with regret. Without acknowledging it, he loved her, and it is hard to be forced to pass an unfavorable judgment on those we love. But days passed without their meeting. The sick woman was visibly failing. One evening, Louis found her weaker than ever.“My dear monsieur,” said she, “I am very happy. I am about to enter the presence of the good God! But I have one cause for anxiety at the hour of death. I depend on you to remove it. When the wealthy die, they leave their friends valuable legacies, but we poor people have only burdens to bequeath. Mlle. Eugénie has promised to watch over my little boy. She is very kind!... And I have another favor to ask of you, monsieur. Not far from the village is a family by the name of Vinceneau. The father is employed in the tile works you have to pass in coming to see me. Hereafter, when you come by, continue to think of me, and pray for me!... But that is not the point. The man I am speaking of is intemperate like my husband. The mother would be an excellent woman, were it not for two faults. She is indolent and envious—always ready to think evil of the rich. She works at your mill. It is not these two people I am going to recommend to you, but their daughter. The poor child is as handsome as a picture, and as pious as an angel. She often comes to see me. I tremble lest she be lost through the bad example of her parents, or through dangerous society. I have a feeling that, in some way, you will find means of being useful to her, if necessary. I should have recommended her to Mlle. Eugénie, but her father and mother, as I have said, are good for nothing, and I should not like to sendmademoiselle where I know she is detested on account of her wealth.”Louis gladly acceded to her request. He left a few moments after to attend his evening-school. Half-way home, he perceived Eugénie coming from the mill, and could not help meeting her.TO BE CONTINUED.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XI.EUGENIE.A weekafter, Louis came to see us for the first time.“Well,” inquired Victor, “do you like your new manner of life?”“Yes and no, my dear friend,” replied Louis. “Yes, because I feel that the new life on which I have entered is good for me. It is just what I needed, I must confess—for I think aloud here. It is such a relief to speak to some one who understands, who loves you, and is always ready to excuse and pardon you! But I forewarn you I need, and shall need, great indulgence, though nothing ought to seem too hard to one who was on the high-road to destruction, soul and body, and would at this very instant be lost, had not God, in his mercy, sent you to my aid. This benefit has filled me, I assure you, with so much gratitude from the first that, in view of my past life and the divine goodness, I feel I ought to be a saint in order to expiate so many transgressions—I ought to prove my sincerity by some heroic sacrifice for God.”“Oh! oh! that is somewhat ambitious.”“I suppose it is absurd. Not that it is necessarily absurd to aspire to heroism, but the means should be taken into consideration. Now, mine are fearfully, pitifully inadequate. I am cowardly, fickle, and a lover of my ease.”“Come, come! do not calumniate yourself. We must neither judge ourselves with too much leniency nor with too much severity. We must see ourselves as we are. This is difficult, but it is essential.”“Well, my kind friend, that is exactly the way I regard myself.”“I doubt it.”“You shall judge for yourself. My duties oblige me to remain night and day at St. M——. Alas! this very necessity I find harder than I can express. There is not a day in which I do not find myself regretting the city three or four times. This is very wrong, when the city has been so pernicious to me....”“Come, you exaggerate things. You were born and brought up in the city, and have always lived here till now. I see nothing astonishing at your finding it disagreeable at first to live in the country.”“What a lenient judge! We shall see if you are as much so after the other acknowledgments I have to make. There are times when work seems insupportable. To rise at six o’clock and superintend workmen and machinery the live-long day irritates and fatigues me to such a degree that I am sometimes tempted to give it all up.”“You have not yet yielded to the temptation?”“No, indeed; that would be too despicable.”“Since you yourself regard such astep as it deserves, pursue your occupation without being concerned about a slight disinclination for work. Even people who have always been accustomed to labor have such temptations. I assure you, in a year there will be no question of all this. You will have acquired a love for your business, and, active as you are, you will not be able to do without it.”“You think me at the end of my confession. The worst is to come. Mr. Smithson is polite and sincere, but reserved and ceremonious, like all Englishmen. He keeps me at a distance, and appears as if my errors and loss of property, which of course he is aware of, gave him some superiority over me. I think he does wrong to make me feel this.”“Ah! this is more serious, my dear friend. Like all people in a wrong position, you are inclined to be unduly sensitive. Watch over yourself. Endeavor to be guided by reason. I do not wish you to submit to too much haughtiness, but do not attribute to people airs, and especially intentions, they are not guilty of.”“You are a thousand times right. I appreciate your advice, and promise to follow it. It would, indeed, be foolish to make myself needlessly unhappy. St. M——, as you know, is a lovely place. The river on which the mill stands has many charming views. During my leisure hours, I can draw and paint at my ease. I have a great deal to do, and my work is frequently burdensome, but I shall become accustomed to it, for it is a source of real interest. By an excess of good luck, I have lodgings that suit me in apartments near Mr. Smithson’s house. There I can read, meditate, and pray at my leisure. One thing only is wanting—a little society in the evening; but that will come, perhaps. I am invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s next Thursday. I hope that will be the commencement of closer intercourse with the family. Hitherto, I repeat, they have kept me at a distance. I have exchanged a few words with Mme. Smithson, who appears very affable, but I have only had a glimpse of the daughter—Eugénie, I believe her name is. As far as I could judge, she is tall, fine-looking, even dignified in her appearance, with something haughty in her air. I frankly confess it will be a treat to meet these three people. I have always had a fancy for studying different characters, and shall enjoy it particularly now, I am so unoccupied in the evening.”“And your workmen—what do you make of them?”“I am constantly observing them, and assure you they are as interesting to study as any one else. What a source of reflection! We have, you must know, workmen of every grade, good and bad—yes, fearfully bad. There are four hundred and fifty people—men, women, and children—who represent every phase of humanity.”“To study mankind, my dear friend, to confine one’s self to that, is an amusement suitable for a philosopher. But a Christian has higher views: he studies human nature in order to be useful.”“That idea has occurred to me. I have even formed a series of fine projects; but I am so poor a Christian, and so inexperienced!”“No false modesty! Excuse my bluntness; but false modesty is the shield of the indolent, or their couch, whichever you please. Have you any desire to benefit the people among whom you live?”“Yes, certainly, if I can.”“You can. You only need zealand prudence; the one ought always to guide the other. Come, what plans have occurred to you?”“I should like to found an evening-school, and take charge of it. Those who are the best instructed might serve as monitors.”“Perfect! That would be a means of keeping the young men, and even those of riper years, from idleness and the wine-shops, and afford you an opportunity of giving them good advice. What else?”“I should also like to establish a fund of mutual aid.”“Excellent!... Reflect on these two projects till Sunday. I will do the same. Consult Mr. Smithson also about them, and come and dine with us in a week. We will talk it over, and you can tell me how you like the family you are about to become acquainted with. I hope you will be pleased with them.”“I hope so too, but have my fears. If they were all like Mme. Smithson, everything would be propitious. I took a fancy to her from the first. But Mr. Smithson is frigid, and his daughter seems equally unapproachable. It is singular, but I had met her once or twice before I entered her father’s employ. I thought her beautiful and intelligent, and heard her very highly spoken of. But really, I begin to believe that she, like many others, is brilliant rather than solid.”“Come, come! no rash judgments!”“What can I say? I was deceived in her. I thought her an uncommon woman—one capable of comprehending all the delicacy of my position, and of coming to my assistance. She ought to realize that I am out of my element there. You must confess that Mlle. Smithson’s coolness does not tend to console me.”“Why, my dear friend, you are very exacting!... Would you expect as much from every one?”“No; but this young lady occupies an important place in the house, without trying, I confess, to take advantage of it.”“And an important place in your thoughts ...,” said Victor, with the friendly, significant smile so natural to him.Louis blushed.“I am inclined to think your opinion of her will be less severe in a week. I, too, have heard her highly spoken of.”These words seemed to afford Louis great satisfaction. Victor did not continue the subject.If you have carefully followed the conversation I have just related, you must see that Louis, though unaware of his sister’s hopes, already thought more of Mlle. Eugénie than he confessed or even acknowledged to himself. I think I shall only anticipate your wishes in making you acquainted at once with that young lady, who is to fill an importantrôlein my story. And this cannot be done better than in her own home.Eugénie is in her chamber. It is the morning of the day Louis and some other acquaintances are to dine with her father. She is engaged in completing her toilet. A more charming room cannot be imagined. It is furnished in exquisite style. Nothing is lacking. The pictures are all rare, and arranged with artistic taste. The book-case contains, not so many books, but solid works that will bear reading over and over again. What, above all, completes the charm of this young girl’s bower is the view to be seen from the two windows, which are like frames to a picture. They afford a glimpse of a terrestrial paradise through which flow the limpid waters of a deep stream. A breeze, playing throughthe poplars that stand on its banks, softly rustles the leaves. Directly across, on the opposite shore, is a broad meadow, bright with flowers, with here and there clumps of trees. As far as the eye can reach are objects on every side to satisfy the soul, and excite it to reverie: a windmill with its long wings of white canvas swaying in the air; a villa with its gardens; a little hamlet, and, overlooking it, a church, the slated belfry of which is glistening in the sun.The world is full of material souls whom it would be a kind of profanation to introduce into a place so attractive. They would be unable to appreciate the charm. What is nature, however beautiful, to a man eaten up with avarice and ambition?—to a woman who only dreams of pleasure?... To such degenerate souls, nature is a sealed book—a divine picture before a sightless eye.But to this number Eugénie did not belong. The daughter of a Catholic mother and a Protestant father, she had been educated in one of the best schools in Paris. Shall I call her pious? No; that would be exaggerating. Eugénie did not lack faith. Her religious instincts were well developed, but checked by her father’s coldness and her mother’s frivolity. She was by no means insensible to all the beautiful and true in religion. They filled her with admiration. She always fulfilled the obligations rigorously imposed by the church, but avoided going any farther through indifference as well as calculation. She had a horror of what she called petty religion and little practices of piety. Poor girl! she, too, closed her eyes in this respect to the light. The practices she disdained—frequent prayers, the raising of the soul to God, visits to the church, and assiduous frequentation of the sacraments—are they not what truly constitute religion, such as it ought to be, in order to be the companion, friend, and guide of the whole life?... This is what Eugénie did not comprehend, or rather, what she did not wish to comprehend. In short, she was religious in her own way—half-way religious—quite so in theory, but in reality much less so than she should have been.The somewhat indirect influence her parents exercised over her in a religious point of view also affected her in other ways. Eugénie possessed two natures: she was cold like her father, and kind like her mother, but without displaying it. Let us also add another characteristic by way of completing her portrait—she was romantic. In everything, she had a repugnance to what she called commonplace. An object, an individual, or an action, to please her, must have a peculiar stamp, an original turn, which she wished might be more frequently met with. She only liked what was out of the common course, according to the elevated standard of a certain ideal she had formed in her own mind.Eugénie’s exterior, her distinguished manners, her fluency in conversation, and the tone of her calm, well-modulated voice, all inspired a respect bordering on admiration. She was beautiful without being bewitching. She was kind, but in so inexpressive a way as to inspire at first fear rather than confidence. As has been said, she possessed a character not easily read, and, though only twenty-one years old, she passed for what is called, and with reason, a person of ability. Her father and mother doted on her: she was their only child. Yet there was a difference in their affection. Mr. Smithson tenderly loved her as a daughter: Mme. Smithsonloved her with a shade of fear, as we love a companion or friend whose superiority we feel.Her toilet otherwise completed, Eugénie rang for her waiting-maid to arrange her hair. Fanny did not keep her waiting. There was a striking contrast between mistress and maid. Fanny was towards forty years of age. She was of ordinary height, neat in person, but plain and unattractive in appearance. She had a bad complexion, large eyes hidden under thick lashes, a wide mouth, and a large fleshy nose, which made up one of those vulgar faces that are never observed except to laugh at. She was beloved by no one except her employers. This was not strange. She had an observing eye and a keen, sarcastic tongue. Her nature was soured, rather than instinctively bad. She was selfish and