MADAME AGNES.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XIV.PERHAPS PROPHETIC.Itwas the first time for many weeks that Louis had met Eugénie alone. He felt greatly excited, and naturally said to himself: “Ought I to manifest any appearance of avoiding her?... Or, on the contrary, shall I keep on? Any avoidance might make her think unfavorably of me.... But would it be prudent to speak to her?...” While thus debating with himself, he looked at Eugénie as she advanced towards him, handsome and dignified as ever, and as calm as he was agitated. He still kept on, yielding to an irresistible attraction without bringing himself to an account for it. As he advanced, he recalled how Françoise had praised her. “That dear woman,” he said, “could have no interest in deceiving me. A soul so upright and pure could only tell the truth. And who has had a better opportunity of knowing Mlle. Eugénie?... Well, I must study this unique girl a little more!... I will speak to her!... I have judged her too severely. I must learn her real nature. I must show her what I am. She has, I am sure, conceived some suspicion about me which she may already regret. At all events, my line of conduct here is plainly marked out. I am resolved to regain her esteem, and obtain her assistance in the good I am doing, in order that it may be done more effectually and speedily. Now is the time to make the attempt!...”As he said this to himself, he met Eugénie. She did not appear at all embarrassed as he advanced to speak to her, but said, in a frank, natural tone: “You have been to see my patient; she spoke of you yesterday.”“Yes, mademoiselle; I have just come from there. I do not think she will need our assistance long. Poor woman, or rather, happy woman, she is at last going to receive the reward she so well deserves!... But how many others there are still to be aided when she is gone!... There is so much wretchedness whichever way we turn! If there were only more like you, mademoiselle, to look after the poor!”“And you also, monsieur. My father has told me something of your plans. I will not speak of my approval: my approbation is of little value; but I assure you they please me. Above all, I hope you will not allow yourself to be discouraged by difficulties you are likely to meet with.”“I hope, with the help of God, to overcome them, mademoiselle. But the efforts of an isolated individual like myself are of little avail, especially when one has had no more experience and is no richer than I.”These words were uttered in a tone of frankness and simplicity that produced a lively impression on Eugénie. “If he is sincere in what he says,” said she to herself, “my suspicions about him are unjust; but this frankness and simplicity of manner are perhaps subtle means of blinding my eyes.” She therefore remained on her guard. “Ah! monsieur, it is not money alone weshould give the poor! What they need, above all, is advice, which you are much better fitted to give than I who have had no experience of life.”There was a tinge of irony in these last words that did not escape Louis, but he pretended not to observe it.“I do not think,” said he, “that I have had as much experience as you suppose, mademoiselle. However, a Christian seeks aid from a different source than the insufficient arsenal of human experience. What we should, above all, remind the poor of, what we should induce them to love, are the precepts of religion which they may have forgotten and no longer practise for want of knowing their value.”“You are very pious, it seems, monsieur,” she said, in a slight tone of raillery.“I must put an end to this,” said Louis to himself. “She seems to regard me as a hypocrite. I will prove to her I am not. If she refuses to believe me, her persistency in such odious and unjust suspicions will redound to her own injury.”“Mademoiselle,” said he, “I am not very pious, but I desire to be so, or rather to become so again, for I was as long as my mother lived. She was taken away too soon for my good, for I had need of her counsels and guidance. I have realized it since! You have doubtless had an account of my life. It may be summed up in three words: folly, despair, and return to God. I dare not pledge my word that this return is irrevocable: I have given too many proofs of weakness to rely on myself. God, who has brought me back to himself, can alone give me the necessary strength to remain faithful to him. But if I cannot promise ever to falter again, I can at least venture to declare that my conversion is sincere—so sincere that, having lost all I had, I regard this loss as extremely fortunate, for it was, in God’s providence, the means of leading me back to the faith. Such a benefit can never be too dearly purchased!”Louis kept his eyes fastened on Eugénie as he spoke. She looked up more than once; the expression of his face and the tone of his voice were so evidently those of an honest man, that she felt all her doubts give way.“Monsieur,” said she, “I do not know as I should reproach myself for what I said with regard to your piety, though I perceive it has wounded you, for it has led to an explanation on your part which....”“Which has made me happy,” was what Eugénie was about to say, but she stopped quite confused as she bethought herself of the interpretation he might give to her words.Louis comprehended her embarrassment; he saw her fears, and came to her aid. “Which you thought necessary, mademoiselle,” suggested he. “I can understand that. It is rather a rare phenomenon to see a young man pass from dissipation to piety.”Eugénie immediately recovered her usual serenity. “Well, monsieur,” said she, “now I know your intentions and projects; I assure you my mother and myself will second them as much as is in our power. What is there we can do?”“Tell me what charitable offices you like the least, mademoiselle, or what you find too difficult to perform.”“That is admirable! We have often longed for a representative, a substitute, who could effect what we were unable to do. But how can we otherwise aid you?”“You are kind enough, then, to allow me to be the medium of youralms. It is a pleasant office to receive contributions for the benefit of others, especially from people as benevolent as you, mademoiselle. I accept the post with lively gratitude, and will at once ask you for some good books for the library I have established for the workmen.”“I will bring you twenty volumes to-morrow that are of no use to me, and are exactly what you want.”Louis and Eugénie then separated. The interview was short, but it led to the very points which enabled them to study and appreciate each other better than they could have done in two hours in asalon.That evening, Louis appeared to his workmen more cheerful and social than usual. He was at last sure of gaining Eugénie’s esteem. Without acknowledging it to himself, he already loved her to such a degree that he was extremely desirous of revealing himself to her under an aspect more and more favorable. This is loving worthily and heartily.As to Eugénie, when she entered the presence of the poor woman she went to visit, she could not resist the desire of speaking again of Louis. An instinctive, perhaps superstitious, feeling made her believe, as well as he, that this woman, who was dying in so pious a frame of mind after so heroic a life, could not be mistaken in her opinion. “So pure a soul ought to be able to read clearly the hearts of those around her,” she said to herself.“Has M. Beauvais been here to-day, Mère Françoise?” she asked.“Yes, mademoiselle. I am glad you spoke of him. I do not expect to see him again in this world, and was so taken up with a favor I had to ask him that I forgot to express my gratitude for all his kindness to me. Every day he has brought me something new; but that is the least of his benefits. I particularly wished to express my thanks for all the good he has done me by his conversation. Ah! mademoiselle, how I wish you could hear him speak of God, the misery of this world, and the joys of heaven! If I die happy, it is owing to him. Before he came to see me, I was afraid of death. However poor we may be, we cling to life so strongly!... Thanks to him, I now feel I cannot die too soon.... I have told M. le Curé all this, and he made me promise to pray for one who has so successfully come to his aid. When I reach heaven, I shall pray for him and for you, mademoiselle. You have both been so kind to me. Promise to tell him all this.”This testimony, so spontaneous and heart-felt, from a dying person, with regard to Louis’ goodness and piety, and this union of their names in the expression of her gratitude, produced a profound and lasting impression on the tender, romantic soul of Eugénie. All the way home she dwelt on what had occurred. She began to reproach herself for her suspicions—suspicions now vanished. It was not that she loved Louis, or even had an idea she might love him, but her noble mind had a horror of the injustice she had been guilty of towards an innocent and unfortunate man. “I will repair it,” she said to herself, “by faithfully keeping the promise I made him.”That very evening, she spoke of Louis to her father and mother, repeating the conversation she had had with him, and expressing a wish to co-operate in the good work he was undertaking. “It is a work in which we cannot refuse our sympathy,” she said, “for its object is to ameliorate the condition of our workmen—a question that has preoccupied us all for a long time.”Eugénie’s object in this was toinduce her parents to express their opinion of Louis. She particularly wished to ascertain Mr. Smithson’s sentiments. He was almost an infallible judge, in his daughter’s estimation, and therefore it was with sincere deference she awaited his reply. It was the first time she had forced him to give his opinion of Louis, or that there had ever been any serious question concerning him in the family circle.“My child,” said Mr. Smithson, “M. Louis means well, I think. He seems to be a considerate person, or at least tries to be. I approve of your wish to aid him in collecting a library; but, if he proposes your joining him in any other benevolent enterprise, you must consult me before coming to any decision. This young man, I say, has good qualities, but he is a little enthusiastic. His ardor just now needs moderating; after a while, it may be necessary to revive it. Let him go on. We will aid him when we can be of service, but must be a little on our guard.”The oracle had spoken. Eugénie reflected on what had been said. It was evident that Louis inspired her father with some distrust. Mr. Smithson, according to his habit, left his wife and daughter at an early hour to work in his office.CHAPTER XV.A QUESTION.Eugenie, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint.“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis?”“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him.”“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.”“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here forwell-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for.”“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.”“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace.”“But not to me.”“What can you see in him so remarkable?”“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and constancy of purpose that are striking.”“Why, my dear, you make me laugh. Really, if all the gentlemen you see would only adapt themselves a little to your humor, there is not one you could not turn into a hero of romance.”“Not at all. The proof is that I have hitherto only seen men unworthy of any serious consideration. When did I ever acknowledge I had found a man of character such as I would like to see?...”“And you think M. Louis this white blackbird?”“I really do.”“Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him.”“Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not fancy him—understand that—in the least. I do not even believe I ever could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young men of his age. But is he better or worse?—that is the question—a serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought him worse.”“It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons.”“It is not a question of his sins.”“What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to another this evening.”“It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be—that is, one who has forsaken his errors, acknowledges he has gone astray, repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant, and reclaiming those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. But if he is not the man I think—if these fine projects are only a lure, an artful means....”“A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewildered with your fancies. Do you imagine he wishes to revolutionize the establishment, and supplant your father?...”“Let us not exaggerate things, I beg, mother. What I wished you to understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?”“I haven’t the slightest idea.”“Indeed!... I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, and affect all these airs of disinterested benevolence, to bring about a secret project?”“What one, I ask you again? When you go to dreaming impossibilities, you know I can never follow you. Explain yourself clearly.”“Well, since I am forced to call things by their right names, is he not aiming at my hand?”“What a droll idea!... Why, he has not a sou left! Everybody knows that. He spent his property in six or seven years, and has nothing more to expect for a long time. So you believe he resolved to become religious, thinking that would be sufficient capital, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to obtain his daughter? I think he has too much sense to imagine anything so absurd; especially to give it a serious thought.”“But if he hoped to please me by this means?... to win my esteem, my good will, my affection?...”“All romance that, my dear.”“But not impossible.”“I prefer to think, for my own peace of mind and your father’s, that things will turn out differently. We have never intended you to marry a man without property. The idea of your having a husband who, instead of being wealthy, has squandered all he had, and might spend what you brought him!...”“Ah! I understand you: you do not think him sincere.”“I do not say that! He may be changed for the present, but who can be sure his conversion will be lasting?”“It will if it is sincere; I am sure of that, for I have studied him. He possesses one quality which I either admire or detest, according to the use made of it: he has a strong will. He has been here a month, and, having nothing better to do, I have observed him, and have not discovered a single inconsistency in his conduct. He has always shown, exteriorly at least, the same love of labor, the same desire of doing all the good he can, and the same unassuming deportment. Either he is a man of rare excellence, or is uncommonly artful. I wish I knew exactly what my father thinks of him.”“And why this persistency in discovering a mystery of so little importance?”“Because I do not wish to despise M. Louis if he is worthy of esteem, and it would be wrong not to encourage him in well-doing if he has entered on that path with a sincere heart. Besides, I regard what he has undertaken and all he wishes to do as admirable as it is useful. I had been wishing for such an attempt to be made here, and could not be better pleased than to see my idea so speedily realized. M. Louis is, in my eyes, either a saint or a hypocrite. I have no fancy for loving either the one or the other; but, if he is a saint, I should feel like aiding him to a certain degree. After all, mother, is there anything in the world more desirable than to do good to those around us, especially when we are so situated as to make it a duty? Have you not often said so yourself?”“You are right, my dear Eugénie. I feel what you say, and approve of it. As I advance in years, I feel a constantly increasing desire of laboring for Almighty God, for whom I have hitherto done so little. You need not fear; neither your father nor I have any doubts as to M. Louis. Nothing we have observed or have been told leads us to think him a hypocrite. As you desire it so strongly, I will tell you your father’s secret opinion, but do not betray me. He only dislikes one thing in M. Louis: he is too devoted a Catholic. It is all in vain: we cannot induce your father to like our religion. Catholics are too ardent every way, too superstitious, he says.He distrusts the engineer because he thinks him overzealous, that is all....”When Eugénie went to her chamber, she selected the books she wished to contribute to Louis’ library, and then retired to rest, thinking of all the good that would now be done by him, as well as herself, in a place where want and every evil passion were to be found. Her noble, ardent soul had at length found its sphere. Hitherto she had dreamed of many ways of giving a useful direction to her activity, each one more impracticable than the rest. The right way was now open. Louis had pointed it out. Eugénie longed to become the benefactress of St. M——. Her imagination and her heart were pleased. It seemed to her as if she had become another being. She prayed that night with a fervor she had not felt for a long time. Then she fell into a reverie. In spite of herself, Louis’ image continually recurred to her mind. Before she fell asleep, she murmured a prayer for poor Françoise. Her name recalled the last words of that excellent woman: “In heaven, I shall pray for him and for you!” And circumstances were tending that same day to link them together as the dying woman had joined their names in prayer. There was something singular about this that struck Eugénie’s imagination. “Can her words be prophetic?” she said to herself. “So many strange things happen!... But this would be too much. He pleases me in no way except....” And she reviewed his good qualities, then blushed for attaching so much importance to the thought....The next morning, she went with the books she had selected the night before. Fanny accompanied her. Louis received her with the exquisite politeness he never laid aside but with a cold reserve he had resolved to maintain towards her. Their interview only lasted a few minutes. Fanny, who had been easy for some time, was greatly astonished when asked to accompany her mistress to the engineer’s office. Their conversation showed they had recently seen each other, but under what circumstances she could not make out. All this redoubled her suspicions. On her way home with Eugénie, she remarked:“That M. Louis is a charming young man; more so than I had supposed. What respect he showed mademoiselle! I am sure mademoiselle judges him with less severity than she did several weeks ago.”“I have never judged him with severity,” replied Eugénie, with that lofty coolness which made those who did not know her accuse her of pride. “Why should I judge M. Beauvais? that is my father’s business.”Fanny returned to the assault: “That is a queer notion of his to wish to instruct all those ignorant people. Much good will it do them! The more they know, the more dangerous they will be!...”“Fanny, you should address such observations to M. Louis or my father. It is they who have founded the library and school, and they intend doing many other things without consulting you, I imagine.”“Common people sometimes give good advice.”“But they should give it to those who need it. All this does not concern me, I tell you again.”