bitter—a good deal so. This selfishness and bitterness sprang from two causes which she would by no means have acknowledged. She was no longer young, she knew she was homely, and she had no hope of being married. Such a hope she had once, and a few days of happiness was the result. Fanny would have been so glad to be, in her turn, mistress over her own house! But her dream had vanished, and under circumstances not calculated to sweeten her temper.For some years, Fanny was a servant at Mme. Smithson’s sister’s. That lady was in the commercial line at Paris. There Fanny made the conquest of a smart young man from the country employed by her mistress as head clerk. He was an excellent person, but, like many others, wished to reconcile his affections with his interests. He said to himself that, by waiting awhile, he might, some fine day, find a wife richer, prettier, and younger than Fanny. As he was bound to her by no actual promise, he finally obtained another situation, and disappeared without any warning. The poor girl regarded such conduct as infamous. She felt that all hope of ever marrying was now lost, and the disappointment made her ill. Unbeknown to her, her mistress had followed all the scenes of this little domestic drama. She nursed Fanny with a care that was quite motherly. When the girl recovered, she expressed her gratitude, but begged permission to go away. The house had too many cruel associations. Her mistress willingly consented, and Fanny entered Mme. Smithson’s service. When the latter left Paris, Fanny accompanied her to St. M——, and had now been in the family several years.Having, to her great regret, no prospect of marrying, forced to acknowledge to herself that she should never have a house of her own to manage, Fanny had but one desire, but this was an ardent one—to be installed in a family which, if not her own, might prove as pleasant, and where she could rule while appearing to obey. But where find this ideal home?... She resolved to create it. And in this way: her old mistress, Mme. Smithson’s sister, had a son named Albert, who was five years older than Eugénie. Fanny had known him from his childhood. She was attached to him, and, above all, she understood his disposition. No one knew better than she that Albert would be the easiest, the most manageable, in short, the mildest of masters. On the other hand, she knew that Eugénie, energetic as she was, would not be difficult to please. “Mademoiselle lives in the clouds,” she said to herself; “she will be glad enough to have some one manage the house for her.”Fanny, therefore, resolved to make a match between the two cousins.There is reason to believe she made skilful overtures to her former mistress and to the young man himself, and that these overtures were well received. Albert was now preparing his thesis with a view to the law. As he was not rich, his cousin’s fortune was a very pleasant prospect, and still more so to his mother. Besides, Albert had always known Eugénie and loved her, as is natural to love a cousin that is pretty and intelligent. He and his mother, therefore, made Fanny their intermediary, without committing themselves to too great an extent.But Fanny had a good deal to overcome. Mr. Smithson was not partial to lawyers. The profession was not, in his estimation, clearly enough defined or very elevated. As to Eugénie, no one knew what her sentiments were with regard to her cousin. Fanny thought she had, if not a very strong attachment to him, at least an incipient affection. But she was not sure. Thence resulted continual fears. Every young man who entered the house was to her an object of alarm. Perhaps her prospects, so slowly ripening and so dear, would be again overthrown by this one!It may be imagined that Fanny looked with an unfavorable eye on Louis’ connection with the manufactory. If Mr. Smithson had chosen another kind of a man to aid him, one who was obscure, a mere common man of business, she would not have minded it. But in the course of a week, she was fully informed as to the history of the new-comer. She knew he belonged to one of the best families of the city; that he had been rich, and might become so again; that, till recently, he had been regarded as one of the most brilliant young men in society; and he was intelligent, well-educated, and of irreproachable morals. “I am lost!” thought she. “All these people are linked together to ruin my plans. This M. Louis comes here as an engineer?... Nonsense! it is an arrangement between his father and Mr. Smithson. They wish him to marry mademoiselle. What a contrivance! And that poor Albert, what will become of him?...”These suspicions quite upset her. She resolved to make inquiries, in order to relieve her mind, if by chance she was mistaken. But whom should she question?... Mr. Smithson?... That must not be thought of. Eugénie? Fanny made the attempt. Eugénie, with her usual coolness and wit, replied in such a way that Fanny retreated every time more uncertain than before.The day of which I am speaking—the notable day of the dinner—Fanny, out of patience, could endure it no longer. She resolved to carry matters so far that, whether she liked it or not, her mistress would be forced to revive her hopes, or utterly destroy them. Hardly had she entered the chamber before she opened fire:“How shall I arrange mademoiselle’s hair?”“As usual.”“Then we will dress it differently this afternoon with ribbons and flowers.”“Why such a display?”“Can mademoiselle have forgotten it is the day of the great dinner?”“Great dinner? What do you mean by such nonsense, Fanny? Why, whom are we to have at our table of so much importance? Nobody is invited that I have not known a long time: our neighbor, M. Daumier, with his wife and daughter, Dr. Ollivier, and M. Dupaigne. Really, it would be singular for me to receive them with any ceremony.”“Mademoiselle has not named all the guests.”“Whom have I forgotten?”“M. Louis Beauvais.”“Ah! that is true. I overlooked him. But his coming will not change my intention to remain as I am.”These words were uttered in a tone of perfect indifference. Fanny was overjoyed, but careful not to manifest it. Then, as she continued to busy herself about her mistress, she began to reflect. “She does not care for him,” she said to herself. “There is nothing to fear for the moment, then. But who knows how it may be by-and-by?... I must at once find out if, under favorable circumstances, she might not conceive an affection for him, and try to prevent such a misfortune. I will take the other side to find out the truth.”“A charming young man, this M. Louis, and quite worthy of interest,” said she, without appearing to attach any importance to her words.“What do you find so charming in him?”“He has a serious air, which I like.”“Yes; it might even be called gloomy.”“He may well have.”“Really! Ah! Fanny, then you know his history?”“Yes, mademoiselle; and a very curious one it is.”“Well, relate it to me. Only suppress the details; you always give too many.”“Three months ago, M. Louis was the finest dancer and the gayest young man in the city. Unfortunately, these young men are not always remarkable for uniformity. He lived like a prince for six years, and one fine morning found himself penniless.”“And what did he do then?”“They say—I am unwilling to believe it, but everybody says so—that he tried to drown himself.”“A weak brain. That is not to his credit.”“They also say that M. Barnier, the journalist, saved him at the risk of his life, and converted him so thoroughly that the poor fellow came near entering a monastery.”“A queer idea! That shows he has more imagination than reason!”“But he did not stick to his first intention. He is now established here, and will remain, I feel sure, ... and this alarms me!...”“Why are you so sure? And how can this assurance cause you any alarm?”“That is a secret. Mademoiselle will excuse me from replying. Though I have known mademoiselle from her childhood, she intimidates me.”“Not much, Fanny.”“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I do not understand you.”“You understand me perfectly, but I have to dot your i’s for you. Well, I will do so. I do not intimidate you much, I say. You dare not tell me what you mean, but you give me a hint of it. What are you afraid of? Tell me. I insist upon it.”“As mademoiselle insists upon it, I feel obliged to tell her what she wishes to know. Mademoiselle is not to be resisted. But I should prefer keeping it to myself. If it were to displease mademoiselle ...”“No; go on.”“Well, then, mademoiselle, I have everything to fear! This young man has lost his property.... He passes himself off here as a creditable person.... He has secret designs ...”“What designs?”“Mademoiselle puts me in an awkward position.... It is such a delicatepoint to speak to mademoiselle about.”“That M. Beauvais aspires to my hand through interested motives?”“I should not have dared say so.”“Well, that would be audacious! I accept a man for a husband whom poverty, disgraceful poverty, alone inclines towards me!”“Without doubt, he has committed many faults, but there is mercy for the greatest sinner, and he is so pious just now!”“I know—he goes to church often, even during the week. That is his own affair. That is enough, Fanny. Let there be no further question of this between us. You take too much interest in what concerns me, as I have told you before. I am astonished you should force me to repeat it.”Fanny, thus dismissed, went away furious and more uneasy than ever. But if she could have read Eugénie’s inmost thoughts, her fury would have turned to joy. As soon as she was gone, Eugénie seated herself in a low arm-chair, and began, as she sometimes laughingly said, to put her thoughts in order.“That malicious girl is no fool,” she said to herself. “This young man may have entered my father’s service from secret motives, perhaps suggested by his family. Who knows but my parents themselves smile on his projects? My father seems to be on the best of terms with his father. Perhaps they have come to an understanding with a mere word, or even without speaking at all. That would be too much! Well, if it is so, if the whole world conspires against me, I will defeat their calculations.... In the first place, I do not fancy this M. Louis, and I will soon let him see it, as well as those who favor him. The mere supposition that I could ever be his wife makes me indignant and angry. I marry a man who has ruined himself, who only aimed at my fortune, and would squander it in a few years! I give my heart to a man who does not love me, and, even if he sincerely vowed he loved me, would be in such a position that I should always have reason to doubt it! And, besides, what a weak mind this hare-brained fellow must have to play so manyrôlesone after the other! I wish my husband to have purer motives and a stronger head. This man must have a false heart. He is an intriguer, and that includes everything....”CHAPTER XII.MORE ABOUT EUGENIE—A REAL FRIEND.Thatevening, Louis found himself for the first time in the midst of the Smithson family. We often thought of him that night, and wished we could know at once what kind of a reception he had met with, especially from Eugénie. But we were obliged to wait for these interesting details till Louis could relate them himself. We did not have to wait long. When he came, he was gloomy and dispirited. Victor pretended not to observe his dejection.“Well,” said he, “you have now made the acquaintance of the Smithsons. What do you think of them?”“A good many things, but I can sum up my impressions in a word: they are queer people!”“Indeed! did they hurt your feelings in any way?”“Yes; ... yet I do wrong to be angry, or even to be astonished. I should have expected it.”“This great dinner, then, did not turn out as I hoped—a means of cementingamicable, if not affectionate, relations between you?”“By no means.”“You greatly astonish me!”“It is just so.... The way things were managed shows the Smithsons to be sagacious people. They invited me, in order to make me understand at once the position I hold in their estimation—that of engineer and superintendent, nothing more.”“I am really amazed!”“And I am equally so. I did not expect it, but the fact is too evident.”“Well, tell me all that happened, without omitting anything.”“Not to omit anything would make the story long, and it is not worth the trouble. I will briefly relate what I think will interest you, that you may have an idea of this first visit. There were but four other guests, whom I only regarded with indifference. They were neither pleasing nor displeasing, so it is useless to speak of them. We will confine ourselves to the leading members of the household. I will first speak of the real though unacknowledged head. My mind is made up on this point. As I saw from the first, it is Mlle. Eugénie who rules the house.”“Even her father?”“Yes; even her father; not as openly and directly as she does her mother, but as unmistakably by dint of management.”“Is she really a superior woman, as I have been told, or is she merely shrewd and imperious?”“Oh! no. Those who have sounded her praises have not deceived you. She is by no means a common person. In the first place, it must be confessed she is really handsome. There is especially a rare intelligence and dignity in her appearance. She converses well, often says something profound, and is always interesting. She is a lover of the arts, and all she says, all she does, evinces an elevated mind.”“Such a person as is seldom met with, then—a model of perfection?”“She has all that is necessary to become so, ... and yet she is not. One fault spoils everything, one or two at the most, but they are serious. She is proud or egotistical, perhaps both.”“Are you not too severe upon her? You scarcely know her, and yet you are very decided in your condemnation.”“I have reasons for my opinion. You shall judge for yourself. My position with respect to Mr. Smithson is very trying. He knows, and doubtless the rest of the family too, all the follies I have committed within a few years, and how I regret them. He cannot be ignorant, nor they either, that the office I hold under him, however respectable, must awaken a susceptibility that is natural and excusable, even if exaggerated. In this state of things, I had a right to expect that Mr. Smithson and his family, if they were really people of any soul or breeding, would treat me with a delicacy that, without compromising them, would put me at my ease.”“I am of your opinion. And have they been wanting therein?”“Yes; and in a very disagreeable way. It is little things that betray shades of feeling, and it was thereby I was hurt. In leaving thesalonfor the dining-room, each guest offered his arm to a lady. Mr. Smithson, his daughter, and myself were the last. Mlle. Eugénie took her father’s arm with an eagerness that was really uncivil.”“It was from timidity, perhaps.”“She timid?... I must undeceive you! She certainly is not bold, but she is far from being timid.At table, I found myself consigned to the lowest place. None of the guests were great talkers, and more than once I took part in the conversation. Mlle. Smithson undisguisedly pretended not to listen to me. She even interrupted me by speaking of something quite foreign to what I was saying.”“Her education has been defective.”“Pardon me, she is perfectly well-bred. To see her an hour would convince you of this. When she is deficient in politeness, it is because she wishes to be.”“I believe you, but cannot comprehend it all.”“I have not told you everything. The worst is to come. Towards the end of dinner, the conversation fell on a certain cousin of Mlle. Eugénie’s. His name, I think, is Albert. She praised him highly, to which I have nothing to say; but she added—and this was very unreasonable or very malicious—that this dear cousin did not imitate the young men of fashion, who were extravagant in their expenditures, acquired nothing, and ended by falling into pitiful embarrassment. I was, I confess, provoked and angry. I felt strongly tempted to make Mlle. Smithson feel the rudeness and unkindness of her remark. But I bethought myself that I was a Christian, and that, after all, the most genuine proof of repentance is humility. Therefore I restrained my feelings, and remained silent. The rest of the evening I cut a sorry figure. Mlle. Smithson seemed perfectly unconcerned as to what I might think.”“Her behavior is so inexplicable,” said Victor, “that, if I had these details from any one else, I should refuse to believe them.”(At this part of her story, Mme. Agnes made a remark it may be well to repeat to the reader: “You must bear in mind,” said she, “that neither Victor nor I then had any means of knowing what I related a few moments ago as to Fanny’s projects and Eugénie’s suspicions; and we were completely ignorant of her turn of mind and romantic notions.”)“Well,” resumed Louis, “her way of acting, at which you are astonished, does not amaze me. I can easily explain it. Mlle. Eugénie imagines that I aspire to her hand, or rather, to her fortune. She is mistaken; I aspire to neither. I acknowledge she has a combination of qualities calculated to please me, but her disdain excites my indignation. I mean, therefore, to put a speedy end to her injurious suspicions. Then I will leave the place. I have already begun to put my project into execution.”“Do not be precipitate, I beg of you. It is a delicate matter. What steps have you taken?”“None of any importance. This morning, the work-rooms being closed as usual on Sunday, I went, before Mass, to sketch a delightful view not a hundred steps from the manufactory. I was wholly absorbed in my work, when Mlle. Smithson approached. I will not deny I was moved at seeing her.”“Then you are no longer indifferent to her?”“Oh! I think I can vouch for the perfect indifference of my sentiments for the moment. But would this coldness towards her always last if I did not watch over my heart?... She has so many captivating qualities! I have seen so few women to be compared to her! No, no; I will not allow myself to be captivated unawares; that would be too great a misfortune for me.... I have resolved to raise myself in her estimation. I will clearly convince her she has calumniated me in her heart; that Iam in no respect the man she thinks; and, when I have done that, I shall leave. So, when she approached, I bowed to her with respect and politeness.“‘You are sketching, monsieur?’ she said, bending down to look at my work. ‘It is charming.’“‘It ought to be, mademoiselle. There could not be a landscape better calculated to inspire an artist. But while I am admiring what is before me, I regret my unskilfulness in depicting it. It is my own fault. I have so long neglected the art of drawing. I have acted like so many other young men, and lost some of the best years of my life.’“She understood the allusion—perhaps too direct—to her sally of the other day. A slight blush rose to her face. ‘One would not suspect it, monsieur,’ she said. ‘But as for that, even if you have lost your skill, it can easily be regained in the midst of the delightful views in this vicinity.’“‘It is true, mademoiselle! A lovelier region it would be difficult to find. I wish some of these views for my sketch-book, as I may leave any day.’“I uttered these words in a cool, deliberate tone, and then resumed my work. Mlle. Eugénie seemed to wish to continue the conversation, but, slightly abashed, had not the courage, I think, to make any advances. I bowed ceremoniously, and she went away. My opinion is, she stopped out of mere curiosity. She had shown how little she esteemed me, and was not afraid of my attaching any importance to her speaking to me. Such a course favors my plans.”“Wonderfully! But—nothing headlong! Forbear leaving Mr. Smithson too precipitately. You are now near your family. Time may show things to you in a different light. And, above all, it seems to me great good can be done there, and more easily than in most places. Tell me something of your workmen. Have you thought of the two projects we talked about the other day? Have you spoken to Mr. Smithson about them?”“No; it seems to me they would not particularly please him. I really do not know whether this Englishman has any heart or not. I am inclined to regard him as an egotist, merely employing men to increase his wealth, and not very solicitous about their welfare.”“I must undeceive you. I have reason to think Mr. Smithson a very different person from what you suppose. We have not many Protestants here, you know, but still there are a few. Among them are some who are really actuated by good motives. They assembled a few months ago at the house of Mr. Carrand, the rich lawyer you are acquainted with. They wished to establish a charitable society, in imitation of our Conferences of S. Vincent de Paul, but did not succeed in their plans. To effect such an enterprise, there must be the zeal and charity that animate the Catholic Church. To her alone God grants the sublime privilege of devoting herself with constancy and success to the physical and moral welfare of mankind. Though their project remained unfruitful, it revealed a generosity much to the credit of the Protestants interested in it Mr. Smithson himself was one of the foremost on this occasion to manifest how earnestly he had at heart the welfare of the poor; and this without any evidence of being influenced by selfish motives.”“What you say surprises me, but it gives me great pleasure. I shall henceforth be less reserved with him.”“And you will do well. I even advise you to consult Mme. and Mlle. Smithson about your charitable plans. They are Catholics, and will comprehend you at once.”“I have no great confidence in their piety.”“My dear friend, I regard you with the affection of a brother....”“Say, rather, of a father, as you are, in one sense, having saved my life; and also by another title, in aiding me to become an earnest Christian, such as I once was.”“Well, then, let us use a medium term. My regard for you shall be that of an elder brother. I thank you for allowing me this title. My affection for you makes me take an interest in all that concerns you. I have obtained very exact information respecting the Smithson ladies from a reliable source. They are not as pious as they might be, but they do not lack faith, and they fulfil the absolute requirements of the church. I know that Mlle. Eugénie is keenly alive to the poetical side of religion. You have, I believe, an importantrôleto fill in the family and in the whole establishment. You can do good to every one there, and, at the same time, to yourself. The course to be pursued seems to me very simple. I feel sure Mlle. Smithson has some misconception concerning you—some injurious suspicions. Endeavor to remove them from her mind. Act prudently, but as promptly as possible. That done, induce her to take an interest in the work you are going to undertake. She will lead her father to participate in it. In a short time, you will see the good effect on your workmen, and derive from your charitable efforts the reward that never fails to follow—an ever-increasing love of doing good, and a livelier desire of sanctifying your own soul. The exercise of charity is of all things the most salutary. I can safely predict that the Smithson ladies will both become pious if they second you; and as for you, you will be more and more strengthened in your good resolutions. Who knows?—perhaps you may have the sweet surprise of seeing Mr. Smithson converted when he sees that Catholicism alone enables us to confer on others a real benefit.”“These are fine projects, and very attractive; but I foresee many obstacles and dangers.”“What ones?”“Of all kinds. First, I expose myself to conceive an affection for Mlle. Smithson it would be prudent to guard against. She does not like me. I imagine she loves some one else—the cousin she praises so willingly.”“A supposition without proof! What I have heard from others, as well as yourself, convinces me that Mlle. Smithson has not yet made her choice. The praise she so publicly lavishes on her cousin is, in my opinion, a proof of her indifference towards him.”“But if I were to love her—love her seriously, and she continued to disdain me; if her prejudice against me could not be overcome?...”“I should be the first to regret it. But listen to me. You were once truly pious, my friend, and wish to become so again. This desire is sincere, I know. Well, it is time to take a correct view of life. For the most of us, especially those who are called to effect some good in the world, life is only one long sacrifice. Jesus Christ suffered and died to redeem mankind; the way he chose for himself he also appointed for those who become his disciples. It is by self-sacrifice that we acquire the inappreciable gift of being useful to our fellow-men. Do not cherish any illusion with regard to this!”Louis and I exchanged a sorrowful glance as Victor spoke. Poor dear fellow! how he realized what he was saying! He was about to die at thirty-six years of age, in the very height of his usefulness, and this because he likewise had voluntarily chosen the rough path of sacrifice that was leading even unto death!“My friend,” replied Louis, “what you say is true. I feel it. You are yourself an eloquent proof of it—you whom I have stopped in the midst of your career....”“Do not talk so,” interrupted Victor; “you pain me. Your manner of interpreting my words makes me regret uttering them. Do not mistake my meaning. What I would say may be summed up thus: to effect a reformation in Mr. Smithson’s manufactory, where there are many bad men who corrupt the good; to enkindle a spirit of piety in the hearts of the Smithson ladies, by associating them in the good you are to effect. Whatever may be the result, devote yourself to this work without any reserve. You must not hesitate! Your sufferings, if you have any to endure, will not be without fruit, and perhaps God may not suffer them to be of long duration.”“You have decided me. I will begin to-morrow. I will commence with the evening-school, and by visiting the most destitute families.”“Do not forget that the destitution most to be pitied is moral destitution. Visit those who have nothing, but especially those who are depraved.”Louis went away in a totally different frame of mind from that with which he had come. Victor, in his gentle way, had increased his esteem for Mr. Smithson, and inflamed him with the zeal—the ardent desire of usefulness with which he was filled himself. When he was gone, Victor and I talked a long time about him. I confessed I had no great faith in his perseverance. Victor replied: “His mother’s piety and careful training must lead to his thorough conversion. And how he has already changed! He realizes the worthlessness of the aims to which he once gave himself up. There is no fear of his receding. He has taken the surest means of persevering—the apostolic work of doing good. Nevertheless, I acknowledge I wish he could find some one to aid him. And what a powerful aid it would be if he loved and felt himself loved! Ardent as he is, he would communicate his piety to the object of his affection. And how much good would result from their combined efforts! But I fear it will not be thus! Our poor friend will, perhaps, purchase the right of winning a few souls at the expense of his own happiness.”CHAPTER XIII.LOUIS AT WORK.Louistook two whole days to reflect on the important subject of his conversation with my husband. Was the profound love he subsequently felt for Eugénie already springing up in his heart? Such is my opinion, though I dare not say so positively. He probably was not conscious himself of the real state of his mind. Since that time, I have often dwelt on all that took place then and afterwards, and it has always seemed to me that, from the very moment Louis first knew and appreciated Mlle. Smithson, he conceived an affection for her as seriousas it was sudden. This affection was one of those that seem destined, from the beginning, to a continual increase. Does this mean that I have adopted the foolish and erroneous theory of novel writers, who regard love as an overmastering passion to which one is forced at all hazards to submit?... Neither religion nor reality will allow one to yield to such an error. But they do not hinder me from believing there are inclinations and affections that all at once assert themselves with so much force that, if one would not be speedily overcome by passion, he must at once raise an insurmountable barrier against it, such as flight, reason armed with contempt, and, what is a thousand times better than all—prayer. Such, in my opinion, was the love Louis at once conceived for Mlle. Smithson.How shall I account for his being so captivated, when Eugénie had wounded him so deeply, and was so proud and every way original? For he too was proud, and his pride was allied with an unvarying simplicity which by no means accorded with Mlle. Smithson’s turn of mind.... I account for this in many ways. Eugénie had very distinguished manners. This naturally pleased Louis, for he had been brought up by a mother who was a model of distinction. Eugénie had a noble soul. Her opinions were not always correct, but they were always of an elevated nature. She was, it is true, peculiar and romantic, and Louis was not. But he liked all these peculiarities in her. They seemed to him charming. Lastly, and this is one of my strongest reasons, I think it was because Louis felt himself worthy of being Eugénie’s husband, and, seeing himself slighted by her, was the more strongly tempted to win her.As Victor and I were his confidential friends, he kept us informed of all his proceedings, and, I may safely say, even of his thoughts. It is therefore easy for me to retrace the story of his love, which I will do without any exaggeration.But first, let us return to his charitable projects, and the way in which he executed them. Louis was not merely an engineer in Mr. Smithson’s establishment, but a Christian, and all the more zealous because he was anxious to expiate his past errors. He knew