“O the deceitful girl!” said Fanny to herself when alone in her chamber that night. “I always said she would deceive me. Where could she have seen him?... Is she already in love with him?... She is capable of it! But I will watch her narrowly, and, if it is not too late,will counteract her projects! I have a good deal to contend with, however. This M. Louis is an artful fellow. And on the other hand, it is no easy matter to lead Mlle. Eugénie.... I only hope she is not yet in love with him!... If she were to marry him instead of her cousin, I should go distracted.... Poor Albert! if he knew what is going on here. Fortunately, I am on the spot to watch over his interests. And there is more reason than ever to be on the lookout.”CHAPTER XVI.LOVE WITHOUT HOPE.Louiscame to see us as often as his occupations allowed. He made us a long call the very day after Eugénie gave him the books for his library, and seemed more excited than usual. He related his conversation with Mr. Smithson, and spoke of his pleasure at meeting Eugénie and regaining her good opinion by a frank explanation of his plans and the motives by which he was influenced.“Well,” said Victor, “does she continue to please you?”“More than I wish.”“Why this regret?”“It is only reasonable. My happiness is involved in being pleased with her.”“Come, I see we shall not be able to agree on this point.”“Yes, my dear friend; the more I reflect, the plainer it is that I ought not to become attached to her; at least, to make her aware of it, should such a misfortune happen. But I will not conceal it from you: I fear I already love her....”“You are decidedly tenacious in your notions. Why do you torture yourself with scruples that are evidently exaggerated?...”“All your friendly reasonings are of no avail. However disinterested my love might be, it would seem to her only the result of calculation; this is enough to justify me in my apprehensions.”“I cannot agree with you. Delicacy of sentiment is a noble thing, but it must not be carried to excess. I am willing you should conceal your love for her till you can prove it sincere; that is, not the result of calculation—I will go still further: till the time comes when they voluntarily render homage to the nobleness of your intentions. But when that day comes, and you see that Mlle. Eugénie esteems and loves you....”“She will never love me.”“How do you know?”“Mlle. Smithson has rare qualities which make her the realization of all my dreams, but I see I am not pleasing to her. Before any change in her sentiments is possible, she will have another suitor with more to offer her than I, and without a past like mine to frustrate his hopes. He will please her, and I can only withdraw. Well, I confess I wish to reserve one consolation for that day, feeble as it may be—the satisfaction of being able to say to myself: “She did not know I loved her.”“My poor friend, you take too gloomy a view of the future.”“Do not imagine my fears will result in a dangerous melancholy. I realize more fully than you may suppose the advantages of my present position. I might at this very moment be in another world—a world of despair.... To us Christians, such a thought is full of horror. Instead of that, I see the possibility ofrepairing the past, and of doing some good. When I compare my present life with that I was leading a year ago, the favorable contrast makes me happy! I had discarded the faith, lost the esteem of upright men, and given myself up to ignoble pleasures!—useless to the world, an object of disgust to myself. I had not the courage to look at myself as I was. How all that is changed! How happy I ought to be!... But, no; the heart of man is at once weak and insatiable. At a time when I ought to be happy, I am so weak as to yield to a love I should have denied myself. If I cannot overcome it, it will be a source of new regret. I know there is one means of safety, or perhaps there is—that of flight.... But, no; I will not, I cannot thus ensure a selfish security. It would be cowardly to recede before the noble work God has assigned me. There is no doubt now as to my future usefulness at Mr. Smithson’s. I could not find elsewhere the same facilities for doing the good I long to effect. I will remain....”“I will not assert it would be cowardly to leave, but a man as courageous as you are and have need to be ought to remain at his post at whatever cost. Like you, I believe that is the post to which God himself has called you.”“I shall remain.... You cannot imagine how happy I am there when my heart is not agitated. Provisions are dear this year, and we have quite a number of hands forced by want to leave Paris. These two things combined have produced unusual demoralization among the men we employ. Some give themselves up to drunkenness by way of relief; others, listening to the evil suggestions of hunger, conceive an inward hatred against those who are rich. There are a few ringleaders, and a good many disaffected men, all ready to yield to the most criminal proposals. Mr. Smithson is aware of this, and therefore fully approves of my plan for the amelioration of so mixed a set. I must do him the justice to acknowledge he has been generous. His wife and daughter are still more so. I shall therefore remain as long as I can. I only beseech God for one favor—to bless my efforts, and give me the courage necessary to make the great sacrifice if it be required....”“Ah! then you really love Mlle. Smithson. I thought at the most you were only afraid of loving her.”“No; I will no longer keep this secret to myself; it is too great a burden to bear alone. Besides, this concealment would not be worthy of either of us. I was still in doubt this morning, but have since read the state of my heart more clearly. And this is what enabled me to do so:“I returned home from church this morning with Mlle. Eugénie and her mother. The church, you know, is a kilometre and a half from the mill, but the road is delightful. On coming out of church, Mme. Smithson, who is an excellent woman, and quite pleasant and easy in her manners, invited me, as it were, to accompany them. Mlle. Eugénie at first remained apart with her waiting-maid, but still near enough to hear what we said. We first discussed the things suitable to give the poor, and the utility of familiar conversation with them in their houses. I expressed a determination to perform this act of charity as often as possible. I begged Mme. Smithson to mention the families she thought it advisable to visit in this way, as she knows them better than I. She promised to give me a list. Mlle. Eugénie then drew near, and said she would add a few names to it; then, taking apart in the conversation, and even directing it with the grace she shows in everything, she spoke in turn of charity, religion, and literature with an elevation of thought and in such beautiful language that it was a pleasure to listen to her. From time to time we stopped to look, now at one object, and then at another—the large trees by the wayside, the bushes, or the cottages. Mlle. Smithson found something charming to say of everything. We were half an hour in going a distance we might have accomplished in twenty minutes—a delightful half-hour, but it had its bitterness, as all my joys will henceforth have. I see it is the will of God that I should expiate my offences. Like you, I am persuaded that the privilege of doing good—the most desirable of all privileges—is only to be purchased at the price of suffering.”“Yes,” said Victor; “but at the price of what suffering? Who can assure you it is that of which you are thinking?... That is a secret known only to God.”“That is true, but I am sure I had to-day a foretaste of the suffering I allude to. She was there beside me—that beautiful young girl who would be a model of feminine excellence did she not lack one quality—piety—a piety more womanly, more profound, and more simple. She said many striking things—things that go straight to the heart: there was perfect sympathy between her soul and mine, but I watched over myself that I might not betray the admiration, the delight, the emotion, with which I listened to her! In the expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice, and whole manner, I could see, alas! how indifferent she was towards me; that she regarded me as her father’s agent—a mere employé, worthy only of passing attention.”“How do you know? You are so accustomed to reading hearts that perhaps you take imagination for reality.”“I do not think so.... She has changed towards me, I acknowledge. She regards me as a sincere, upright person. I know how to keep in my place, but there she allows me to remain, and will continue to do so.”Louis was extremely agitated when he left us that evening. My poor Victor, ill as he was, and he was now worse than ever, was thoughtful and sad for some time after Louis had gone.“What is the matter?” I asked.“I am thinking of Louis,” he replied. “I fear things may turn out badly for our poor friend. I do not know whether he will ever marry Eugénie or not; but I have a presentiment, I know not why, that this love is to cause him great suffering. And yet this attachment could not fail to spring up. If it is God’s will that Louis should pass through a severe trial, promise me to stand by him.”“But you will also stand by him?”“I shall no longer be here.”Sad words! they were soon to be verified. Meanwhile, the hour of trial was approaching our poor friend—the trial he himself had foreseen.CHAPTER XVII.A SOUBRETTE’S PLOT.Meanwhile, Fanny was preparing sad hours for Louis.Louis thought Eugénie maintained great reserve during the conversationthat took place on their way home from church—so insatiable is one who loves! But Fanny received quite a different impression. Never had she seen her mistress so inspired, or converse with so much fluency and animation. Mme. Smithson’s kindness towards Louis, the appreciatory remarks she and her daughter made after their return home, and the dry, haughty manner with which Eugénie put Fanny in her place when she attempted to speak of the engineer, all excited the cunning servant’s suspicions in the highest degree.“There is nothing lost yet,” she said to herself; “perhaps there has been no danger of it. Mademoiselle is not in love with him now, but she may be soon, if care is not taken. To delay any further would risk everything. I will hesitate no longer. How M. Albert would reproach me were I to warn him too late! How much I should reproach myself! Instead of having that excellent boy, so dear to me, for a master who would allow me to govern his house in my own way, I should be the humble servant of this gentleman, who is by no means pleasing to me, and who appears determined to make everybody yield to him. He is humble for the moment, because he has nothing; but I can read in his eyes: the day he is master here it will be in earnest. I shall then have to start. That would be distressing. There is only one way of avoiding such a misfortune: I must hasten to write Albert’s mother!”So saying, Fanny seated herself at her table. An hour after, herchef-d’œuvrewas completed. She reminded Mme. Frémin, her old mistress, of the affection she had always cherished for her and her son—which was true; she spoke of having wished for several years to see Albert marry Eugénie, and pointed out the perfect harmony of taste there was between the two cousins. This point, however, remained problematical. Fanny added that she should not be happy till the day she saw her two dear children united and established, and she herself living with them, entirely devoted to their interests.Like all shrewd people, thesoubrettereserved the most important communication for the end of her letter. She then remarked that Mlle. Eugénie seemed to be tired of the country, and it was time for Albert to offer himself; for, if another suitor appeared first, which she insinuated was by no means improbable, Albert might regret his delay. She had serious apprehensions.... Albert must really come. She would tell him all; he would never regret having undertaken the journey. But he must be careful, if he came, not to mention that she, Fanny, had urged him to do so. If she wrote thus, it was only because she was in a manner constrained by her affection for Albert and Eugénie. He must therefore be careful not to risk everything by his indiscretion....This letter, carefully corrected and copied, was taken to the post-office in town the next day. No one suspected Fanny had written to Tante Frémin. It is useless to speak of the impatience with which she waited to see what herprotégéwould do. She trembled at the idea that he might not be roused till it was entirely too late to come.CHAPTER XVIII.A GLEAM BEFORE THE STORM.A weekafter, Louis was again invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s, whose birthday they were to celebrate. The only people invited out of the family were the doctor and theCuréof St. M——. Thecuré’sinvitation was an affair of importance, as you will see.Mr. Smithson, as I have remarked, was an Englishman by birth. He had been induced by two motives to settle permanently in France when about thirty years of age: the climate suited his constitution better than that of his own country, and he could live more at his ease on the same income than he could in England.Taking a house in Paris occupied by several tenants, his attention was drawn towards a young girl employed in a mercer’s shop on the ground floor of the same building. This girl was no other than the present Mme. Smithson. She lived with her mother, who was in comfortable circumstances, but made no pretensions. They were very estimable people, and gave the rich Englishman to understand that he could only be admitted as a visitor on condition of acknowledged serious intentions. Mr. Smithson at first hesitated. The girl was not rich, she belonged to a class he considered inferior to his own, and, what was more, they were of different religions. But it was too late to call reason to his aid. For six months he had felt a constantly increasing love for her. He therefore offered her his hand, merely requiring one concession on her part before he could marry her: she must embrace the religion he professed himself. Neither of the women who listened to this proposition was pious, but they did not lack faith, and they fulfilled the absolute commands of the church. They therefore replied, without a moment’s hesitation, that Mlle. Suzanne could not give up her religion for the sake of marrying him. At this, Mr. Smithson hesitated anew, but, as before, love carried the day. He renewed his offer, promising not to interfere with Suzanne’s religious belief if she would become his wife. He only made one condition to their marriage: they should respectively practise their religion without making any attempt to convert each other. As to the children, the boys must be brought up in their father’s belief, the daughters in that of their mother. Deplorable arrangement! showing the shameful indifference of both parties, or their foolish and culpable inconsistency. You know the church expressly forbids such concessions. It only tolerates mixed marriages on a precisely contrary condition: the parties to be married must pledge themselves that their offspring shall be brought up in the Catholic religion. I do not know how Mlle. Suzanne, in becoming Mme. Smithson, found means to evade this new difficulty. It is possible that, through ignorance or culpable weakness, she yielded to the terms without acknowledging it to any one. She doubtless hoped, when the time came for testing the arrangement, to find some means of extricating herself from it. At all events, they were married. Mr. Smithson remained an Anglican, and, astonishing to say, a thorough one. His attachment to the Church of England was easily explained by those who knew him. He still cherished an ardent love for his country, and almost reproached himself forleaving it. His fidelity to the English Church was a last testimony of attachment to the country he had abandoned.When Eugénie was born, her father manifested a temporary sullenness and ill humor at her baptism that frightened Mme. Smithson. Nevertheless, she was firm. Eugénie was brought up very strictly, and her father gradually became accustomed to her being a Catholic, to see her practise her religion, and even hear her speak of it with enthusiasm, for she was enthusiastic on all great themes.These were, it must be said, the only concessions Mr. Smithson made to the true faith. He never entered a Catholic church. He even refused to acknowledge that which its very enemies are forced to concede—the grandeur and utility of the enterprises she alone successfully achieves; the efficacious assistance she renders each one of us at critical moments in our lives; and the happiness—earthly happiness even—that she bestows on all who are faithful to her teachings. But the decided stand Mr. Smithson took against the true faith was specially manifested by his antipathy to the priesthood. Though he had lived a year and a half at St. M——, he had never had any intercourse with the Abbé Bonjean, thecuréof the commune. Mme. Smithson and her daughter went to High Mass every Sunday, made thecuréa brief call on New Year’s Day, and went to confession at Easter—that was all. I had some reason, therefore, to say it was a thing of no small importance to see theabbéat Mr. Smithson’s table. What had effected such a change in the mind of this dogmatic Englishman?... Had his daughter begged it as a favor?... By no means. Eugénie was not pious enough to care for the society of thecuré.... Had Mme. Smithson ventured to break the compact which forbade her broaching, even remotely, the subject of religion to her husband? Still less likely. Madame had not the courage unless forced to revolt against some enormity like apostasy. What led Mr. Smithson to invite theabbéwas the result of his own reflections. Since he had taken charge of a manufactory, and been brought in contact with a large number of workmen, some poor and others corrupt, he had felt an increasing desire of being useful to them, both morally and physically. Mr. Smithson had really a noble heart. Catholic benevolence excited his admiration more than he confessed. It caused him to reflect, though he was careful not to reveal his thoughts. These salutary reflections had gradually convinced him that, if he wished to reform the place, he must obtain the aid of some one not only of good-will like Louis, but of incontestable moral authority.... Where find a person with more means than thecuré?... With the extreme prudence habitual to him—and he was more cautious now than ever, as it was a question of a priest—he was desirous of studying his future co-laborer. He could not help it; this black-robed man inspired him with distrust. “I will begin by studying him,” he said to himself; “and, for that, he must come to my house.” This plan decided upon, he acted accordingly. Without telling any one of his secret intention, without even giving a hint of it, except to his wife and daughter at the last moment, he invited theabbé.Louis had already begun to understand his employer’s prejudices, and was therefore extremely astonished when he arrived to find thecuréhad been invited. But his astonishmentwas mingled with joy. He had already become acquainted with theabbé, and had been to confession to him more than once, and had more than one conversation with him. Thecuréwas even aware of all Louis’ plans, and, as may be supposed, gave them his entire approbation.There was some stiffness and embarrassment as the guests seated themselves at table, and looked at one another; but, after a few moments, the genuine simplicity of theabbé, who was no fool, and the doctor’s facetiousness, broke the ice. Mr. Smithson alone maintained his