by experience to what an abyss the passions lead, and was desirous of warning others. If he had been a man of ordinary mind and heart, he would no doubt have been animated by entirely different motives. After his ruin, and rescue from a watery grave, desirous of regaining not only his father’s esteem, but that of the world, he might have chosen the very position he now occupied, but he would have taken care to live as easily as possible. He would perhaps have sought to win Eugénie’s affections, and in the end would have thought only of her and labored for her alone. Such a life would not be worth relating. The lives of ordinary men are as unworthy of interest as the egotism that is the mainspring of their actions.Louis’ life was a very different one. That is why I am desirous of making it known. But do not suppose his nature was thus transformed in an instant. God did not work one of those miracles that consist in the complete, instantaneous change of a man’s character. Our faults veil our better qualities, but do not suppress them; so a return to piety gives them new brilliancy, but does not create them. Louis, as I afterwards learned, had in his youth manifested uncommon elevation and purity of mind, and the piety of a saint. After hisarrival at manhood, deprived of his mother’s influence, and led away by his passions, he placed no bounds to his follies. But suddenly arrested in the midst of his disorderly career, providentially saved at the very moment of being for ever lost, he at once broke loose from his pernicious habits. Like a traveller who returns to the right path after going astray for awhile, he resumed his course in the way of perfection with as much ardor as if he had never left it. There was only one reproach to be made against him at the onset. With his earnest nature and tendency to extremes, he manifested too openly the interior operations of grace. The difference between the young exquisite whom everybody knew, and the new convert observed of all eyes, was rather too marked. Louis’ serious and somewhat stern air, his austere look, and his habitual reserve, repelled those who had no faith in his entire conversion. Thence arose backbitings, suspicions, and accusations of hypocrisy which did not come to our poor friend’s ears, but were the cause of more than one annoyance. I must, however, acknowledge, to Mr. Smithson’s credit, that he showed a great deal of charity for Louis at that time. If he sometimes accused him of undue zeal, he was from the first disposed to believe it sincere.I will briefly relate what Louis accomplished during the few weeks subsequent to his last conversation with Victor. My husband had advised him not to undertake anything till he had consulted Mr. Smithson. Louis followed his advice, and begged an interview with his employer. It was then in the month of June. The conversation took place without witnesses, in the open air, on a fine summer evening. I give it as related by Louis.“Monsieur,” said he, “I am aware of your interest in benevolent objects. The workmen you employ, and whom I superintend under your orders, are not in your eyes mere instruments for the increase of wealth, but men to whom you wish to be as useful as circumstances will allow.”Mr. Smithson was never lavish of his words. He made a sign of assent, and appeared pleased with what was said.Louis continued: “I also am desirous of being useful to my fellow-men. I have done many foolish things, and would like to preserve others from similar mistakes, for the consequences are often fatal. With your permission, I will not content myself with aiding you in the management of the mill, but beg the honor of being associated, in proportion to my ability, with all the good you are desirous of doing.”“Monsieur,” said Mr. Smithson, “your unexpected offer somewhat embarrasses me. I am quite ready to accede to your wishes, but could not, in truth, consider you my co-laborer. What I have hitherto done has been but little, but I know not what else to do. I assist the needy, and give good advice here and there; that is all. You can follow my example. I shall be glad. Is that what you wish? Or do you happen to have anything better and more extensive to propose? If so, go on. I am ready to hear it.”“Yes, monsieur; I have some other plans to suggest.”“State them without any hesitation. I only hope they are of a nature to second my views. The first condition for that is, to propose only what is simple and practical. Doubtless too great an effort cannot be made at this time to aid and improve our workmen, both for their own interest and for ours. Everything is dear. The country is in aferment. Among those we employ, there are a number of turbulent fellows and many wretchedly poor.”“Precisely so. What I wish is, to aid the needy, and reform the bad.”“Your design is worthy of all praise—as a theory; ... but its realization will be difficult, not to say impossible. Listen to me, monsieur; I have a frank avowal to make. I have been engaged in this business but a short time. I know the common people but little. I belong to a country and a religion that have a special way of aiding the indigent. The government takes charge of that with us. In France, it is different: private individuals take part in it. You find me therefore greatly embarrassed. Enlighten me, if you can. I ask for nothing better.”“Well, monsieur, it seems to me that beneficence should be exercised in three different ways. First, it is our duty to come to the assistance of those in distress; ... only I cannot, in this respect, do all I would like.... I could have done so once ... now ...”“Do not let that worry you. My purse is open to you on condition that you only aid those whose destitution you can personally vouch for. It is also advisable to ascertain what use they make of that which is given them.”“I promise this, and thank you. No; it is not sufficient to give them money. One must see it is made a good use of. The poor should be taught to double their resources by economy. The assistance of the needy, then, is the first benevolent effort I would propose. I now come to moral beneficence. This does not refer to the indigence of the body, but to that of the soul. I think it especially desirable to preserve from corruption those of our workmen who are at present leading upright lives, particularly the young. This does not hinder me from thinking it necessary to bring those who have gone astray under good influences.”“Fine projects! I, too, have made similar ones, as I said, but I was discouraged by the difficulty of executing them. What means do you propose to employ?”“What would you say to the formation of a library in one of the rooms of the manufactory—for instance, that which overlooks the river? It is now unoccupied. The workmen might be allowed to go there and read in the evening, and even to smoke, if they like.... This library could be used, during the hours of cessation from labor, as a schoolroom, where all could come to learn, in a social way, what they are ignorant of.—Would not this be a means of keeping them away from the wine-shops, and afford one an opportunity of conversing with them, and giving them good advice—advice which comes from the heart?”“I like the idea. It really seems to me you have conceived a happy combination of plans; but nothing can be done without a person to put them in execution.”“I will do it if you will allow me. I am eager to try the experiment.”“Your courage and enthusiasm will soon give out. At every step, you will meet with difficulties impossible to be foreseen. I have mingled only a little with the working classes, but enough to know they are difficult to manage, and often ungrateful to those who try to be useful to them.”“God will aid me. He will reward me, and they may too. But I shall not be difficult to please. If some of them correspond to my efforts, it will be enough. I will forget the ingratitude of the rest.”Mr. Smithson was amazed at hiszeal. His own religion, cold and formal, had never taught him to take so much pains for those who might prove ungrateful. He and Louis separated quite pleased with each other. Louis felt he had been comprehended. He had also the promise of assistance. Mr. Smithson, with all his reserve, was captivated by Louis’ enthusiasm for doing good. But though he had promised to aid Louis, he pitied him. “He will fail,” he said to himself.The work was begun a few days after, thanks to the co-operation of Mr. Smithson, who smoothed away the difficulties inseparable from all beginnings. At seven in the evening, Louis, laying aside the title and functions of an engineer, became the friend and teacher of the workmen. They assembled in a large room where benches, tables, and a library were arranged. At first a certain number of workmen came through mere curiosity. They found what they did not expect—a teacher who was competent, kind, ready to converse with them and teach them what they wished to learn, and this with a heartiness quite different from an ordinary schoolmaster. Louis devoted himself with so much pleasure to these evening exercises that his pupils soon learned to like them, and gave so captivating an account of them to the rest that the number of scholars increased from day to day. Thus the school was permanently established without much delay, and numbered about thirty men of all ages and varieties of character. Louis showed perfect tact in profiting by so happy a commencement. Every evening, he gave oral instructions, sometimes on historical subjects, sometimes on a question of moral or political economy. In each of these lectures, the young master mingled good advice, which was willingly listened to, given, as it was, in the midst of instructions that excited the liveliest interest. The workmen felt they were learning a thousand things they could never have acquired from books. A book is a voiceless teacher that requires too much application from unaccustomed pupils.Mr. Smithson watched over the development of this work, and became more and more interested in it in proportion as its success, which at first he had doubted, became more probable, and its utility more evident. At the same time, without acknowledging it to himself, suspicion and distrust began to spring up in his heart. Even the best of men under certain circumstances, unless checked by profound piety, are accessible to the lowest sentiments. Mr. Smithson began to be jealous of his assistant, and even to fear him.“What!” he said to himself, “shall he succeed in a work I dared not undertake myself! He will acquire a moral influence in the establishment superior to mine!...” Then, as his unjust suspicions increased: “It is not the love of doing good that influences him: it is ambition,” he thought.Louis had no suspicion of what was passing in his employer’s mind, and therefore resolutely continued to pursue the course he had begun. He had formerly accompanied his mother in her visits among the poor, and thus learned how to benefit them. She had taught him it was not sufficient to give them money: it was necessary to mingle with them, talk with them, give them good advice—in a word, to treat them as brethren and friends. Having organized his evening-school, he resolved to visit the most destitute and ignorant families in the village, which was about a kilometre and a half from the manufactory. He went thereevery evening towards six, and spent an hour in going from one house to another. Chance, as an unbeliever would say, or Providence, to speak more correctly, led him to the house of a poor woman quite worthy of his interest. She was fifty years of age, and slowly wasting away from disease of the lungs, complicated with an affection of the heart. This woman was one of those lovely souls developed by the Catholic religion oftener than is supposed. People little suspected how much she suffered, or with how much patience she bore her sufferings, but God knew. She was a real martyr. Married to a drunken, brutal man of her own age, she had endured all the abuse and ill-treatment with which he loaded her without a murmur. She had brought up her son piously, and labored as long as she was able to supply her own wants and those of her child. Broken down by illness and the continual ill-treatment of her husband, she would have died of want, had not Mlle. Smithson come to her aid.When Louis went to see this poor woman, whom we will call Françoise, she spoke of Eugénie so enthusiastically, and with so much emotion, that he was greatly impressed. It was sweet to hear the praises of one whom he dreamed, if not of marrying, at least of associating in his good works.The next day, he repeated his call on the sick woman, and for several days in succession. I think he had a secret hope of meeting Eugénie, without daring to acknowledge it to himself. As yet, he had merely seen her. He found her, as you know, handsome, stylish, and intelligent, but cool towards him. He longed to observe her in this miserable dwelling. Here, apart from other influences, she might show herself, as he hoped she really was—exempt from the imperfections he had remarked in her at home with regret. Without acknowledging it, he loved her, and it is hard to be forced to pass an unfavorable judgment on those we love. But days passed without their meeting. The sick woman was visibly failing. One evening, Louis found her weaker than ever.“My dear monsieur,” said she, “I am very happy. I am about to enter the presence of the good God! But I have one cause for anxiety at the hour of death. I depend on you to remove it. When the wealthy die, they leave their friends valuable legacies, but we poor people have only burdens to bequeath. Mlle. Eugénie has promised to watch over my little boy. She is very kind!... And I have another favor to ask of you, monsieur. Not far from the village is a family by the name of Vinceneau. The father is employed in the tile works you have to pass in coming to see me. Hereafter, when you come by, continue to think of me, and pray for me!... But that is not the point. The man I am speaking of is intemperate like my husband. The mother would be an excellent woman, were it not for two faults. She is indolent and envious—always ready to think evil of the rich. She works at your mill. It is not these two people I am going to recommend to you, but their daughter. The poor child is as handsome as a picture, and as pious as an angel. She often comes to see me. I tremble lest she be lost through the bad example of her parents, or through dangerous society. I have a feeling that, in some way, you will find means of being useful to her, if necessary. I should have recommended her to Mlle. Eugénie, but her father and mother, as I have said, are good for nothing, and I should not like to sendmademoiselle where I know she is detested on account of her wealth.”Louis gladly acceded to her request. He left a few moments after to attend his evening-school. Half-way home, he perceived Eugénie coming from the mill, and could not help meeting her.TO BE CONTINUED.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.

EUGENIE.

A weekafter, Louis came to see us for the first time.

“Well,” inquired Victor, “do you like your new manner of life?”

“Yes and no, my dear friend,” replied Louis. “Yes, because I feel that the new life on which I have entered is good for me. It is just what I needed, I must confess—for I think aloud here. It is such a relief to speak to some one who understands, who loves you, and is always ready to excuse and pardon you! But I forewarn you I need, and shall need, great indulgence, though nothing ought to seem too hard to one who was on the high-road to destruction, soul and body, and would at this very instant be lost, had not God, in his mercy, sent you to my aid. This benefit has filled me, I assure you, with so much gratitude from the first that, in view of my past life and the divine goodness, I feel I ought to be a saint in order to expiate so many transgressions—I ought to prove my sincerity by some heroic sacrifice for God.”

“Oh! oh! that is somewhat ambitious.”

“I suppose it is absurd. Not that it is necessarily absurd to aspire to heroism, but the means should be taken into consideration. Now, mine are fearfully, pitifully inadequate. I am cowardly, fickle, and a lover of my ease.”

“Come, come! do not calumniate yourself. We must neither judge ourselves with too much leniency nor with too much severity. We must see ourselves as we are. This is difficult, but it is essential.”

“Well, my kind friend, that is exactly the way I regard myself.”

“I doubt it.”

“You shall judge for yourself. My duties oblige me to remain night and day at St. M——. Alas! this very necessity I find harder than I can express. There is not a day in which I do not find myself regretting the city three or four times. This is very wrong, when the city has been so pernicious to me....”

“Come, you exaggerate things. You were born and brought up in the city, and have always lived here till now. I see nothing astonishing at your finding it disagreeable at first to live in the country.”

“What a lenient judge! We shall see if you are as much so after the other acknowledgments I have to make. There are times when work seems insupportable. To rise at six o’clock and superintend workmen and machinery the live-long day irritates and fatigues me to such a degree that I am sometimes tempted to give it all up.”

“You have not yet yielded to the temptation?”

“No, indeed; that would be too despicable.”

“Since you yourself regard such astep as it deserves, pursue your occupation without being concerned about a slight disinclination for work. Even people who have always been accustomed to labor have such temptations. I assure you, in a year there will be no question of all this. You will have acquired a love for your business, and, active as you are, you will not be able to do without it.”

“You think me at the end of my confession. The worst is to come. Mr. Smithson is polite and sincere, but reserved and ceremonious, like all Englishmen. He keeps me at a distance, and appears as if my errors and loss of property, which of course he is aware of, gave him some superiority over me. I think he does wrong to make me feel this.”

“Ah! this is more serious, my dear friend. Like all people in a wrong position, you are inclined to be unduly sensitive. Watch over yourself. Endeavor to be guided by reason. I do not wish you to submit to too much haughtiness, but do not attribute to people airs, and especially intentions, they are not guilty of.”

“You are a thousand times right. I appreciate your advice, and promise to follow it. It would, indeed, be foolish to make myself needlessly unhappy. St. M——, as you know, is a lovely place. The river on which the mill stands has many charming views. During my leisure hours, I can draw and paint at my ease. I have a great deal to do, and my work is frequently burdensome, but I shall become accustomed to it, for it is a source of real interest. By an excess of good luck, I have lodgings that suit me in apartments near Mr. Smithson’s house. There I can read, meditate, and pray at my leisure. One thing only is wanting—a little society in the evening; but that will come, perhaps. I am invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s next Thursday. I hope that will be the commencement of closer intercourse with the family. Hitherto, I repeat, they have kept me at a distance. I have exchanged a few words with Mme. Smithson, who appears very affable, but I have only had a glimpse of the daughter—Eugénie, I believe her name is. As far as I could judge, she is tall, fine-looking, even dignified in her appearance, with something haughty in her air. I frankly confess it will be a treat to meet these three people. I have always had a fancy for studying different characters, and shall enjoy it particularly now, I am so unoccupied in the evening.”

“And your workmen—what do you make of them?”

“I am constantly observing them, and assure you they are as interesting to study as any one else. What a source of reflection! We have, you must know, workmen of every grade, good and bad—yes, fearfully bad. There are four hundred and fifty people—men, women, and children—who represent every phase of humanity.”

“To study mankind, my dear friend, to confine one’s self to that, is an amusement suitable for a philosopher. But a Christian has higher views: he studies human nature in order to be useful.”

“That idea has occurred to me. I have even formed a series of fine projects; but I am so poor a Christian, and so inexperienced!”

“No false modesty! Excuse my bluntness; but false modesty is the shield of the indolent, or their couch, whichever you please. Have you any desire to benefit the people among whom you live?”

“Yes, certainly, if I can.”

“You can. You only need zealand prudence; the one ought always to guide the other. Come, what plans have occurred to you?”

“I should like to found an evening-school, and take charge of it. Those who are the best instructed might serve as monitors.”

“Perfect! That would be a means of keeping the young men, and even those of riper years, from idleness and the wine-shops, and afford you an opportunity of giving them good advice. What else?”

“I should also like to establish a fund of mutual aid.”

“Excellent!... Reflect on these two projects till Sunday. I will do the same. Consult Mr. Smithson also about them, and come and dine with us in a week. We will talk it over, and you can tell me how you like the family you are about to become acquainted with. I hope you will be pleased with them.”

“I hope so too, but have my fears. If they were all like Mme. Smithson, everything would be propitious. I took a fancy to her from the first. But Mr. Smithson is frigid, and his daughter seems equally unapproachable. It is singular, but I had met her once or twice before I entered her father’s employ. I thought her beautiful and intelligent, and heard her very highly spoken of. But really, I begin to believe that she, like many others, is brilliant rather than solid.”

“Come, come! no rash judgments!”

“What can I say? I was deceived in her. I thought her an uncommon woman—one capable of comprehending all the delicacy of my position, and of coming to my assistance. She ought to realize that I am out of my element there. You must confess that Mlle. Smithson’s coolness does not tend to console me.”

“Why, my dear friend, you are very exacting!... Would you expect as much from every one?”

“No; but this young lady occupies an important place in the house, without trying, I confess, to take advantage of it.”

“And an important place in your thoughts ...,” said Victor, with the friendly, significant smile so natural to him.

Louis blushed.

“I am inclined to think your opinion of her will be less severe in a week. I, too, have heard her highly spoken of.”

These words seemed to afford Louis great satisfaction. Victor did not continue the subject.

If you have carefully followed the conversation I have just related, you must see that Louis, though unaware of his sister’s hopes, already thought more of Mlle. Eugénie than he confessed or even acknowledged to himself. I think I shall only anticipate your wishes in making you acquainted at once with that young lady, who is to fill an importantrôlein my story. And this cannot be done better than in her own home.

Eugénie is in her chamber. It is the morning of the day Louis and some other acquaintances are to dine with her father. She is engaged in completing her toilet. A more charming room cannot be imagined. It is furnished in exquisite style. Nothing is lacking. The pictures are all rare, and arranged with artistic taste. The book-case contains, not so many books, but solid works that will bear reading over and over again. What, above all, completes the charm of this young girl’s bower is the view to be seen from the two windows, which are like frames to a picture. They afford a glimpse of a terrestrial paradise through which flow the limpid waters of a deep stream. A breeze, playing throughthe poplars that stand on its banks, softly rustles the leaves. Directly across, on the opposite shore, is a broad meadow, bright with flowers, with here and there clumps of trees. As far as the eye can reach are objects on every side to satisfy the soul, and excite it to reverie: a windmill with its long wings of white canvas swaying in the air; a villa with its gardens; a little hamlet, and, overlooking it, a church, the slated belfry of which is glistening in the sun.

The world is full of material souls whom it would be a kind of profanation to introduce into a place so attractive. They would be unable to appreciate the charm. What is nature, however beautiful, to a man eaten up with avarice and ambition?—to a woman who only dreams of pleasure?... To such degenerate souls, nature is a sealed book—a divine picture before a sightless eye.

But to this number Eugénie did not belong. The daughter of a Catholic mother and a Protestant father, she had been educated in one of the best schools in Paris. Shall I call her pious? No; that would be exaggerating. Eugénie did not lack faith. Her religious instincts were well developed, but checked by her father’s coldness and her mother’s frivolity. She was by no means insensible to all the beautiful and true in religion. They filled her with admiration. She always fulfilled the obligations rigorously imposed by the church, but avoided going any farther through indifference as well as calculation. She had a horror of what she called petty religion and little practices of piety. Poor girl! she, too, closed her eyes in this respect to the light. The practices she disdained—frequent prayers, the raising of the soul to God, visits to the church, and assiduous frequentation of the sacraments—are they not what truly constitute religion, such as it ought to be, in order to be the companion, friend, and guide of the whole life?... This is what Eugénie did not comprehend, or rather, what she did not wish to comprehend. In short, she was religious in her own way—half-way religious—quite so in theory, but in reality much less so than she should have been.

The somewhat indirect influence her parents exercised over her in a religious point of view also affected her in other ways. Eugénie possessed two natures: she was cold like her father, and kind like her mother, but without displaying it. Let us also add another characteristic by way of completing her portrait—she was romantic. In everything, she had a repugnance to what she called commonplace. An object, an individual, or an action, to please her, must have a peculiar stamp, an original turn, which she wished might be more frequently met with. She only liked what was out of the common course, according to the elevated standard of a certain ideal she had formed in her own mind.

Eugénie’s exterior, her distinguished manners, her fluency in conversation, and the tone of her calm, well-modulated voice, all inspired a respect bordering on admiration. She was beautiful without being bewitching. She was kind, but in so inexpressive a way as to inspire at first fear rather than confidence. As has been said, she possessed a character not easily read, and, though only twenty-one years old, she passed for what is called, and with reason, a person of ability. Her father and mother doted on her: she was their only child. Yet there was a difference in their affection. Mr. Smithson tenderly loved her as a daughter: Mme. Smithsonloved her with a shade of fear, as we love a companion or friend whose superiority we feel.

Her toilet otherwise completed, Eugénie rang for her waiting-maid to arrange her hair. Fanny did not keep her waiting. There was a striking contrast between mistress and maid. Fanny was towards forty years of age. She was of ordinary height, neat in person, but plain and unattractive in appearance. She had a bad complexion, large eyes hidden under thick lashes, a wide mouth, and a large fleshy nose, which made up one of those vulgar faces that are never observed except to laugh at. She was beloved by no one except her employers. This was not strange. She had an observing eye and a keen, sarcastic tongue. Her nature was soured, rather than instinctively bad. She was selfish and bitter—a good deal so. This selfishness and bitterness sprang from two causes which she would by no means have acknowledged. She was no longer young, she knew she was homely, and she had no hope of being married. Such a hope she had once, and a few days of happiness was the result. Fanny would have been so glad to be, in her turn, mistress over her own house! But her dream had vanished, and under circumstances not calculated to sweeten her temper.