usual reserve. He had sent for theabbéthat he might study his character, and he was not neglecting it. As to Louis, seated opposite Eugénie, he seemed to emulate the wise man of the Scriptures who had made a compact with his eyes and his tongue. He tempered the fire of his eye, restrained his flow of words, and courageously filled the part he had imposed on himself—that of a man serious unto coldness, calm unto insensibility.Everything passed off very well till the dessert. Mr. Smithson then directed the conversation to the condition of his workmen, and spoke of his desire to ameliorate it. Eugénie warmly applauded what her father said; she spoke of some visits she had made, and gave many interesting details respecting the families she had assisted.The goodabbéhad, alas! one fault. Priests have their faults as well as we—fewer, without doubt, but still they have some. Thecuré’sdefect was a want of prudence. He was agreeable in conversation, and had the best intentions in the world, but he did not weigh his words sufficiently. He never troubled himself about the interpretation, malevolent or otherwise, that certain people might give to them. He was a good man, but not sufficiently mindful of our Saviour’s counsel to be wise as a serpent and simple as a dove. He was amiable and sincere, but lacking in discretion: that was a misfortune. At a time of religious indifference and of impiety like ours, more than usual prudence is necessary for all who love their religion: the impious are so glad to find a pretext for their calumnies! Theabbénow began in the heartiest manner, and very sincerely too, to compliment Mr. Smithson for all he had said, and Mlle. Eugénie for all she had done. He gave a thrilling but true sketch of the ravages want and immorality were making among the working-classes, and dwelt on the necessity of an immediate and efficacious remedy. All this was proper. There was nothing so far to criticise. But theabbéshould have stopped there. He had, however, the indiscretion to keep on, adding many things ill adapted to those before whom he was speaking. “I know what remedies are necessary,” said he; “and who of us does not? They are—instruction to a certain degree, visiting the poor in their houses, dropping a good word, and, above all, the infinite service of leading them back to the holy Catholic religion, which alone knows how to influence the heart of man, and inspire benevolent souls with the wisdom and perseverance necessary for perfecting their noble enterprises. I hope I wound no one’s feelings in expressing myself thus. What I have said is only a well-known truth, readily acknowledged by a multitude of upright souls who have not, however, the happiness of belonging to us.”Mr. Smithson said nothing. He felt the shaft, however blunted, that was aimed so directly at him. Thecuréhimself seemed conscious of having gone too far in the ardor of his untimely zeal. The Englishman was one of those men who only retort when obliged to: he remained silent. The poorcuréhurt himself still more by enthusiastically eulogizing Louis a few minutes after in these words: “M. Louis, by another year, you will have shown yourself the good angel of the whole country around.”This appeared exaggerated to Mr. Smithson. It excited his jealousy, already awakened. He imagined he saw proofs of an understanding between thecuréand the engineer in this unfortunate remark. Their understanding had an evident aim, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to diminish his moral influence, and even suppress it. “That is the way with Catholic priests,” he said to himself. “They are ambitious, scheming, eager to rule, and knowing how to find accomplices everywhere.” Thecuréand Louis thenceforth became objects of suspicion, though he was careful not to show it outwardly.Louis had begun to understand human nature, and at once realized all the imprudence of thecuré’sremarks. He foresaw the bad effect they would have on the master of the house. He tried in vain, by some adroit turn in the conversation, to lessen, if not to annul, the unfortunate impression theabbé’sconversation might have produced. Thecurépersisted in his opinion, and only added to his previous blunder. Louis felt he should not gain anything, and stopped short with so distressed an air that it was pitiful to see him.Mr. Smithson, led away by his prejudices, thought Louis’ depression the consequence of his accomplice’s betraying so awkwardly the secret tie between them. “The engineer is, perhaps, the more dangerous of the two,” he said to himself. “I should never have suspected their plan, had it not been for theabbé’simprudent frankness.” Hence he concluded there would be more need than ever of keeping an eye on his subordinate.Eugénie, though not pious, understood her religion too well, and loved it, or rather, admired it too much, to be astonished at what thecuréhad said. She thoroughly agreed with him, but, as the conversation became serious, she only attended to the most important points, and paid but little attention to theabbé’simprudent remarks. The praise he bestowed on Louis did not seem to her excessive. She rather approved than condemned it. She did not, therefore, suspect the cause of Louis’ sadness, but attributed it to a want of ease naturally occasioned by the inferior position into which he had been thrown by his misfortunes. More than once she came to his aid, politely addressing the conversation to him. Seeing him still preoccupied, she ended by proposing after dinner that he should sing something to her accompaniment. Louis excused himself. “I insist upon it,” she said, in a tone of sweet authority that instantly transported him into a new world. He forgot thecuré’simprudence, its probable effect on Mr. Smithson, and his own difficult position. The first time for a long while—ten years, perhaps—he had one of those moments of cloudless happiness that rarely falls to man’s lot, and can never be forgotten. It seemed as if a mysterious, ravishing voice whispered that Eugénie was beginning to love him. At least, he no longer doubted for the moment the possibility of her loving him some day. Louis had the soul of an artist, and possessed undoubted talent, and he sang that evening as he had never sung in his life.When the song was ended, he turned toward Eugénie, and read in her eyes sincere astonishment and admiration, but nothing else. All his doubts, all his sadness, revived. An instant before, his heart overflowed with joy: now he was so cast down that he was alarmed, and wondered what misfortune was going to happen to him. I am not exaggerating: ardent natures often pass through such alternations of extreme joy and sadness. The evening passed away without any new incident. Before midnight, the guests returned home, and were free to yield to their own thoughts. The few hours just elapsed had modified the sentiments of all who had dined together at Mr. Smithson’s.Eugénie, without allowing it to appear outwardly, had also had one of those sudden revelations that like a flash reveal everything with unexpected clearness. For the first time, she fully realized the possibility of loving one whom she at first despised. Louis’ dignified, melancholy air, his grave, earnest manner of conversing, his remarkable musical talent, and the sympathetic tone of his voice, all produced an effect on Eugénie she had never experienced before. Not that she loved him yet, but she asked herself how long her indifference would last. First impressions are hard to efface from ardent souls. Eugénie was alarmed at the idea of loving one who had at first inspired her with so much distrust. She resolved to watch more carefully over herself, and keep an observant eye on one who might take a place in her heart she did not wish to give, unless for ever.This was wise. One cannot take too much precaution when there is reason to fear the heart is disposed to yield. The heart is the best or the worst of counsellors, according as it is guided or abandoned by reason. Besides, Eugénie was wholly ignorant of Louis’ feelings towards her.Poor Louis ended the evening in disheartening reflections. He began by dwelling on a painful alternative: either Eugénie did not suspect his love for her, or, if she perceived it, her only response was a coldness that was discouraging. “And yet,” thought he, “if I am mistaken!... If she already loves me in her heart!... If at least she could some day love me!” ... He smiled. Then another fear, still worse than the rest, crossed his mind. “Well, if it were so, there would be another obstacle in the way more dangerous than the indifference of Mlle. Eugénie herself—the opposition of her father. He would never consent to the marriage. His antipathy to me has always been evident. Theabbéhas completed my ruin. I am henceforth a dangerous man—a fanatic—in Mr. Smithson’s eyes!”“What shall I do?” added Louis, by way of conclusion. “Shall I give up the work I have undertaken? Ought I to practise my religion secretly, in order to give no offence?... No, indeed; that would be cowardly, unworthy of a man of courage, and criminal ingratitude towards God, who has been so merciful to me.... No hateful concessions! With the divine assistance, I will do what I think is for the best. Whatever happens will be the will of God.... Whatever it may be, I shall be sure of having nothing to repent of....”To be serious, I should add that Louis, in forming this resolution, was not so heroic as he really believed himself to be. He was young, he was in love: and youth and love have always some hope in store.It is useless to speak of Mr. Smithson. We are aware of his sentiments. Louis was not wrong in his fears respecting him. And yet, however sad Louis’ position might be, it was soon to become still more so. A new cloud was rising without his suspecting it.TO BE CONTINUED.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XIV.PERHAPS PROPHETIC.Itwas the first time for many weeks that Louis had met Eugénie alone. He felt greatly excited, and naturally said to himself: “Ought I to manifest any appearance of avoiding her?... Or, on the contrary, shall I keep on? Any avoidance might make her think unfavorably of me.... But would it be prudent to speak to her?...” While thus debating with himself, he looked at Eugénie as she advanced towards him, handsome and dignified as ever, and as calm as he was agitated. He still kept on, yielding to an irresistible attraction without bringing himself to an account for it. As he advanced, he recalled how Françoise had praised her. “That dear woman,” he said, “could have no interest in deceiving me. A soul so upright and pure could only tell the truth. And who has had a better opportunity of knowing Mlle. Eugénie?... Well, I must study this unique girl a little more!... I will speak to her!... I have judged her too severely. I must learn her real nature. I must show her what I am. She has, I am sure, conceived some suspicion about me which she may already regret. At all events, my line of conduct here is plainly marked out. I am resolved to regain her esteem, and obtain her assistance in the good I am doing, in order that it may be done more effectually and speedily. Now is the time to make the attempt!...”As he said this to himself, he met Eugénie. She did not appear at all embarrassed as he advanced to speak to her, but said, in a frank, natural tone: “You have been to see my patient; she spoke of you yesterday.”“Yes, mademoiselle; I have just come from there. I do not think she will need our assistance long. Poor woman, or rather, happy woman, she is at last going to receive the reward she so well deserves!... But how many others there are still to be aided when she is gone!... There is so much wretchedness whichever way we turn! If there were only more like you, mademoiselle, to look after the poor!”“And you also, monsieur. My father has told me something of your plans. I will not speak of my approval: my approbation is of little value; but I assure you they please me. Above all, I hope you will not allow yourself to be discouraged by difficulties you are likely to meet with.”“I hope, with the help of God, to overcome them, mademoiselle. But the efforts of an isolated individual like myself are of little avail, especially when one has had no more experience and is no richer than I.”These words were uttered in a tone of frankness and simplicity that produced a lively impression on Eugénie. “If he is sincere in what he says,” said she to herself, “my suspicions about him are unjust; but this frankness and simplicity of manner are perhaps subtle means of blinding my eyes.” She therefore remained on her guard. “Ah! monsieur, it is not money alone weshould give the poor! What they need, above all, is advice, which you are much better fitted to give than I who have had no experience of life.”There was a tinge of irony in these last words that did not escape Louis, but he pretended not to observe it.“I do not think,” said he, “that I have had as much experience as you suppose, mademoiselle. However, a Christian seeks aid from a different source than the insufficient arsenal of human experience. What we should, above all, remind the poor of, what we should induce them to love, are the precepts of religion which they may have forgotten and no longer practise for want of knowing their value.”“You are very pious, it seems, monsieur,” she said, in a slight tone of raillery.“I must put an end to this,” said Louis to himself. “She seems to regard me as a hypocrite. I will prove to her I am not. If she refuses to believe me, her persistency in such odious and unjust suspicions will redound to her own injury.”“Mademoiselle,” said he, “I am not very pious, but I desire to be so, or rather to become so again, for I was as long as my mother lived. She was taken away too soon for my good, for I had need of her counsels and guidance. I have realized it since! You have doubtless had an account of my life. It may be summed up in three words: folly, despair, and return to God. I dare not pledge my word that this return is irrevocable: I have given too many proofs of weakness to rely on myself. God, who has brought me back to himself, can alone give me the necessary strength to remain faithful to him. But if I cannot promise ever to falter again, I can at least venture to declare that my conversion is sincere—so sincere that, having lost all I had, I regard this loss as extremely fortunate, for it was, in God’s providence, the means of leading me back to the faith. Such a benefit can never be too dearly purchased!”Louis kept his eyes fastened on Eugénie as he spoke. She looked up more than once; the expression of his face and the tone of his voice were so evidently those of an honest man, that she felt all her doubts give way.“Monsieur,” said she, “I do not know as I should reproach myself for what I said with regard to your piety, though I perceive it has wounded you, for it has led to an explanation on your part which....”“Which has made me happy,” was what Eugénie was about to say, but she stopped quite confused as she bethought herself of the interpretation he might give to her words.Louis comprehended her embarrassment; he saw her fears, and came to her aid. “Which you thought necessary, mademoiselle,” suggested he. “I can understand that. It is rather a rare phenomenon to see a young man pass from dissipation to piety.”Eugénie immediately recovered her usual serenity. “Well, monsieur,” said she, “now I know your intentions and projects; I assure you my mother and myself will second them as much as is in our power. What is there we can do?”“Tell me what charitable offices you like the least, mademoiselle, or what you find too difficult to perform.”“That is admirable! We have often longed for a representative, a substitute, who could effect what we were unable to do. But how can we otherwise aid you?”“You are kind enough, then, to allow me to be the medium of youralms. It is a pleasant office to receive contributions for the benefit of others, especially from people as benevolent as you, mademoiselle. I accept the post with lively gratitude, and will at once ask you for some good books for the library I have established for the workmen.”“I will bring you twenty volumes to-morrow that are of no use to me, and are exactly what you want.”Louis and Eugénie then separated. The interview was short, but it led to the very points which enabled them to study and appreciate each other better than they could have done in two hours in asalon.That evening, Louis appeared to his workmen more cheerful and social than usual. He was at last sure of gaining Eugénie’s esteem. Without acknowledging it to himself, he already loved her to such a degree that he was extremely desirous of revealing himself to her under an aspect more and more favorable. This is loving worthily and heartily.As to Eugénie, when she entered the presence of the poor woman she went to visit, she could not resist the desire of speaking again of Louis. An instinctive, perhaps superstitious, feeling made her believe, as well as he, that this woman, who was dying in so pious a frame of mind after so heroic a life, could not be mistaken in her opinion. “So pure a soul ought to be able to read clearly the hearts of those around her,” she said to herself.“Has M. Beauvais been here to-day, Mère Françoise?” she asked.“Yes, mademoiselle. I am glad you spoke of him. I do not expect to see him again in this world, and was so taken up with a favor I had to ask him that I forgot to express my gratitude for all his kindness to me. Every day he has brought me something new; but that is the least of his benefits. I particularly wished to express my thanks for all the good he has done me by his conversation. Ah! mademoiselle, how I wish you could hear him speak of God, the misery of this world, and the joys of heaven! If I die happy, it is owing to him. Before he came to see me, I was afraid of death. However poor we may be, we cling to life so strongly!... Thanks to him, I now feel I cannot die too soon.... I have told M. le Curé all this, and he made me promise to pray for one who has so successfully come to his aid. When I reach heaven, I shall pray for him and for you, mademoiselle. You have both been so kind to me. Promise to tell him all this.”This testimony, so spontaneous and heart-felt, from a dying person, with regard to Louis’ goodness and piety, and this union of their names in the expression of her gratitude, produced a profound and lasting impression on the tender, romantic soul of Eugénie. All the way home she dwelt on what had occurred. She began to reproach herself for her suspicions—suspicions now vanished. It was not that she loved Louis, or even had an idea she might love him, but her noble mind had a horror of the injustice she had been guilty of towards an innocent and unfortunate man. “I will repair it,” she said to herself, “by faithfully keeping the promise I made him.”That very evening, she spoke of Louis to her father and mother, repeating the conversation she had had with him, and expressing a wish to co-operate in the good work he was undertaking. “It is a work in which we cannot refuse our sympathy,” she said, “for its object is to ameliorate the condition of our workmen—a question that has preoccupied us all for a long time.”Eugénie’s object in this was toinduce her parents to express their opinion of Louis. She particularly wished to ascertain Mr. Smithson’s sentiments. He was almost an infallible judge, in his daughter’s estimation, and therefore it was with sincere deference she awaited his reply. It was the first time she had forced him to give his opinion of Louis, or that there had ever been any serious question concerning him in the family circle.