For some years, Fanny was a servant at Mme. Smithson’s sister’s. That lady was in the commercial line at Paris. There Fanny made the conquest of a smart young man from the country employed by her mistress as head clerk. He was an excellent person, but, like many others, wished to reconcile his affections with his interests. He said to himself that, by waiting awhile, he might, some fine day, find a wife richer, prettier, and younger than Fanny. As he was bound to her by no actual promise, he finally obtained another situation, and disappeared without any warning. The poor girl regarded such conduct as infamous. She felt that all hope of ever marrying was now lost, and the disappointment made her ill. Unbeknown to her, her mistress had followed all the scenes of this little domestic drama. She nursed Fanny with a care that was quite motherly. When the girl recovered, she expressed her gratitude, but begged permission to go away. The house had too many cruel associations. Her mistress willingly consented, and Fanny entered Mme. Smithson’s service. When the latter left Paris, Fanny accompanied her to St. M——, and had now been in the family several years.

Having, to her great regret, no prospect of marrying, forced to acknowledge to herself that she should never have a house of her own to manage, Fanny had but one desire, but this was an ardent one—to be installed in a family which, if not her own, might prove as pleasant, and where she could rule while appearing to obey. But where find this ideal home?... She resolved to create it. And in this way: her old mistress, Mme. Smithson’s sister, had a son named Albert, who was five years older than Eugénie. Fanny had known him from his childhood. She was attached to him, and, above all, she understood his disposition. No one knew better than she that Albert would be the easiest, the most manageable, in short, the mildest of masters. On the other hand, she knew that Eugénie, energetic as she was, would not be difficult to please. “Mademoiselle lives in the clouds,” she said to herself; “she will be glad enough to have some one manage the house for her.”

Fanny, therefore, resolved to make a match between the two cousins.There is reason to believe she made skilful overtures to her former mistress and to the young man himself, and that these overtures were well received. Albert was now preparing his thesis with a view to the law. As he was not rich, his cousin’s fortune was a very pleasant prospect, and still more so to his mother. Besides, Albert had always known Eugénie and loved her, as is natural to love a cousin that is pretty and intelligent. He and his mother, therefore, made Fanny their intermediary, without committing themselves to too great an extent.

But Fanny had a good deal to overcome. Mr. Smithson was not partial to lawyers. The profession was not, in his estimation, clearly enough defined or very elevated. As to Eugénie, no one knew what her sentiments were with regard to her cousin. Fanny thought she had, if not a very strong attachment to him, at least an incipient affection. But she was not sure. Thence resulted continual fears. Every young man who entered the house was to her an object of alarm. Perhaps her prospects, so slowly ripening and so dear, would be again overthrown by this one!

It may be imagined that Fanny looked with an unfavorable eye on Louis’ connection with the manufactory. If Mr. Smithson had chosen another kind of a man to aid him, one who was obscure, a mere common man of business, she would not have minded it. But in the course of a week, she was fully informed as to the history of the new-comer. She knew he belonged to one of the best families of the city; that he had been rich, and might become so again; that, till recently, he had been regarded as one of the most brilliant young men in society; and he was intelligent, well-educated, and of irreproachable morals. “I am lost!” thought she. “All these people are linked together to ruin my plans. This M. Louis comes here as an engineer?... Nonsense! it is an arrangement between his father and Mr. Smithson. They wish him to marry mademoiselle. What a contrivance! And that poor Albert, what will become of him?...”

These suspicions quite upset her. She resolved to make inquiries, in order to relieve her mind, if by chance she was mistaken. But whom should she question?... Mr. Smithson?... That must not be thought of. Eugénie? Fanny made the attempt. Eugénie, with her usual coolness and wit, replied in such a way that Fanny retreated every time more uncertain than before.

The day of which I am speaking—the notable day of the dinner—Fanny, out of patience, could endure it no longer. She resolved to carry matters so far that, whether she liked it or not, her mistress would be forced to revive her hopes, or utterly destroy them. Hardly had she entered the chamber before she opened fire:

“How shall I arrange mademoiselle’s hair?”

“As usual.”

“Then we will dress it differently this afternoon with ribbons and flowers.”

“Why such a display?”

“Can mademoiselle have forgotten it is the day of the great dinner?”

“Great dinner? What do you mean by such nonsense, Fanny? Why, whom are we to have at our table of so much importance? Nobody is invited that I have not known a long time: our neighbor, M. Daumier, with his wife and daughter, Dr. Ollivier, and M. Dupaigne. Really, it would be singular for me to receive them with any ceremony.”

“Mademoiselle has not named all the guests.”

“Whom have I forgotten?”

“M. Louis Beauvais.”

“Ah! that is true. I overlooked him. But his coming will not change my intention to remain as I am.”

These words were uttered in a tone of perfect indifference. Fanny was overjoyed, but careful not to manifest it. Then, as she continued to busy herself about her mistress, she began to reflect. “She does not care for him,” she said to herself. “There is nothing to fear for the moment, then. But who knows how it may be by-and-by?... I must at once find out if, under favorable circumstances, she might not conceive an affection for him, and try to prevent such a misfortune. I will take the other side to find out the truth.”

“A charming young man, this M. Louis, and quite worthy of interest,” said she, without appearing to attach any importance to her words.

“What do you find so charming in him?”

“He has a serious air, which I like.”

“Yes; it might even be called gloomy.”

“He may well have.”

“Really! Ah! Fanny, then you know his history?”

“Yes, mademoiselle; and a very curious one it is.”

“Well, relate it to me. Only suppress the details; you always give too many.”

“Three months ago, M. Louis was the finest dancer and the gayest young man in the city. Unfortunately, these young men are not always remarkable for uniformity. He lived like a prince for six years, and one fine morning found himself penniless.”

“And what did he do then?”

“They say—I am unwilling to believe it, but everybody says so—that he tried to drown himself.”

“A weak brain. That is not to his credit.”

“They also say that M. Barnier, the journalist, saved him at the risk of his life, and converted him so thoroughly that the poor fellow came near entering a monastery.”

“A queer idea! That shows he has more imagination than reason!”

“But he did not stick to his first intention. He is now established here, and will remain, I feel sure, ... and this alarms me!...”

“Why are you so sure? And how can this assurance cause you any alarm?”

“That is a secret. Mademoiselle will excuse me from replying. Though I have known mademoiselle from her childhood, she intimidates me.”

“Not much, Fanny.”

“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I do not understand you.”

“You understand me perfectly, but I have to dot your i’s for you. Well, I will do so. I do not intimidate you much, I say. You dare not tell me what you mean, but you give me a hint of it. What are you afraid of? Tell me. I insist upon it.”

“As mademoiselle insists upon it, I feel obliged to tell her what she wishes to know. Mademoiselle is not to be resisted. But I should prefer keeping it to myself. If it were to displease mademoiselle ...”

“No; go on.”

“Well, then, mademoiselle, I have everything to fear! This young man has lost his property.... He passes himself off here as a creditable person.... He has secret designs ...”

“What designs?”

“Mademoiselle puts me in an awkward position.... It is such a delicatepoint to speak to mademoiselle about.”

“That M. Beauvais aspires to my hand through interested motives?”

“I should not have dared say so.”

“Well, that would be audacious! I accept a man for a husband whom poverty, disgraceful poverty, alone inclines towards me!”

“Without doubt, he has committed many faults, but there is mercy for the greatest sinner, and he is so pious just now!”

“I know—he goes to church often, even during the week. That is his own affair. That is enough, Fanny. Let there be no further question of this between us. You take too much interest in what concerns me, as I have told you before. I am astonished you should force me to repeat it.”

Fanny, thus dismissed, went away furious and more uneasy than ever. But if she could have read Eugénie’s inmost thoughts, her fury would have turned to joy. As soon as she was gone, Eugénie seated herself in a low arm-chair, and began, as she sometimes laughingly said, to put her thoughts in order.

“That malicious girl is no fool,” she said to herself. “This young man may have entered my father’s service from secret motives, perhaps suggested by his family. Who knows but my parents themselves smile on his projects? My father seems to be on the best of terms with his father. Perhaps they have come to an understanding with a mere word, or even without speaking at all. That would be too much! Well, if it is so, if the whole world conspires against me, I will defeat their calculations.... In the first place, I do not fancy this M. Louis, and I will soon let him see it, as well as those who favor him. The mere supposition that I could ever be his wife makes me indignant and angry. I marry a man who has ruined himself, who only aimed at my fortune, and would squander it in a few years! I give my heart to a man who does not love me, and, even if he sincerely vowed he loved me, would be in such a position that I should always have reason to doubt it! And, besides, what a weak mind this hare-brained fellow must have to play so manyrôlesone after the other! I wish my husband to have purer motives and a stronger head. This man must have a false heart. He is an intriguer, and that includes everything....”

MORE ABOUT EUGENIE—A REAL FRIEND.

Thatevening, Louis found himself for the first time in the midst of the Smithson family. We often thought of him that night, and wished we could know at once what kind of a reception he had met with, especially from Eugénie. But we were obliged to wait for these interesting details till Louis could relate them himself. We did not have to wait long. When he came, he was gloomy and dispirited. Victor pretended not to observe his dejection.

“Well,” said he, “you have now made the acquaintance of the Smithsons. What do you think of them?”

“A good many things, but I can sum up my impressions in a word: they are queer people!”

“Indeed! did they hurt your feelings in any way?”

“Yes; ... yet I do wrong to be angry, or even to be astonished. I should have expected it.”

“This great dinner, then, did not turn out as I hoped—a means of cementingamicable, if not affectionate, relations between you?”

“By no means.”

“You greatly astonish me!”

“It is just so.... The way things were managed shows the Smithsons to be sagacious people. They invited me, in order to make me understand at once the position I hold in their estimation—that of engineer and superintendent, nothing more.”

“I am really amazed!”

“And I am equally so. I did not expect it, but the fact is too evident.”

“Well, tell me all that happened, without omitting anything.”

“Not to omit anything would make the story long, and it is not worth the trouble. I will briefly relate what I think will interest you, that you may have an idea of this first visit. There were but four other guests, whom I only regarded with indifference. They were neither pleasing nor displeasing, so it is useless to speak of them. We will confine ourselves to the leading members of the household. I will first speak of the real though unacknowledged head. My mind is made up on this point. As I saw from the first, it is Mlle. Eugénie who rules the house.”

“Even her father?”

“Yes; even her father; not as openly and directly as she does her mother, but as unmistakably by dint of management.”

“Is she really a superior woman, as I have been told, or is she merely shrewd and imperious?”

“Oh! no. Those who have sounded her praises have not deceived you. She is by no means a common person. In the first place, it must be confessed she is really handsome. There is especially a rare intelligence and dignity in her appearance. She converses well, often says something profound, and is always interesting. She is a lover of the arts, and all she says, all she does, evinces an elevated mind.”

“Such a person as is seldom met with, then—a model of perfection?”

“She has all that is necessary to become so, ... and yet she is not. One fault spoils everything, one or two at the most, but they are serious. She is proud or egotistical, perhaps both.”

“Are you not too severe upon her? You scarcely know her, and yet you are very decided in your condemnation.”

“I have reasons for my opinion. You shall judge for yourself. My position with respect to Mr. Smithson is very trying. He knows, and doubtless the rest of the family too, all the follies I have committed within a few years, and how I regret them. He cannot be ignorant, nor they either, that the office I hold under him, however respectable, must awaken a susceptibility that is natural and excusable, even if exaggerated. In this state of things, I had a right to expect that Mr. Smithson and his family, if they were really people of any soul or breeding, would treat me with a delicacy that, without compromising them, would put me at my ease.”

“I am of your opinion. And have they been wanting therein?”

“Yes; and in a very disagreeable way. It is little things that betray shades of feeling, and it was thereby I was hurt. In leaving thesalonfor the dining-room, each guest offered his arm to a lady. Mr. Smithson, his daughter, and myself were the last. Mlle. Eugénie took her father’s arm with an eagerness that was really uncivil.”

“It was from timidity, perhaps.”

“She timid?... I must undeceive you! She certainly is not bold, but she is far from being timid.At table, I found myself consigned to the lowest place. None of the guests were great talkers, and more than once I took part in the conversation. Mlle. Smithson undisguisedly pretended not to listen to me. She even interrupted me by speaking of something quite foreign to what I was saying.”