“My child,” said Mr. Smithson, “M. Louis means well, I think. He seems to be a considerate person, or at least tries to be. I approve of your wish to aid him in collecting a library; but, if he proposes your joining him in any other benevolent enterprise, you must consult me before coming to any decision. This young man, I say, has good qualities, but he is a little enthusiastic. His ardor just now needs moderating; after a while, it may be necessary to revive it. Let him go on. We will aid him when we can be of service, but must be a little on our guard.”The oracle had spoken. Eugénie reflected on what had been said. It was evident that Louis inspired her father with some distrust. Mr. Smithson, according to his habit, left his wife and daughter at an early hour to work in his office.CHAPTER XV.A QUESTION.Eugenie, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint.“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis?”“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him.”“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.”“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here forwell-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for.”“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.”“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace.”“But not to me.”“What can you see in him so remarkable?”“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and constancy of purpose that are striking.”“Why, my dear, you make me laugh. Really, if all the gentlemen you see would only adapt themselves a little to your humor, there is not one you could not turn into a hero of romance.”“Not at all. The proof is that I have hitherto only seen men unworthy of any serious consideration. When did I ever acknowledge I had found a man of character such as I would like to see?...”“And you think M. Louis this white blackbird?”“I really do.”“Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him.”“Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not fancy him—understand that—in the least. I do not even believe I ever could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young men of his age. But is he better or worse?—that is the question—a serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought him worse.”“It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons.”“It is not a question of his sins.”“What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to another this evening.”“It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be—that is, one who has forsaken his errors, acknowledges he has gone astray, repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant, and reclaiming those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. But if he is not the man I think—if these fine projects are only a lure, an artful means....”“A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewildered with your fancies. Do you imagine he wishes to revolutionize the establishment, and supplant your father?...”“Let us not exaggerate things, I beg, mother. What I wished you to understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?”“I haven’t the slightest idea.”“Indeed!... I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, and affect all these airs of disinterested benevolence, to bring about a secret project?”“What one, I ask you again? When you go to dreaming impossibilities, you know I can never follow you. Explain yourself clearly.”“Well, since I am forced to call things by their right names, is he not aiming at my hand?”“What a droll idea!... Why, he has not a sou left! Everybody knows that. He spent his property in six or seven years, and has nothing more to expect for a long time. So you believe he resolved to become religious, thinking that would be sufficient capital, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to obtain his daughter? I think he has too much sense to imagine anything so absurd; especially to give it a serious thought.”“But if he hoped to please me by this means?... to win my esteem, my good will, my affection?...”“All romance that, my dear.”“But not impossible.”“I prefer to think, for my own peace of mind and your father’s, that things will turn out differently. We have never intended you to marry a man without property. The idea of your having a husband who, instead of being wealthy, has squandered all he had, and might spend what you brought him!...”“Ah! I understand you: you do not think him sincere.”“I do not say that! He may be changed for the present, but who can be sure his conversion will be lasting?”“It will if it is sincere; I am sure of that, for I have studied him. He possesses one quality which I either admire or detest, according to the use made of it: he has a strong will. He has been here a month, and, having nothing better to do, I have observed him, and have not discovered a single inconsistency in his conduct. He has always shown, exteriorly at least, the same love of labor, the same desire of doing all the good he can, and the same unassuming deportment. Either he is a man of rare excellence, or is uncommonly artful. I wish I knew exactly what my father thinks of him.”“And why this persistency in discovering a mystery of so little importance?”“Because I do not wish to despise M. Louis if he is worthy of esteem, and it would be wrong not to encourage him in well-doing if he has entered on that path with a sincere heart. Besides, I regard what he has undertaken and all he wishes to do as admirable as it is useful. I had been wishing for such an attempt to be made here, and could not be better pleased than to see my idea so speedily realized. M. Louis is, in my eyes, either a saint or a hypocrite. I have no fancy for loving either the one or the other; but, if he is a saint, I should feel like aiding him to a certain degree. After all, mother, is there anything in the world more desirable than to do good to those around us, especially when we are so situated as to make it a duty? Have you not often said so yourself?”“You are right, my dear Eugénie. I feel what you say, and approve of it. As I advance in years, I feel a constantly increasing desire of laboring for Almighty God, for whom I have hitherto done so little. You need not fear; neither your father nor I have any doubts as to M. Louis. Nothing we have observed or have been told leads us to think him a hypocrite. As you desire it so strongly, I will tell you your father’s secret opinion, but do not betray me. He only dislikes one thing in M. Louis: he is too devoted a Catholic. It is all in vain: we cannot induce your father to like our religion. Catholics are too ardent every way, too superstitious, he says.He distrusts the engineer because he thinks him overzealous, that is all....”When Eugénie went to her chamber, she selected the books she wished to contribute to Louis’ library, and then retired to rest, thinking of all the good that would now be done by him, as well as herself, in a place where want and every evil passion were to be found. Her noble, ardent soul had at length found its sphere. Hitherto she had dreamed of many ways of giving a useful direction to her activity, each one more impracticable than the rest. The right way was now open. Louis had pointed it out. Eugénie longed to become the benefactress of St. M——. Her imagination and her heart were pleased. It seemed to her as if she had become another being. She prayed that night with a fervor she had not felt for a long time. Then she fell into a reverie. In spite of herself, Louis’ image continually recurred to her mind. Before she fell asleep, she murmured a prayer for poor Françoise. Her name recalled the last words of that excellent woman: “In heaven, I shall pray for him and for you!” And circumstances were tending that same day to link them together as the dying woman had joined their names in prayer. There was something singular about this that struck Eugénie’s imagination. “Can her words be prophetic?” she said to herself. “So many strange things happen!... But this would be too much. He pleases me in no way except....” And she reviewed his good qualities, then blushed for attaching so much importance to the thought....The next morning, she went with the books she had selected the night before. Fanny accompanied her. Louis received her with the exquisite politeness he never laid aside but with a cold reserve he had resolved to maintain towards her. Their interview only lasted a few minutes. Fanny, who had been easy for some time, was greatly astonished when asked to accompany her mistress to the engineer’s office. Their conversation showed they had recently seen each other, but under what circumstances she could not make out. All this redoubled her suspicions. On her way home with Eugénie, she remarked:“That M. Louis is a charming young man; more so than I had supposed. What respect he showed mademoiselle! I am sure mademoiselle judges him with less severity than she did several weeks ago.”“I have never judged him with severity,” replied Eugénie, with that lofty coolness which made those who did not know her accuse her of pride. “Why should I judge M. Beauvais? that is my father’s business.”Fanny returned to the assault: “That is a queer notion of his to wish to instruct all those ignorant people. Much good will it do them! The more they know, the more dangerous they will be!...”“Fanny, you should address such observations to M. Louis or my father. It is they who have founded the library and school, and they intend doing many other things without consulting you, I imagine.”“Common people sometimes give good advice.”“But they should give it to those who need it. All this does not concern me, I tell you again.”“O the deceitful girl!” said Fanny to herself when alone in her chamber that night. “I always said she would deceive me. Where could she have seen him?... Is she already in love with him?... She is capable of it! But I will watch her narrowly, and, if it is not too late,will counteract her projects! I have a good deal to contend with, however. This M. Louis is an artful fellow. And on the other hand, it is no easy matter to lead Mlle. Eugénie.... I only hope she is not yet in love with him!... If she were to marry him instead of her cousin, I should go distracted.... Poor Albert! if he knew what is going on here. Fortunately, I am on the spot to watch over his interests. And there is more reason than ever to be on the lookout.”CHAPTER XVI.LOVE WITHOUT HOPE.Louiscame to see us as often as his occupations allowed. He made us a long call the very day after Eugénie gave him the books for his library, and seemed more excited than usual. He related his conversation with Mr. Smithson, and spoke of his pleasure at meeting Eugénie and regaining her good opinion by a frank explanation of his plans and the motives by which he was influenced.“Well,” said Victor, “does she continue to please you?”“More than I wish.”“Why this regret?”“It is only reasonable. My happiness is involved in being pleased with her.”“Come, I see we shall not be able to agree on this point.”“Yes, my dear friend; the more I reflect, the plainer it is that I ought not to become attached to her; at least, to make her aware of it, should such a misfortune happen. But I will not conceal it from you: I fear I already love her....”“You are decidedly tenacious in your notions. Why do you torture yourself with scruples that are evidently exaggerated?...”“All your friendly reasonings are of no avail. However disinterested my love might be, it would seem to her only the result of calculation; this is enough to justify me in my apprehensions.”“I cannot agree with you. Delicacy of sentiment is a noble thing, but it must not be carried to excess. I am willing you should conceal your love for her till you can prove it sincere; that is, not the result of calculation—I will go still further: till the time comes when they voluntarily render homage to the nobleness of your intentions. But when that day comes, and you see that Mlle. Eugénie esteems and loves you....”“She will never love me.”“How do you know?”“Mlle. Smithson has rare qualities which make her the realization of all my dreams, but I see I am not pleasing to her. Before any change in her sentiments is possible, she will have another suitor with more to offer her than I, and without a past like mine to frustrate his hopes. He will please her, and I can only withdraw. Well, I confess I wish to reserve one consolation for that day, feeble as it may be—the satisfaction of being able to say to myself: “She did not know I loved her.”“My poor friend, you take too gloomy a view of the future.”“Do not imagine my fears will result in a dangerous melancholy. I realize more fully than you may suppose the advantages of my present position. I might at this very moment be in another world—a world of despair.... To us Christians, such a thought is full of horror. Instead of that, I see the possibility ofrepairing the past, and of doing some good. When I compare my present life with that I was leading a year ago, the favorable contrast makes me happy! I had discarded the faith, lost the esteem of upright men, and given myself up to ignoble pleasures!—useless to the world, an object of disgust to myself. I had not the courage to look at myself as I was. How all that is changed! How happy I ought to be!... But, no; the heart of man is at once weak and insatiable. At a time when I ought to be happy, I am so weak as to yield to a love I should have denied myself. If I cannot overcome it, it will be a source of new regret. I know there is one means of safety, or perhaps there is—that of flight.... But, no; I will not, I cannot thus ensure a selfish security. It would be cowardly to recede before the noble work God has assigned me. There is no doubt now as to my future usefulness at Mr. Smithson’s. I could not find elsewhere the same facilities for doing the good I long to effect. I will remain....”“I will not assert it would be cowardly to leave, but a man as courageous as you are and have need to be ought to remain at his post at whatever cost. Like you, I believe that is the post to which God himself has called you.”“I shall remain.... You cannot imagine how happy I am there when my heart is not agitated. Provisions are dear this year, and we have quite a number of hands forced by want to leave Paris. These two things combined have produced unusual demoralization among the men we employ. Some give themselves up to drunkenness by way of relief; others, listening to the evil suggestions of hunger, conceive an inward hatred against those who are rich. There are a few ringleaders, and a good many disaffected men, all ready to yield to the most criminal proposals. Mr. Smithson is aware of this, and therefore fully approves of my plan for the amelioration of so mixed a set. I must do him the justice to acknowledge he has been generous. His wife and daughter are still more so. I shall therefore remain as long as I can. I only beseech God for one favor—to bless my efforts, and give me the courage necessary to make the great sacrifice if it be required....”“Ah! then you really love Mlle. Smithson. I thought at the most you were only afraid of loving her.”“No; I will no longer keep this secret to myself; it is too great a burden to bear alone. Besides, this concealment would not be worthy of either of us. I was still in doubt this morning, but have since read the state of my heart more clearly. And this is what enabled me to do so:“I returned home from church this morning with Mlle. Eugénie and her mother. The church, you know, is a kilometre and a half from the mill, but the road is delightful. On coming out of church, Mme. Smithson, who is an excellent woman, and quite pleasant and easy in her manners, invited me, as it were, to accompany them. Mlle. Eugénie at first remained apart with her waiting-maid, but still near enough to hear what we said. We first discussed the things suitable to give the poor, and the utility of familiar conversation with them in their houses. I expressed a determination to perform this act of charity as often as possible. I begged Mme. Smithson to mention the families she thought it advisable to visit in this way, as she knows them better than I. She promised to give me a list. Mlle. Eugénie then drew near, and said she would add a few names to it; then, taking apart in the conversation, and even directing it with the grace she shows in everything, she spoke in turn of charity, religion, and literature with an elevation of thought and in such beautiful language that it was a pleasure to listen to her. From time to time we stopped to look, now at one object, and then at another—the large trees by the wayside, the bushes, or the cottages. Mlle. Smithson found something charming to say of everything. We were half an hour in going a distance we might have accomplished in twenty minutes—a delightful half-hour, but it had its bitterness, as all my joys will henceforth have. I see it is the will of God that I should expiate my offences. Like you, I am persuaded that the privilege of doing good—the most desirable of all privileges—is only to be purchased at the price of suffering.”“Yes,” said Victor; “but at the price of what suffering? Who can assure you it is that of which you are thinking?... That is a secret known only to God.”“That is true, but I am sure I had to-day a foretaste of the suffering I allude to. She was there beside me—that beautiful young girl who would be a model of feminine excellence did she not lack one quality—piety—a piety more womanly, more profound, and more simple. She said many striking things—things that go straight to the heart: there was perfect sympathy between her soul and mine, but I watched over myself that I might not betray the admiration, the delight, the emotion, with which I listened to her! In the expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice, and whole manner, I could see, alas! how indifferent she was towards me; that she regarded me as her father’s agent—a mere employé, worthy only of passing attention.”“How do you know? You are so accustomed to reading hearts that perhaps you take imagination for reality.”“I do not think so.... She has changed towards me, I acknowledge. She regards me as a sincere, upright person. I know how to keep in my place, but there she allows me to remain, and will continue to do so.”Louis was extremely agitated when he left us that evening. My poor Victor, ill as he was, and he was now worse than ever, was thoughtful and sad for some time after Louis had gone.“What is the matter?” I asked.“I am thinking of Louis,” he replied. “I fear things may turn out badly for our poor friend. I do not know whether he will ever marry Eugénie or not; but I have a presentiment, I know not why, that this love is to cause him great suffering. And yet this attachment could not fail to spring up. If it is God’s will that Louis should pass through a severe trial, promise me to stand by him.”“But you will also stand by him?”“I shall no longer be here.”Sad words! they were soon to be verified. Meanwhile, the hour of trial was approaching our poor friend—the trial he himself had foreseen.CHAPTER XVII.A SOUBRETTE’S PLOT.Meanwhile, Fanny was preparing sad hours for Louis.Louis thought Eugénie maintained great reserve during the conversationthat took place on their way home from church—so insatiable is one who loves! But Fanny received quite a different impression. Never had she seen her mistress so inspired, or converse with so much fluency and animation. Mme. Smithson’s kindness towards Louis, the appreciatory remarks she and her daughter made after their return home, and the dry, haughty manner with which Eugénie put Fanny in her place when she attempted to speak of the engineer, all excited the cunning servant’s suspicions in the highest degree.“There is nothing lost yet,” she said to herself; “perhaps there has been no danger of it. Mademoiselle is not in love with him now, but she may be soon, if care is not taken. To delay any further would risk everything. I will hesitate no longer. How M. Albert would reproach me were I to warn him too late! How much I should reproach myself! Instead of having that excellent boy, so dear to me, for a master who would allow me to govern his house in my own way, I should be the humble servant of this gentleman, who is by no means pleasing to me, and who appears determined to make everybody yield to him. He is humble for the moment, because he has nothing; but I can read in his eyes: the day he is master here it will be in earnest. I shall then have to start. That would be distressing. There is only one way of avoiding such a misfortune: I must hasten to write Albert’s mother!”So saying, Fanny seated herself at her table. An hour after, herchef-d’œuvrewas completed. She reminded Mme. Frémin, her old mistress, of the affection she had always cherished for her and her son—which was true; she spoke of having wished for several years to see Albert marry Eugénie, and pointed out the perfect harmony of taste there was between the two cousins. This point, however, remained problematical. Fanny added that she should not be happy till the day she saw her two dear children united and established, and she herself living with them, entirely devoted to their interests.Like all shrewd people, thesoubrettereserved the most important communication for the end of her letter. She then remarked that Mlle. Eugénie seemed to be tired of the country, and it was time for Albert to offer himself; for, if another suitor appeared first, which she insinuated was by no means improbable, Albert might regret his delay. She had serious apprehensions.... Albert must really come. She would tell him all; he would never regret having undertaken the journey. But he must be careful, if he came, not to mention that she, Fanny, had urged him to do so. If she wrote thus, it was only because she was in a manner constrained by her affection for Albert and Eugénie. He must therefore be careful not to risk everything by his indiscretion....This letter, carefully corrected and copied, was taken to the post-office in town the next day. No one suspected Fanny had written to Tante Frémin. It is useless to speak of the impatience with which she waited to see what herprotégéwould do. She trembled at the idea that he might not be roused till it was entirely too late to come.CHAPTER XVIII.A GLEAM BEFORE THE STORM.A weekafter, Louis was again invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s, whose birthday they were to celebrate. The only people invited out of the family were the doctor and theCuréof St. M——. Thecuré’sinvitation was an affair of importance, as you will see.Mr. Smithson, as I have remarked, was an Englishman by birth. He had been induced by two motives to settle permanently in France when about thirty years of age: the climate suited his constitution better than that of his own country, and he could live more at his ease on the same income than he could in England.Taking a house in Paris occupied by several tenants, his attention was drawn towards a young girl employed in a mercer’s shop on the ground floor of the same building. This girl was no other than the present Mme. Smithson. She lived with her mother, who was in comfortable circumstances, but made no pretensions. They were very estimable people, and gave the rich Englishman to understand that he could only be admitted as a visitor on condition of acknowledged serious intentions. Mr. Smithson at first hesitated. The girl was not rich, she belonged to a class he considered inferior to his own, and, what was more, they were of different religions. But it was too late to call reason to his aid. For six months he had felt a constantly increasing love for her. He therefore offered her his hand, merely requiring one concession on her part before he could marry her: she must embrace the religion he professed himself. Neither of the women who listened to this proposition was pious, but they did not lack faith, and they fulfilled the absolute commands of the church. They therefore replied, without a moment’s hesitation, that Mlle. Suzanne could not give up her religion for the sake of marrying him. At this, Mr. Smithson hesitated anew, but, as before, love carried the day. He renewed his offer, promising not to interfere with Suzanne’s religious belief if she would become his wife. He only made one condition to their marriage: they should respectively practise their religion without making any attempt to convert each other. As to the children, the boys must be brought up in their father’s belief, the daughters in that of their mother. Deplorable arrangement! showing the shameful indifference of both parties, or their foolish and culpable inconsistency. You know the church expressly forbids such concessions. It only tolerates mixed marriages on a precisely contrary condition: the parties to be married must pledge themselves that their offspring shall be brought up in the Catholic religion. I do not know how Mlle. Suzanne, in becoming Mme. Smithson, found means to evade this new difficulty. It is possible that, through ignorance or culpable weakness, she yielded to the terms without acknowledging it to any one. She doubtless hoped, when the time came for testing the arrangement, to find some means of extricating herself from it. At all events, they were married. Mr. Smithson remained an Anglican, and, astonishing to say, a thorough one. His attachment to the Church of England was easily explained by those who knew him. He still cherished an ardent love for his country, and almost reproached himself forleaving it. His fidelity to the English Church was a last testimony of attachment to the country he had abandoned.When Eugénie was born, her father manifested a temporary sullenness and ill humor at her baptism that frightened Mme. Smithson. Nevertheless, she was firm. Eugénie was brought up very strictly, and her father gradually became accustomed to her being a Catholic, to see her practise her religion, and even hear her speak of it with enthusiasm, for she was enthusiastic on all great themes.These were, it must be said, the only concessions Mr. Smithson made to the true faith. He never entered a Catholic church. He even refused to acknowledge that which its very enemies are forced to concede—the grandeur and utility of the enterprises she alone successfully achieves; the efficacious assistance she renders each one of us at critical moments in our lives; and the happiness—earthly happiness even—that she bestows on all who are faithful to her teachings. But the decided stand Mr. Smithson took against the true faith was specially manifested by his antipathy to the priesthood. Though he had lived a year and a half at St. M——, he had never had any intercourse with the Abbé Bonjean, thecuréof the commune. Mme. Smithson and her daughter went to High Mass every Sunday, made thecuréa brief call on New Year’s Day, and went to confession at Easter—that was all. I had some reason, therefore, to say it was a thing of no small importance to see theabbéat Mr. Smithson’s table. What had effected such a change in the mind of this dogmatic Englishman?... Had his daughter begged it as a favor?... By no means. Eugénie was not pious enough to care for the society of thecuré.... Had Mme. Smithson ventured to break the compact which forbade her broaching, even remotely, the subject of religion to her husband? Still less likely. Madame had not the courage unless forced to revolt against some enormity like apostasy. What led Mr. Smithson to invite theabbéwas the result of his own reflections. Since he had taken charge of a manufactory, and been brought in contact with a large number of workmen, some poor and others corrupt, he had felt an increasing desire of being useful to them, both morally and physically. Mr. Smithson had really a noble heart. Catholic benevolence excited his admiration more than he confessed. It caused him to reflect, though he was careful not to reveal his thoughts. These salutary reflections had gradually convinced him that, if he wished to reform the place, he must obtain the aid of some one not only of good-will like Louis, but of incontestable moral authority.... Where find a person with more means than thecuré?... With the extreme prudence habitual to him—and he was more cautious now than ever, as it was a question of a priest—he was desirous of studying his future co-laborer. He could not help it; this black-robed man inspired him with distrust. “I will begin by studying him,” he said to himself; “and, for that, he must come to my house.” This plan decided upon, he acted accordingly. Without telling any one of his secret intention, without even giving a hint of it, except to his wife and daughter at the last moment, he invited theabbé.Louis had already begun to understand his employer’s prejudices, and was therefore extremely astonished when he arrived to find thecuréhad been invited. But his astonishmentwas mingled with joy. He had already become acquainted with theabbé, and had been to confession to him more than once, and had more than one conversation with him. Thecuréwas even aware of all Louis’ plans, and, as may be supposed, gave them his entire approbation.There was some stiffness and embarrassment as the guests seated themselves at table, and looked at one another; but, after a few moments, the genuine simplicity of theabbé, who was no fool, and the doctor’s facetiousness, broke the ice. Mr. Smithson alone maintained his usual reserve. He had sent for theabbéthat he might study his character, and he was not neglecting it. As to Louis, seated opposite Eugénie, he seemed to emulate the wise man of the Scriptures who had made a compact with his eyes and his tongue. He tempered the fire of his eye, restrained his flow of words, and courageously filled the part he had imposed on himself—that of a man serious unto coldness, calm unto insensibility.Everything passed off very well till the dessert. Mr. Smithson then directed the conversation to the condition of his workmen, and spoke of his desire to ameliorate it. Eugénie warmly applauded what her father said; she spoke of some visits she had made, and gave many interesting details respecting the families she had assisted.The goodabbéhad, alas! one fault. Priests have their faults as well as we—fewer, without doubt, but still they have some. Thecuré’sdefect was a want of prudence. He was agreeable in conversation, and had the best intentions in the world, but he did not weigh his words sufficiently. He never troubled himself about the interpretation, malevolent or otherwise, that certain people might give to them. He was a good man, but not sufficiently mindful of our Saviour’s counsel to be wise as a serpent and simple as a dove. He was amiable and sincere, but lacking in discretion: that was a misfortune. At a time of religious indifference and of impiety like ours, more than usual prudence is necessary for all who love their religion: the impious are so glad to find a pretext for their calumnies! Theabbénow began in the heartiest manner, and very sincerely too, to compliment Mr. Smithson for all he had said, and Mlle. Eugénie for all she had done. He gave a thrilling but true sketch of the ravages want and immorality were making among the working-classes, and dwelt on the necessity of an immediate and efficacious remedy. All this was proper. There was nothing so far to criticise. But theabbéshould have stopped there. He had, however, the indiscretion to keep on, adding many things ill adapted to those before whom he was speaking. “I know what remedies are necessary,” said he; “and who of us does not? They are—instruction to a certain degree, visiting the poor in their houses, dropping a good word, and, above all, the infinite service of leading them back to the holy Catholic religion, which alone knows how to influence the heart of man, and inspire benevolent souls with the wisdom and perseverance necessary for perfecting their noble enterprises. I hope I wound no one’s feelings in expressing myself thus. What I have said is only a well-known truth, readily acknowledged by a multitude of upright souls who have not, however, the happiness of belonging to us.”Mr. Smithson said nothing. He felt the shaft, however blunted, that was aimed so directly at him. Thecuréhimself seemed conscious of having gone too far in the ardor of his untimely zeal. The Englishman was one of those men who only retort when obliged to: he remained silent. The poorcuréhurt himself still more by enthusiastically eulogizing Louis a few minutes after in these words: “M. Louis, by another year, you will have shown yourself the good angel of the whole country around.”This appeared exaggerated to Mr. Smithson. It excited his jealousy, already awakened. He imagined he saw proofs of an understanding between thecuréand the engineer in this unfortunate remark. Their understanding had an evident aim, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to diminish his moral influence, and even suppress it. “That is the way with Catholic priests,” he said to himself. “They are ambitious, scheming, eager to rule, and knowing how to find accomplices everywhere.” Thecuréand Louis thenceforth became objects of suspicion, though he was careful not to show it outwardly.Louis had begun to understand human nature, and at once realized all the imprudence of thecuré’sremarks. He foresaw the bad effect they would have on the master of the house. He tried in vain, by some adroit turn in the conversation, to lessen, if not to annul, the unfortunate impression theabbé’sconversation might have produced. Thecurépersisted in his opinion, and only added to his previous blunder. Louis felt he should not gain anything, and stopped short with so distressed an air that it was pitiful to see him.Mr. Smithson, led away by his prejudices, thought Louis’ depression the consequence of his accomplice’s betraying so awkwardly the secret tie between them. “The engineer is, perhaps, the more dangerous of the two,” he said to himself. “I should never have suspected their plan, had it not been for theabbé’simprudent frankness.” Hence he concluded there would be more need than ever of keeping an eye on his subordinate.Eugénie, though not pious, understood her religion too well, and loved it, or rather, admired it too much, to be astonished at what thecuréhad said. She thoroughly agreed with him, but, as the conversation became serious, she only attended to the most important points, and paid but little attention to theabbé’simprudent remarks. The praise he bestowed on Louis did not seem to her excessive. She rather approved than condemned it. She did not, therefore, suspect the cause of Louis’ sadness, but attributed it to a want of ease naturally occasioned by the inferior position into which he had been thrown by his misfortunes. More than once she came to his aid, politely addressing the conversation to him. Seeing him still preoccupied, she ended by proposing after dinner that he should sing something to her accompaniment. Louis excused himself. “I insist upon it,” she said, in a tone of sweet authority that instantly transported him into a new world. He forgot thecuré’simprudence, its probable effect on Mr. Smithson, and his own difficult position. The first time for a long while—ten years, perhaps—he had one of those moments of cloudless happiness that rarely falls to man’s lot, and can never be forgotten. It seemed as if a mysterious, ravishing voice whispered that Eugénie was beginning to love him. At least, he no longer doubted for the moment the possibility of her loving him some day. Louis had the soul of an artist, and possessed undoubted talent, and he sang that evening as he had never sung in his life.When the song was ended, he turned toward Eugénie, and read in her eyes sincere astonishment and admiration, but nothing else. All his doubts, all his sadness, revived. An instant before, his heart overflowed with joy: now he was so cast down that he was alarmed, and wondered what misfortune was going to happen to him. I am not exaggerating: ardent natures often pass through such alternations of extreme joy and sadness. The evening passed away without any new incident. Before midnight, the guests returned home, and were free to yield to their own thoughts. The few hours just elapsed had modified the sentiments of all who had dined together at Mr. Smithson’s.Eugénie, without allowing it to appear outwardly, had also had one of those sudden revelations that like a flash reveal everything with unexpected clearness. For the first time, she fully realized the possibility of loving one whom she at first despised. Louis’ dignified, melancholy air, his grave, earnest manner of conversing, his remarkable musical talent, and the sympathetic tone of his voice, all produced an effect on Eugénie she had never experienced before. Not that she loved him yet, but she asked herself how long her indifference would last. First impressions are hard to efface from ardent souls. Eugénie was alarmed at the idea of loving one who had at first inspired her with so much distrust. She resolved to watch more carefully over herself, and keep an observant eye on one who might take a place in her heart she did not wish to give, unless for ever.This was wise. One cannot take too much precaution when there is reason to fear the heart is disposed to yield. The heart is the best or the worst of counsellors, according as it is guided or abandoned by reason. Besides, Eugénie was wholly ignorant of Louis’ feelings towards her.Poor Louis ended the evening in disheartening reflections. He began by dwelling on a painful alternative: either Eugénie did not suspect his love for her, or, if she perceived it, her only response was a coldness that was discouraging. “And yet,” thought he, “if I am mistaken!... If she already loves me in her heart!... If at least she could some day love me!” ... He smiled. Then another fear, still worse than the rest, crossed his mind. “Well, if it were so, there would be another obstacle in the way more dangerous than the indifference of Mlle. Eugénie herself—the opposition of her father. He would never consent to the marriage. His antipathy to me has always been evident. Theabbéhas completed my ruin. I am henceforth a dangerous man—a fanatic—in Mr. Smithson’s eyes!”“What shall I do?” added Louis, by way of conclusion. “Shall I give up the work I have undertaken? Ought I to practise my religion secretly, in order to give no offence?... No, indeed; that would be cowardly, unworthy of a man of courage, and criminal ingratitude towards God, who has been so merciful to me.... No hateful concessions! With the divine assistance, I will do what I think is for the best. Whatever happens will be the will of God.... Whatever it may be, I shall be sure of having nothing to repent of....”To be serious, I should add that Louis, in forming this resolution, was not so heroic as he really believed himself to be. He was young, he was in love: and youth and love have always some hope in store.It is useless to speak of Mr. Smithson. We are aware of his sentiments. Louis was not wrong in his fears respecting him. And yet, however sad Louis’ position might be, it was soon to become still more so. A new cloud was rising without his suspecting it.TO BE CONTINUED.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.