“Her education has been defective.”

“Pardon me, she is perfectly well-bred. To see her an hour would convince you of this. When she is deficient in politeness, it is because she wishes to be.”

“I believe you, but cannot comprehend it all.”

“I have not told you everything. The worst is to come. Towards the end of dinner, the conversation fell on a certain cousin of Mlle. Eugénie’s. His name, I think, is Albert. She praised him highly, to which I have nothing to say; but she added—and this was very unreasonable or very malicious—that this dear cousin did not imitate the young men of fashion, who were extravagant in their expenditures, acquired nothing, and ended by falling into pitiful embarrassment. I was, I confess, provoked and angry. I felt strongly tempted to make Mlle. Smithson feel the rudeness and unkindness of her remark. But I bethought myself that I was a Christian, and that, after all, the most genuine proof of repentance is humility. Therefore I restrained my feelings, and remained silent. The rest of the evening I cut a sorry figure. Mlle. Smithson seemed perfectly unconcerned as to what I might think.”

“Her behavior is so inexplicable,” said Victor, “that, if I had these details from any one else, I should refuse to believe them.”

(At this part of her story, Mme. Agnes made a remark it may be well to repeat to the reader: “You must bear in mind,” said she, “that neither Victor nor I then had any means of knowing what I related a few moments ago as to Fanny’s projects and Eugénie’s suspicions; and we were completely ignorant of her turn of mind and romantic notions.”)

“Well,” resumed Louis, “her way of acting, at which you are astonished, does not amaze me. I can easily explain it. Mlle. Eugénie imagines that I aspire to her hand, or rather, to her fortune. She is mistaken; I aspire to neither. I acknowledge she has a combination of qualities calculated to please me, but her disdain excites my indignation. I mean, therefore, to put a speedy end to her injurious suspicions. Then I will leave the place. I have already begun to put my project into execution.”

“Do not be precipitate, I beg of you. It is a delicate matter. What steps have you taken?”

“None of any importance. This morning, the work-rooms being closed as usual on Sunday, I went, before Mass, to sketch a delightful view not a hundred steps from the manufactory. I was wholly absorbed in my work, when Mlle. Smithson approached. I will not deny I was moved at seeing her.”

“Then you are no longer indifferent to her?”

“Oh! I think I can vouch for the perfect indifference of my sentiments for the moment. But would this coldness towards her always last if I did not watch over my heart?... She has so many captivating qualities! I have seen so few women to be compared to her! No, no; I will not allow myself to be captivated unawares; that would be too great a misfortune for me.... I have resolved to raise myself in her estimation. I will clearly convince her she has calumniated me in her heart; that Iam in no respect the man she thinks; and, when I have done that, I shall leave. So, when she approached, I bowed to her with respect and politeness.

“‘You are sketching, monsieur?’ she said, bending down to look at my work. ‘It is charming.’

“‘It ought to be, mademoiselle. There could not be a landscape better calculated to inspire an artist. But while I am admiring what is before me, I regret my unskilfulness in depicting it. It is my own fault. I have so long neglected the art of drawing. I have acted like so many other young men, and lost some of the best years of my life.’

“She understood the allusion—perhaps too direct—to her sally of the other day. A slight blush rose to her face. ‘One would not suspect it, monsieur,’ she said. ‘But as for that, even if you have lost your skill, it can easily be regained in the midst of the delightful views in this vicinity.’

“‘It is true, mademoiselle! A lovelier region it would be difficult to find. I wish some of these views for my sketch-book, as I may leave any day.’

“I uttered these words in a cool, deliberate tone, and then resumed my work. Mlle. Eugénie seemed to wish to continue the conversation, but, slightly abashed, had not the courage, I think, to make any advances. I bowed ceremoniously, and she went away. My opinion is, she stopped out of mere curiosity. She had shown how little she esteemed me, and was not afraid of my attaching any importance to her speaking to me. Such a course favors my plans.”

“Wonderfully! But—nothing headlong! Forbear leaving Mr. Smithson too precipitately. You are now near your family. Time may show things to you in a different light. And, above all, it seems to me great good can be done there, and more easily than in most places. Tell me something of your workmen. Have you thought of the two projects we talked about the other day? Have you spoken to Mr. Smithson about them?”

“No; it seems to me they would not particularly please him. I really do not know whether this Englishman has any heart or not. I am inclined to regard him as an egotist, merely employing men to increase his wealth, and not very solicitous about their welfare.”

“I must undeceive you. I have reason to think Mr. Smithson a very different person from what you suppose. We have not many Protestants here, you know, but still there are a few. Among them are some who are really actuated by good motives. They assembled a few months ago at the house of Mr. Carrand, the rich lawyer you are acquainted with. They wished to establish a charitable society, in imitation of our Conferences of S. Vincent de Paul, but did not succeed in their plans. To effect such an enterprise, there must be the zeal and charity that animate the Catholic Church. To her alone God grants the sublime privilege of devoting herself with constancy and success to the physical and moral welfare of mankind. Though their project remained unfruitful, it revealed a generosity much to the credit of the Protestants interested in it Mr. Smithson himself was one of the foremost on this occasion to manifest how earnestly he had at heart the welfare of the poor; and this without any evidence of being influenced by selfish motives.”

“What you say surprises me, but it gives me great pleasure. I shall henceforth be less reserved with him.”

“And you will do well. I even advise you to consult Mme. and Mlle. Smithson about your charitable plans. They are Catholics, and will comprehend you at once.”

“I have no great confidence in their piety.”

“My dear friend, I regard you with the affection of a brother....”

“Say, rather, of a father, as you are, in one sense, having saved my life; and also by another title, in aiding me to become an earnest Christian, such as I once was.”

“Well, then, let us use a medium term. My regard for you shall be that of an elder brother. I thank you for allowing me this title. My affection for you makes me take an interest in all that concerns you. I have obtained very exact information respecting the Smithson ladies from a reliable source. They are not as pious as they might be, but they do not lack faith, and they fulfil the absolute requirements of the church. I know that Mlle. Eugénie is keenly alive to the poetical side of religion. You have, I believe, an importantrôleto fill in the family and in the whole establishment. You can do good to every one there, and, at the same time, to yourself. The course to be pursued seems to me very simple. I feel sure Mlle. Smithson has some misconception concerning you—some injurious suspicions. Endeavor to remove them from her mind. Act prudently, but as promptly as possible. That done, induce her to take an interest in the work you are going to undertake. She will lead her father to participate in it. In a short time, you will see the good effect on your workmen, and derive from your charitable efforts the reward that never fails to follow—an ever-increasing love of doing good, and a livelier desire of sanctifying your own soul. The exercise of charity is of all things the most salutary. I can safely predict that the Smithson ladies will both become pious if they second you; and as for you, you will be more and more strengthened in your good resolutions. Who knows?—perhaps you may have the sweet surprise of seeing Mr. Smithson converted when he sees that Catholicism alone enables us to confer on others a real benefit.”

“These are fine projects, and very attractive; but I foresee many obstacles and dangers.”

“What ones?”

“Of all kinds. First, I expose myself to conceive an affection for Mlle. Smithson it would be prudent to guard against. She does not like me. I imagine she loves some one else—the cousin she praises so willingly.”

“A supposition without proof! What I have heard from others, as well as yourself, convinces me that Mlle. Smithson has not yet made her choice. The praise she so publicly lavishes on her cousin is, in my opinion, a proof of her indifference towards him.”

“But if I were to love her—love her seriously, and she continued to disdain me; if her prejudice against me could not be overcome?...”

“I should be the first to regret it. But listen to me. You were once truly pious, my friend, and wish to become so again. This desire is sincere, I know. Well, it is time to take a correct view of life. For the most of us, especially those who are called to effect some good in the world, life is only one long sacrifice. Jesus Christ suffered and died to redeem mankind; the way he chose for himself he also appointed for those who become his disciples. It is by self-sacrifice that we acquire the inappreciable gift of being useful to our fellow-men. Do not cherish any illusion with regard to this!”

Louis and I exchanged a sorrowful glance as Victor spoke. Poor dear fellow! how he realized what he was saying! He was about to die at thirty-six years of age, in the very height of his usefulness, and this because he likewise had voluntarily chosen the rough path of sacrifice that was leading even unto death!

“My friend,” replied Louis, “what you say is true. I feel it. You are yourself an eloquent proof of it—you whom I have stopped in the midst of your career....”

“Do not talk so,” interrupted Victor; “you pain me. Your manner of interpreting my words makes me regret uttering them. Do not mistake my meaning. What I would say may be summed up thus: to effect a reformation in Mr. Smithson’s manufactory, where there are many bad men who corrupt the good; to enkindle a spirit of piety in the hearts of the Smithson ladies, by associating them in the good you are to effect. Whatever may be the result, devote yourself to this work without any reserve. You must not hesitate! Your sufferings, if you have any to endure, will not be without fruit, and perhaps God may not suffer them to be of long duration.”

“You have decided me. I will begin to-morrow. I will commence with the evening-school, and by visiting the most destitute families.”

“Do not forget that the destitution most to be pitied is moral destitution. Visit those who have nothing, but especially those who are depraved.”

Louis went away in a totally different frame of mind from that with which he had come. Victor, in his gentle way, had increased his esteem for Mr. Smithson, and inflamed him with the zeal—the ardent desire of usefulness with which he was filled himself. When he was gone, Victor and I talked a long time about him. I confessed I had no great faith in his perseverance. Victor replied: “His mother’s piety and careful training must lead to his thorough conversion. And how he has already changed! He realizes the worthlessness of the aims to which he once gave himself up. There is no fear of his receding. He has taken the surest means of persevering—the apostolic work of doing good. Nevertheless, I acknowledge I wish he could find some one to aid him. And what a powerful aid it would be if he loved and felt himself loved! Ardent as he is, he would communicate his piety to the object of his affection. And how much good would result from their combined efforts! But I fear it will not be thus! Our poor friend will, perhaps, purchase the right of winning a few souls at the expense of his own happiness.”

LOUIS AT WORK.

Louistook two whole days to reflect on the important subject of his conversation with my husband. Was the profound love he subsequently felt for Eugénie already springing up in his heart? Such is my opinion, though I dare not say so positively. He probably was not conscious himself of the real state of his mind. Since that time, I have often dwelt on all that took place then and afterwards, and it has always seemed to me that, from the very moment Louis first knew and appreciated Mlle. Smithson, he conceived an affection for her as seriousas it was sudden. This affection was one of those that seem destined, from the beginning, to a continual increase. Does this mean that I have adopted the foolish and erroneous theory of novel writers, who regard love as an overmastering passion to which one is forced at all hazards to submit?... Neither religion nor reality will allow one to yield to such an error. But they do not hinder me from believing there are inclinations and affections that all at once assert themselves with so much force that, if one would not be speedily overcome by passion, he must at once raise an insurmountable barrier against it, such as flight, reason armed with contempt, and, what is a thousand times better than all—prayer. Such, in my opinion, was the love Louis at once conceived for Mlle. Smithson.

How shall I account for his being so captivated, when Eugénie had wounded him so deeply, and was so proud and every way original? For he too was proud, and his pride was allied with an unvarying simplicity which by no means accorded with Mlle. Smithson’s turn of mind.... I account for this in many ways. Eugénie had very distinguished manners. This naturally pleased Louis, for he had been brought up by a mother who was a model of distinction. Eugénie had a noble soul. Her opinions were not always correct, but they were always of an elevated nature. She was, it is true, peculiar and romantic, and Louis was not. But he liked all these peculiarities in her. They seemed to him charming. Lastly, and this is one of my strongest reasons, I think it was because Louis felt himself worthy of being Eugénie’s husband, and, seeing himself slighted by her, was the more strongly tempted to win her.

As Victor and I were his confidential friends, he kept us informed of all his proceedings, and, I may safely say, even of his thoughts. It is therefore easy for me to retrace the story of his love, which I will do without any exaggeration.