PERHAPS PROPHETIC.

Itwas the first time for many weeks that Louis had met Eugénie alone. He felt greatly excited, and naturally said to himself: “Ought I to manifest any appearance of avoiding her?... Or, on the contrary, shall I keep on? Any avoidance might make her think unfavorably of me.... But would it be prudent to speak to her?...” While thus debating with himself, he looked at Eugénie as she advanced towards him, handsome and dignified as ever, and as calm as he was agitated. He still kept on, yielding to an irresistible attraction without bringing himself to an account for it. As he advanced, he recalled how Françoise had praised her. “That dear woman,” he said, “could have no interest in deceiving me. A soul so upright and pure could only tell the truth. And who has had a better opportunity of knowing Mlle. Eugénie?... Well, I must study this unique girl a little more!... I will speak to her!... I have judged her too severely. I must learn her real nature. I must show her what I am. She has, I am sure, conceived some suspicion about me which she may already regret. At all events, my line of conduct here is plainly marked out. I am resolved to regain her esteem, and obtain her assistance in the good I am doing, in order that it may be done more effectually and speedily. Now is the time to make the attempt!...”

As he said this to himself, he met Eugénie. She did not appear at all embarrassed as he advanced to speak to her, but said, in a frank, natural tone: “You have been to see my patient; she spoke of you yesterday.”

“Yes, mademoiselle; I have just come from there. I do not think she will need our assistance long. Poor woman, or rather, happy woman, she is at last going to receive the reward she so well deserves!... But how many others there are still to be aided when she is gone!... There is so much wretchedness whichever way we turn! If there were only more like you, mademoiselle, to look after the poor!”

“And you also, monsieur. My father has told me something of your plans. I will not speak of my approval: my approbation is of little value; but I assure you they please me. Above all, I hope you will not allow yourself to be discouraged by difficulties you are likely to meet with.”

“I hope, with the help of God, to overcome them, mademoiselle. But the efforts of an isolated individual like myself are of little avail, especially when one has had no more experience and is no richer than I.”

These words were uttered in a tone of frankness and simplicity that produced a lively impression on Eugénie. “If he is sincere in what he says,” said she to herself, “my suspicions about him are unjust; but this frankness and simplicity of manner are perhaps subtle means of blinding my eyes.” She therefore remained on her guard. “Ah! monsieur, it is not money alone weshould give the poor! What they need, above all, is advice, which you are much better fitted to give than I who have had no experience of life.”

There was a tinge of irony in these last words that did not escape Louis, but he pretended not to observe it.

“I do not think,” said he, “that I have had as much experience as you suppose, mademoiselle. However, a Christian seeks aid from a different source than the insufficient arsenal of human experience. What we should, above all, remind the poor of, what we should induce them to love, are the precepts of religion which they may have forgotten and no longer practise for want of knowing their value.”

“You are very pious, it seems, monsieur,” she said, in a slight tone of raillery.

“I must put an end to this,” said Louis to himself. “She seems to regard me as a hypocrite. I will prove to her I am not. If she refuses to believe me, her persistency in such odious and unjust suspicions will redound to her own injury.”

“Mademoiselle,” said he, “I am not very pious, but I desire to be so, or rather to become so again, for I was as long as my mother lived. She was taken away too soon for my good, for I had need of her counsels and guidance. I have realized it since! You have doubtless had an account of my life. It may be summed up in three words: folly, despair, and return to God. I dare not pledge my word that this return is irrevocable: I have given too many proofs of weakness to rely on myself. God, who has brought me back to himself, can alone give me the necessary strength to remain faithful to him. But if I cannot promise ever to falter again, I can at least venture to declare that my conversion is sincere—so sincere that, having lost all I had, I regard this loss as extremely fortunate, for it was, in God’s providence, the means of leading me back to the faith. Such a benefit can never be too dearly purchased!”

Louis kept his eyes fastened on Eugénie as he spoke. She looked up more than once; the expression of his face and the tone of his voice were so evidently those of an honest man, that she felt all her doubts give way.

“Monsieur,” said she, “I do not know as I should reproach myself for what I said with regard to your piety, though I perceive it has wounded you, for it has led to an explanation on your part which....”

“Which has made me happy,” was what Eugénie was about to say, but she stopped quite confused as she bethought herself of the interpretation he might give to her words.

Louis comprehended her embarrassment; he saw her fears, and came to her aid. “Which you thought necessary, mademoiselle,” suggested he. “I can understand that. It is rather a rare phenomenon to see a young man pass from dissipation to piety.”

Eugénie immediately recovered her usual serenity. “Well, monsieur,” said she, “now I know your intentions and projects; I assure you my mother and myself will second them as much as is in our power. What is there we can do?”

“Tell me what charitable offices you like the least, mademoiselle, or what you find too difficult to perform.”

“That is admirable! We have often longed for a representative, a substitute, who could effect what we were unable to do. But how can we otherwise aid you?”

“You are kind enough, then, to allow me to be the medium of youralms. It is a pleasant office to receive contributions for the benefit of others, especially from people as benevolent as you, mademoiselle. I accept the post with lively gratitude, and will at once ask you for some good books for the library I have established for the workmen.”

“I will bring you twenty volumes to-morrow that are of no use to me, and are exactly what you want.”

Louis and Eugénie then separated. The interview was short, but it led to the very points which enabled them to study and appreciate each other better than they could have done in two hours in asalon.

That evening, Louis appeared to his workmen more cheerful and social than usual. He was at last sure of gaining Eugénie’s esteem. Without acknowledging it to himself, he already loved her to such a degree that he was extremely desirous of revealing himself to her under an aspect more and more favorable. This is loving worthily and heartily.

As to Eugénie, when she entered the presence of the poor woman she went to visit, she could not resist the desire of speaking again of Louis. An instinctive, perhaps superstitious, feeling made her believe, as well as he, that this woman, who was dying in so pious a frame of mind after so heroic a life, could not be mistaken in her opinion. “So pure a soul ought to be able to read clearly the hearts of those around her,” she said to herself.

“Has M. Beauvais been here to-day, Mère Françoise?” she asked.

“Yes, mademoiselle. I am glad you spoke of him. I do not expect to see him again in this world, and was so taken up with a favor I had to ask him that I forgot to express my gratitude for all his kindness to me. Every day he has brought me something new; but that is the least of his benefits. I particularly wished to express my thanks for all the good he has done me by his conversation. Ah! mademoiselle, how I wish you could hear him speak of God, the misery of this world, and the joys of heaven! If I die happy, it is owing to him. Before he came to see me, I was afraid of death. However poor we may be, we cling to life so strongly!... Thanks to him, I now feel I cannot die too soon.... I have told M. le Curé all this, and he made me promise to pray for one who has so successfully come to his aid. When I reach heaven, I shall pray for him and for you, mademoiselle. You have both been so kind to me. Promise to tell him all this.”

This testimony, so spontaneous and heart-felt, from a dying person, with regard to Louis’ goodness and piety, and this union of their names in the expression of her gratitude, produced a profound and lasting impression on the tender, romantic soul of Eugénie. All the way home she dwelt on what had occurred. She began to reproach herself for her suspicions—suspicions now vanished. It was not that she loved Louis, or even had an idea she might love him, but her noble mind had a horror of the injustice she had been guilty of towards an innocent and unfortunate man. “I will repair it,” she said to herself, “by faithfully keeping the promise I made him.”

That very evening, she spoke of Louis to her father and mother, repeating the conversation she had had with him, and expressing a wish to co-operate in the good work he was undertaking. “It is a work in which we cannot refuse our sympathy,” she said, “for its object is to ameliorate the condition of our workmen—a question that has preoccupied us all for a long time.”

Eugénie’s object in this was toinduce her parents to express their opinion of Louis. She particularly wished to ascertain Mr. Smithson’s sentiments. He was almost an infallible judge, in his daughter’s estimation, and therefore it was with sincere deference she awaited his reply. It was the first time she had forced him to give his opinion of Louis, or that there had ever been any serious question concerning him in the family circle.

“My child,” said Mr. Smithson, “M. Louis means well, I think. He seems to be a considerate person, or at least tries to be. I approve of your wish to aid him in collecting a library; but, if he proposes your joining him in any other benevolent enterprise, you must consult me before coming to any decision. This young man, I say, has good qualities, but he is a little enthusiastic. His ardor just now needs moderating; after a while, it may be necessary to revive it. Let him go on. We will aid him when we can be of service, but must be a little on our guard.”

The oracle had spoken. Eugénie reflected on what had been said. It was evident that Louis inspired her father with some distrust. Mr. Smithson, according to his habit, left his wife and daughter at an early hour to work in his office.

A QUESTION.

Eugenie, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint.

“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis?”

“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him.”

“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.”

“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here forwell-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for.”

“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.”

“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace.”

“But not to me.”

“What can you see in him so remarkable?”

“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and constancy of purpose that are striking.”

“Why, my dear, you make me laugh. Really, if all the gentlemen you see would only adapt themselves a little to your humor, there is not one you could not turn into a hero of romance.”

“Not at all. The proof is that I have hitherto only seen men unworthy of any serious consideration. When did I ever acknowledge I had found a man of character such as I would like to see?...”

“And you think M. Louis this white blackbird?”

“I really do.”

“Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him.”

“Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not fancy him—understand that—in the least. I do not even believe I ever could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young men of his age. But is he better or worse?—that is the question—a serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought him worse.”

“It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons.”

“It is not a question of his sins.”

“What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to another this evening.”

“It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be—that is, one who has forsaken his errors, acknowledges he has gone astray, repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant, and reclaiming those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. But if he is not the man I think—if these fine projects are only a lure, an artful means....”

“A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewildered with your fancies. Do you imagine he wishes to revolutionize the establishment, and supplant your father?...”

“Let us not exaggerate things, I beg, mother. What I wished you to understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Indeed!... I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, and affect all these airs of disinterested benevolence, to bring about a secret project?”

“What one, I ask you again? When you go to dreaming impossibilities, you know I can never follow you. Explain yourself clearly.”

“Well, since I am forced to call things by their right names, is he not aiming at my hand?”

“What a droll idea!... Why, he has not a sou left! Everybody knows that. He spent his property in six or seven years, and has nothing more to expect for a long time. So you believe he resolved to become religious, thinking that would be sufficient capital, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to obtain his daughter? I think he has too much sense to imagine anything so absurd; especially to give it a serious thought.”

“But if he hoped to please me by this means?... to win my esteem, my good will, my affection?...”

“All romance that, my dear.”

“But not impossible.”

“I prefer to think, for my own peace of mind and your father’s, that things will turn out differently. We have never intended you to marry a man without property. The idea of your having a husband who, instead of being wealthy, has squandered all he had, and might spend what you brought him!...”

“Ah! I understand you: you do not think him sincere.”

“I do not say that! He may be changed for the present, but who can be sure his conversion will be lasting?”

“It will if it is sincere; I am sure of that, for I have studied him. He possesses one quality which I either admire or detest, according to the use made of it: he has a strong will. He has been here a month, and, having nothing better to do, I have observed him, and have not discovered a single inconsistency in his conduct. He has always shown, exteriorly at least, the same love of labor, the same desire of doing all the good he can, and the same unassuming deportment. Either he is a man of rare excellence, or is uncommonly artful. I wish I knew exactly what my father thinks of him.”

“And why this persistency in discovering a mystery of so little importance?”

“Because I do not wish to despise M. Louis if he is worthy of esteem, and it would be wrong not to encourage him in well-doing if he has entered on that path with a sincere heart. Besides, I regard what he has undertaken and all he wishes to do as admirable as it is useful. I had been wishing for such an attempt to be made here, and could not be better pleased than to see my idea so speedily realized. M. Louis is, in my eyes, either a saint or a hypocrite. I have no fancy for loving either the one or the other; but, if he is a saint, I should feel like aiding him to a certain degree. After all, mother, is there anything in the world more desirable than to do good to those around us, especially when we are so situated as to make it a duty? Have you not often said so yourself?”

“You are right, my dear Eugénie. I feel what you say, and approve of it. As I advance in years, I feel a constantly increasing desire of laboring for Almighty God, for whom I have hitherto done so little. You need not fear; neither your father nor I have any doubts as to M. Louis. Nothing we have observed or have been told leads us to think him a hypocrite. As you desire it so strongly, I will tell you your father’s secret opinion, but do not betray me. He only dislikes one thing in M. Louis: he is too devoted a Catholic. It is all in vain: we cannot induce your father to like our religion. Catholics are too ardent every way, too superstitious, he says.He distrusts the engineer because he thinks him overzealous, that is all....”

When Eugénie went to her chamber, she selected the books she wished to contribute to Louis’ library, and then retired to rest, thinking of all the good that would now be done by him, as well as herself, in a place where want and every evil passion were to be found. Her noble, ardent soul had at length found its sphere. Hitherto she had dreamed of many ways of giving a useful direction to her activity, each one more impracticable than the rest. The right way was now open. Louis had pointed it out. Eugénie longed to become the benefactress of St. M——. Her imagination and her heart were pleased. It seemed to her as if she had become another being. She prayed that night with a fervor she had not felt for a long time. Then she fell into a reverie. In spite of herself, Louis’ image continually recurred to her mind. Before she fell asleep, she murmured a prayer for poor Françoise. Her name recalled the last words of that excellent woman: “In heaven, I shall pray for him and for you!” And circumstances were tending that same day to link them together as the dying woman had joined their names in prayer. There was something singular about this that struck Eugénie’s imagination. “Can her words be prophetic?” she said to herself. “So many strange things happen!... But this would be too much. He pleases me in no way except....” And she reviewed his good qualities, then blushed for attaching so much importance to the thought....

The next morning, she went with the books she had selected the night before. Fanny accompanied her. Louis received her with the exquisite politeness he never laid aside but with a cold reserve he had resolved to maintain towards her. Their interview only lasted a few minutes. Fanny, who had been easy for some time, was greatly astonished when asked to accompany her mistress to the engineer’s office. Their conversation showed they had recently seen each other, but under what circumstances she could not make out. All this redoubled her suspicions. On her way home with Eugénie, she remarked:

“That M. Louis is a charming young man; more so than I had supposed. What respect he showed mademoiselle! I am sure mademoiselle judges him with less severity than she did several weeks ago.”

“I have never judged him with severity,” replied Eugénie, with that lofty coolness which made those who did not know her accuse her of pride. “Why should I judge M. Beauvais? that is my father’s business.”

Fanny returned to the assault: “That is a queer notion of his to wish to instruct all those ignorant people. Much good will it do them! The more they know, the more dangerous they will be!...”

“Fanny, you should address such observations to M. Louis or my father. It is they who have founded the library and school, and they intend doing many other things without consulting you, I imagine.”

“Common people sometimes give good advice.”

“But they should give it to those who need it. All this does not concern me, I tell you again.”

“O the deceitful girl!” said Fanny to herself when alone in her chamber that night. “I always said she would deceive me. Where could she have seen him?... Is she already in love with him?... She is capable of it! But I will watch her narrowly, and, if it is not too late,will counteract her projects! I have a good deal to contend with, however. This M. Louis is an artful fellow. And on the other hand, it is no easy matter to lead Mlle. Eugénie.... I only hope she is not yet in love with him!... If she were to marry him instead of her cousin, I should go distracted.... Poor Albert! if he knew what is going on here. Fortunately, I am on the spot to watch over his interests. And there is more reason than ever to be on the lookout.”