But first, let us return to his charitable projects, and the way in which he executed them. Louis was not merely an engineer in Mr. Smithson’s establishment, but a Christian, and all the more zealous because he was anxious to expiate his past errors. He knew by experience to what an abyss the passions lead, and was desirous of warning others. If he had been a man of ordinary mind and heart, he would no doubt have been animated by entirely different motives. After his ruin, and rescue from a watery grave, desirous of regaining not only his father’s esteem, but that of the world, he might have chosen the very position he now occupied, but he would have taken care to live as easily as possible. He would perhaps have sought to win Eugénie’s affections, and in the end would have thought only of her and labored for her alone. Such a life would not be worth relating. The lives of ordinary men are as unworthy of interest as the egotism that is the mainspring of their actions.

Louis’ life was a very different one. That is why I am desirous of making it known. But do not suppose his nature was thus transformed in an instant. God did not work one of those miracles that consist in the complete, instantaneous change of a man’s character. Our faults veil our better qualities, but do not suppress them; so a return to piety gives them new brilliancy, but does not create them. Louis, as I afterwards learned, had in his youth manifested uncommon elevation and purity of mind, and the piety of a saint. After hisarrival at manhood, deprived of his mother’s influence, and led away by his passions, he placed no bounds to his follies. But suddenly arrested in the midst of his disorderly career, providentially saved at the very moment of being for ever lost, he at once broke loose from his pernicious habits. Like a traveller who returns to the right path after going astray for awhile, he resumed his course in the way of perfection with as much ardor as if he had never left it. There was only one reproach to be made against him at the onset. With his earnest nature and tendency to extremes, he manifested too openly the interior operations of grace. The difference between the young exquisite whom everybody knew, and the new convert observed of all eyes, was rather too marked. Louis’ serious and somewhat stern air, his austere look, and his habitual reserve, repelled those who had no faith in his entire conversion. Thence arose backbitings, suspicions, and accusations of hypocrisy which did not come to our poor friend’s ears, but were the cause of more than one annoyance. I must, however, acknowledge, to Mr. Smithson’s credit, that he showed a great deal of charity for Louis at that time. If he sometimes accused him of undue zeal, he was from the first disposed to believe it sincere.

I will briefly relate what Louis accomplished during the few weeks subsequent to his last conversation with Victor. My husband had advised him not to undertake anything till he had consulted Mr. Smithson. Louis followed his advice, and begged an interview with his employer. It was then in the month of June. The conversation took place without witnesses, in the open air, on a fine summer evening. I give it as related by Louis.

“Monsieur,” said he, “I am aware of your interest in benevolent objects. The workmen you employ, and whom I superintend under your orders, are not in your eyes mere instruments for the increase of wealth, but men to whom you wish to be as useful as circumstances will allow.”

Mr. Smithson was never lavish of his words. He made a sign of assent, and appeared pleased with what was said.

Louis continued: “I also am desirous of being useful to my fellow-men. I have done many foolish things, and would like to preserve others from similar mistakes, for the consequences are often fatal. With your permission, I will not content myself with aiding you in the management of the mill, but beg the honor of being associated, in proportion to my ability, with all the good you are desirous of doing.”

“Monsieur,” said Mr. Smithson, “your unexpected offer somewhat embarrasses me. I am quite ready to accede to your wishes, but could not, in truth, consider you my co-laborer. What I have hitherto done has been but little, but I know not what else to do. I assist the needy, and give good advice here and there; that is all. You can follow my example. I shall be glad. Is that what you wish? Or do you happen to have anything better and more extensive to propose? If so, go on. I am ready to hear it.”

“Yes, monsieur; I have some other plans to suggest.”

“State them without any hesitation. I only hope they are of a nature to second my views. The first condition for that is, to propose only what is simple and practical. Doubtless too great an effort cannot be made at this time to aid and improve our workmen, both for their own interest and for ours. Everything is dear. The country is in aferment. Among those we employ, there are a number of turbulent fellows and many wretchedly poor.”

“Precisely so. What I wish is, to aid the needy, and reform the bad.”

“Your design is worthy of all praise—as a theory; ... but its realization will be difficult, not to say impossible. Listen to me, monsieur; I have a frank avowal to make. I have been engaged in this business but a short time. I know the common people but little. I belong to a country and a religion that have a special way of aiding the indigent. The government takes charge of that with us. In France, it is different: private individuals take part in it. You find me therefore greatly embarrassed. Enlighten me, if you can. I ask for nothing better.”

“Well, monsieur, it seems to me that beneficence should be exercised in three different ways. First, it is our duty to come to the assistance of those in distress; ... only I cannot, in this respect, do all I would like.... I could have done so once ... now ...”

“Do not let that worry you. My purse is open to you on condition that you only aid those whose destitution you can personally vouch for. It is also advisable to ascertain what use they make of that which is given them.”

“I promise this, and thank you. No; it is not sufficient to give them money. One must see it is made a good use of. The poor should be taught to double their resources by economy. The assistance of the needy, then, is the first benevolent effort I would propose. I now come to moral beneficence. This does not refer to the indigence of the body, but to that of the soul. I think it especially desirable to preserve from corruption those of our workmen who are at present leading upright lives, particularly the young. This does not hinder me from thinking it necessary to bring those who have gone astray under good influences.”

“Fine projects! I, too, have made similar ones, as I said, but I was discouraged by the difficulty of executing them. What means do you propose to employ?”

“What would you say to the formation of a library in one of the rooms of the manufactory—for instance, that which overlooks the river? It is now unoccupied. The workmen might be allowed to go there and read in the evening, and even to smoke, if they like.... This library could be used, during the hours of cessation from labor, as a schoolroom, where all could come to learn, in a social way, what they are ignorant of.—Would not this be a means of keeping them away from the wine-shops, and afford one an opportunity of conversing with them, and giving them good advice—advice which comes from the heart?”

“I like the idea. It really seems to me you have conceived a happy combination of plans; but nothing can be done without a person to put them in execution.”

“I will do it if you will allow me. I am eager to try the experiment.”

“Your courage and enthusiasm will soon give out. At every step, you will meet with difficulties impossible to be foreseen. I have mingled only a little with the working classes, but enough to know they are difficult to manage, and often ungrateful to those who try to be useful to them.”

“God will aid me. He will reward me, and they may too. But I shall not be difficult to please. If some of them correspond to my efforts, it will be enough. I will forget the ingratitude of the rest.”

Mr. Smithson was amazed at hiszeal. His own religion, cold and formal, had never taught him to take so much pains for those who might prove ungrateful. He and Louis separated quite pleased with each other. Louis felt he had been comprehended. He had also the promise of assistance. Mr. Smithson, with all his reserve, was captivated by Louis’ enthusiasm for doing good. But though he had promised to aid Louis, he pitied him. “He will fail,” he said to himself.

The work was begun a few days after, thanks to the co-operation of Mr. Smithson, who smoothed away the difficulties inseparable from all beginnings. At seven in the evening, Louis, laying aside the title and functions of an engineer, became the friend and teacher of the workmen. They assembled in a large room where benches, tables, and a library were arranged. At first a certain number of workmen came through mere curiosity. They found what they did not expect—a teacher who was competent, kind, ready to converse with them and teach them what they wished to learn, and this with a heartiness quite different from an ordinary schoolmaster. Louis devoted himself with so much pleasure to these evening exercises that his pupils soon learned to like them, and gave so captivating an account of them to the rest that the number of scholars increased from day to day. Thus the school was permanently established without much delay, and numbered about thirty men of all ages and varieties of character. Louis showed perfect tact in profiting by so happy a commencement. Every evening, he gave oral instructions, sometimes on historical subjects, sometimes on a question of moral or political economy. In each of these lectures, the young master mingled good advice, which was willingly listened to, given, as it was, in the midst of instructions that excited the liveliest interest. The workmen felt they were learning a thousand things they could never have acquired from books. A book is a voiceless teacher that requires too much application from unaccustomed pupils.

Mr. Smithson watched over the development of this work, and became more and more interested in it in proportion as its success, which at first he had doubted, became more probable, and its utility more evident. At the same time, without acknowledging it to himself, suspicion and distrust began to spring up in his heart. Even the best of men under certain circumstances, unless checked by profound piety, are accessible to the lowest sentiments. Mr. Smithson began to be jealous of his assistant, and even to fear him.

“What!” he said to himself, “shall he succeed in a work I dared not undertake myself! He will acquire a moral influence in the establishment superior to mine!...” Then, as his unjust suspicions increased: “It is not the love of doing good that influences him: it is ambition,” he thought.

Louis had no suspicion of what was passing in his employer’s mind, and therefore resolutely continued to pursue the course he had begun. He had formerly accompanied his mother in her visits among the poor, and thus learned how to benefit them. She had taught him it was not sufficient to give them money: it was necessary to mingle with them, talk with them, give them good advice—in a word, to treat them as brethren and friends. Having organized his evening-school, he resolved to visit the most destitute and ignorant families in the village, which was about a kilometre and a half from the manufactory. He went thereevery evening towards six, and spent an hour in going from one house to another. Chance, as an unbeliever would say, or Providence, to speak more correctly, led him to the house of a poor woman quite worthy of his interest. She was fifty years of age, and slowly wasting away from disease of the lungs, complicated with an affection of the heart. This woman was one of those lovely souls developed by the Catholic religion oftener than is supposed. People little suspected how much she suffered, or with how much patience she bore her sufferings, but God knew. She was a real martyr. Married to a drunken, brutal man of her own age, she had endured all the abuse and ill-treatment with which he loaded her without a murmur. She had brought up her son piously, and labored as long as she was able to supply her own wants and those of her child. Broken down by illness and the continual ill-treatment of her husband, she would have died of want, had not Mlle. Smithson come to her aid.

When Louis went to see this poor woman, whom we will call Françoise, she spoke of Eugénie so enthusiastically, and with so much emotion, that he was greatly impressed. It was sweet to hear the praises of one whom he dreamed, if not of marrying, at least of associating in his good works.

The next day, he repeated his call on the sick woman, and for several days in succession. I think he had a secret hope of meeting Eugénie, without daring to acknowledge it to himself. As yet, he had merely seen her. He found her, as you know, handsome, stylish, and intelligent, but cool towards him. He longed to observe her in this miserable dwelling. Here, apart from other influences, she might show herself, as he hoped she really was—exempt from the imperfections he had remarked in her at home with regret. Without acknowledging it, he loved her, and it is hard to be forced to pass an unfavorable judgment on those we love. But days passed without their meeting. The sick woman was visibly failing. One evening, Louis found her weaker than ever.

“My dear monsieur,” said she, “I am very happy. I am about to enter the presence of the good God! But I have one cause for anxiety at the hour of death. I depend on you to remove it. When the wealthy die, they leave their friends valuable legacies, but we poor people have only burdens to bequeath. Mlle. Eugénie has promised to watch over my little boy. She is very kind!... And I have another favor to ask of you, monsieur. Not far from the village is a family by the name of Vinceneau. The father is employed in the tile works you have to pass in coming to see me. Hereafter, when you come by, continue to think of me, and pray for me!... But that is not the point. The man I am speaking of is intemperate like my husband. The mother would be an excellent woman, were it not for two faults. She is indolent and envious—always ready to think evil of the rich. She works at your mill. It is not these two people I am going to recommend to you, but their daughter. The poor child is as handsome as a picture, and as pious as an angel. She often comes to see me. I tremble lest she be lost through the bad example of her parents, or through dangerous society. I have a feeling that, in some way, you will find means of being useful to her, if necessary. I should have recommended her to Mlle. Eugénie, but her father and mother, as I have said, are good for nothing, and I should not like to sendmademoiselle where I know she is detested on account of her wealth.”

Louis gladly acceded to her request. He left a few moments after to attend his evening-school. Half-way home, he perceived Eugénie coming from the mill, and could not help meeting her.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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