LOVE WITHOUT HOPE.

Louiscame to see us as often as his occupations allowed. He made us a long call the very day after Eugénie gave him the books for his library, and seemed more excited than usual. He related his conversation with Mr. Smithson, and spoke of his pleasure at meeting Eugénie and regaining her good opinion by a frank explanation of his plans and the motives by which he was influenced.

“Well,” said Victor, “does she continue to please you?”

“More than I wish.”

“Why this regret?”

“It is only reasonable. My happiness is involved in being pleased with her.”

“Come, I see we shall not be able to agree on this point.”

“Yes, my dear friend; the more I reflect, the plainer it is that I ought not to become attached to her; at least, to make her aware of it, should such a misfortune happen. But I will not conceal it from you: I fear I already love her....”

“You are decidedly tenacious in your notions. Why do you torture yourself with scruples that are evidently exaggerated?...”

“All your friendly reasonings are of no avail. However disinterested my love might be, it would seem to her only the result of calculation; this is enough to justify me in my apprehensions.”

“I cannot agree with you. Delicacy of sentiment is a noble thing, but it must not be carried to excess. I am willing you should conceal your love for her till you can prove it sincere; that is, not the result of calculation—I will go still further: till the time comes when they voluntarily render homage to the nobleness of your intentions. But when that day comes, and you see that Mlle. Eugénie esteems and loves you....”

“She will never love me.”

“How do you know?”

“Mlle. Smithson has rare qualities which make her the realization of all my dreams, but I see I am not pleasing to her. Before any change in her sentiments is possible, she will have another suitor with more to offer her than I, and without a past like mine to frustrate his hopes. He will please her, and I can only withdraw. Well, I confess I wish to reserve one consolation for that day, feeble as it may be—the satisfaction of being able to say to myself: “She did not know I loved her.”

“My poor friend, you take too gloomy a view of the future.”

“Do not imagine my fears will result in a dangerous melancholy. I realize more fully than you may suppose the advantages of my present position. I might at this very moment be in another world—a world of despair.... To us Christians, such a thought is full of horror. Instead of that, I see the possibility ofrepairing the past, and of doing some good. When I compare my present life with that I was leading a year ago, the favorable contrast makes me happy! I had discarded the faith, lost the esteem of upright men, and given myself up to ignoble pleasures!—useless to the world, an object of disgust to myself. I had not the courage to look at myself as I was. How all that is changed! How happy I ought to be!... But, no; the heart of man is at once weak and insatiable. At a time when I ought to be happy, I am so weak as to yield to a love I should have denied myself. If I cannot overcome it, it will be a source of new regret. I know there is one means of safety, or perhaps there is—that of flight.... But, no; I will not, I cannot thus ensure a selfish security. It would be cowardly to recede before the noble work God has assigned me. There is no doubt now as to my future usefulness at Mr. Smithson’s. I could not find elsewhere the same facilities for doing the good I long to effect. I will remain....”

“I will not assert it would be cowardly to leave, but a man as courageous as you are and have need to be ought to remain at his post at whatever cost. Like you, I believe that is the post to which God himself has called you.”

“I shall remain.... You cannot imagine how happy I am there when my heart is not agitated. Provisions are dear this year, and we have quite a number of hands forced by want to leave Paris. These two things combined have produced unusual demoralization among the men we employ. Some give themselves up to drunkenness by way of relief; others, listening to the evil suggestions of hunger, conceive an inward hatred against those who are rich. There are a few ringleaders, and a good many disaffected men, all ready to yield to the most criminal proposals. Mr. Smithson is aware of this, and therefore fully approves of my plan for the amelioration of so mixed a set. I must do him the justice to acknowledge he has been generous. His wife and daughter are still more so. I shall therefore remain as long as I can. I only beseech God for one favor—to bless my efforts, and give me the courage necessary to make the great sacrifice if it be required....”

“Ah! then you really love Mlle. Smithson. I thought at the most you were only afraid of loving her.”

“No; I will no longer keep this secret to myself; it is too great a burden to bear alone. Besides, this concealment would not be worthy of either of us. I was still in doubt this morning, but have since read the state of my heart more clearly. And this is what enabled me to do so:

“I returned home from church this morning with Mlle. Eugénie and her mother. The church, you know, is a kilometre and a half from the mill, but the road is delightful. On coming out of church, Mme. Smithson, who is an excellent woman, and quite pleasant and easy in her manners, invited me, as it were, to accompany them. Mlle. Eugénie at first remained apart with her waiting-maid, but still near enough to hear what we said. We first discussed the things suitable to give the poor, and the utility of familiar conversation with them in their houses. I expressed a determination to perform this act of charity as often as possible. I begged Mme. Smithson to mention the families she thought it advisable to visit in this way, as she knows them better than I. She promised to give me a list. Mlle. Eugénie then drew near, and said she would add a few names to it; then, taking apart in the conversation, and even directing it with the grace she shows in everything, she spoke in turn of charity, religion, and literature with an elevation of thought and in such beautiful language that it was a pleasure to listen to her. From time to time we stopped to look, now at one object, and then at another—the large trees by the wayside, the bushes, or the cottages. Mlle. Smithson found something charming to say of everything. We were half an hour in going a distance we might have accomplished in twenty minutes—a delightful half-hour, but it had its bitterness, as all my joys will henceforth have. I see it is the will of God that I should expiate my offences. Like you, I am persuaded that the privilege of doing good—the most desirable of all privileges—is only to be purchased at the price of suffering.”

“Yes,” said Victor; “but at the price of what suffering? Who can assure you it is that of which you are thinking?... That is a secret known only to God.”

“That is true, but I am sure I had to-day a foretaste of the suffering I allude to. She was there beside me—that beautiful young girl who would be a model of feminine excellence did she not lack one quality—piety—a piety more womanly, more profound, and more simple. She said many striking things—things that go straight to the heart: there was perfect sympathy between her soul and mine, but I watched over myself that I might not betray the admiration, the delight, the emotion, with which I listened to her! In the expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice, and whole manner, I could see, alas! how indifferent she was towards me; that she regarded me as her father’s agent—a mere employé, worthy only of passing attention.”

“How do you know? You are so accustomed to reading hearts that perhaps you take imagination for reality.”

“I do not think so.... She has changed towards me, I acknowledge. She regards me as a sincere, upright person. I know how to keep in my place, but there she allows me to remain, and will continue to do so.”

Louis was extremely agitated when he left us that evening. My poor Victor, ill as he was, and he was now worse than ever, was thoughtful and sad for some time after Louis had gone.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“I am thinking of Louis,” he replied. “I fear things may turn out badly for our poor friend. I do not know whether he will ever marry Eugénie or not; but I have a presentiment, I know not why, that this love is to cause him great suffering. And yet this attachment could not fail to spring up. If it is God’s will that Louis should pass through a severe trial, promise me to stand by him.”

“But you will also stand by him?”

“I shall no longer be here.”

Sad words! they were soon to be verified. Meanwhile, the hour of trial was approaching our poor friend—the trial he himself had foreseen.

A SOUBRETTE’S PLOT.

Meanwhile, Fanny was preparing sad hours for Louis.

Louis thought Eugénie maintained great reserve during the conversationthat took place on their way home from church—so insatiable is one who loves! But Fanny received quite a different impression. Never had she seen her mistress so inspired, or converse with so much fluency and animation. Mme. Smithson’s kindness towards Louis, the appreciatory remarks she and her daughter made after their return home, and the dry, haughty manner with which Eugénie put Fanny in her place when she attempted to speak of the engineer, all excited the cunning servant’s suspicions in the highest degree.

“There is nothing lost yet,” she said to herself; “perhaps there has been no danger of it. Mademoiselle is not in love with him now, but she may be soon, if care is not taken. To delay any further would risk everything. I will hesitate no longer. How M. Albert would reproach me were I to warn him too late! How much I should reproach myself! Instead of having that excellent boy, so dear to me, for a master who would allow me to govern his house in my own way, I should be the humble servant of this gentleman, who is by no means pleasing to me, and who appears determined to make everybody yield to him. He is humble for the moment, because he has nothing; but I can read in his eyes: the day he is master here it will be in earnest. I shall then have to start. That would be distressing. There is only one way of avoiding such a misfortune: I must hasten to write Albert’s mother!”

So saying, Fanny seated herself at her table. An hour after, herchef-d’œuvrewas completed. She reminded Mme. Frémin, her old mistress, of the affection she had always cherished for her and her son—which was true; she spoke of having wished for several years to see Albert marry Eugénie, and pointed out the perfect harmony of taste there was between the two cousins. This point, however, remained problematical. Fanny added that she should not be happy till the day she saw her two dear children united and established, and she herself living with them, entirely devoted to their interests.

Like all shrewd people, thesoubrettereserved the most important communication for the end of her letter. She then remarked that Mlle. Eugénie seemed to be tired of the country, and it was time for Albert to offer himself; for, if another suitor appeared first, which she insinuated was by no means improbable, Albert might regret his delay. She had serious apprehensions.... Albert must really come. She would tell him all; he would never regret having undertaken the journey. But he must be careful, if he came, not to mention that she, Fanny, had urged him to do so. If she wrote thus, it was only because she was in a manner constrained by her affection for Albert and Eugénie. He must therefore be careful not to risk everything by his indiscretion....

This letter, carefully corrected and copied, was taken to the post-office in town the next day. No one suspected Fanny had written to Tante Frémin. It is useless to speak of the impatience with which she waited to see what herprotégéwould do. She trembled at the idea that he might not be roused till it was entirely too late to come.

A GLEAM BEFORE THE STORM.

A weekafter, Louis was again invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s, whose birthday they were to celebrate. The only people invited out of the family were the doctor and theCuréof St. M——. Thecuré’sinvitation was an affair of importance, as you will see.

Mr. Smithson, as I have remarked, was an Englishman by birth. He had been induced by two motives to settle permanently in France when about thirty years of age: the climate suited his constitution better than that of his own country, and he could live more at his ease on the same income than he could in England.

Taking a house in Paris occupied by several tenants, his attention was drawn towards a young girl employed in a mercer’s shop on the ground floor of the same building. This girl was no other than the present Mme. Smithson. She lived with her mother, who was in comfortable circumstances, but made no pretensions. They were very estimable people, and gave the rich Englishman to understand that he could only be admitted as a visitor on condition of acknowledged serious intentions. Mr. Smithson at first hesitated. The girl was not rich, she belonged to a class he considered inferior to his own, and, what was more, they were of different religions. But it was too late to call reason to his aid. For six months he had felt a constantly increasing love for her. He therefore offered her his hand, merely requiring one concession on her part before he could marry her: she must embrace the religion he professed himself. Neither of the women who listened to this proposition was pious, but they did not lack faith, and they fulfilled the absolute commands of the church. They therefore replied, without a moment’s hesitation, that Mlle. Suzanne could not give up her religion for the sake of marrying him. At this, Mr. Smithson hesitated anew, but, as before, love carried the day. He renewed his offer, promising not to interfere with Suzanne’s religious belief if she would become his wife. He only made one condition to their marriage: they should respectively practise their religion without making any attempt to convert each other. As to the children, the boys must be brought up in their father’s belief, the daughters in that of their mother. Deplorable arrangement! showing the shameful indifference of both parties, or their foolish and culpable inconsistency. You know the church expressly forbids such concessions. It only tolerates mixed marriages on a precisely contrary condition: the parties to be married must pledge themselves that their offspring shall be brought up in the Catholic religion. I do not know how Mlle. Suzanne, in becoming Mme. Smithson, found means to evade this new difficulty. It is possible that, through ignorance or culpable weakness, she yielded to the terms without acknowledging it to any one. She doubtless hoped, when the time came for testing the arrangement, to find some means of extricating herself from it. At all events, they were married. Mr. Smithson remained an Anglican, and, astonishing to say, a thorough one. His attachment to the Church of England was easily explained by those who knew him. He still cherished an ardent love for his country, and almost reproached himself forleaving it. His fidelity to the English Church was a last testimony of attachment to the country he had abandoned.

When Eugénie was born, her father manifested a temporary sullenness and ill humor at her baptism that frightened Mme. Smithson. Nevertheless, she was firm. Eugénie was brought up very strictly, and her father gradually became accustomed to her being a Catholic, to see her practise her religion, and even hear her speak of it with enthusiasm, for she was enthusiastic on all great themes.

These were, it must be said, the only concessions Mr. Smithson made to the true faith. He never entered a Catholic church. He even refused to acknowledge that which its very enemies are forced to concede—the grandeur and utility of the enterprises she alone successfully achieves; the efficacious assistance she renders each one of us at critical moments in our lives; and the happiness—earthly happiness even—that she bestows on all who are faithful to her teachings. But the decided stand Mr. Smithson took against the true faith was specially manifested by his antipathy to the priesthood. Though he had lived a year and a half at St. M——, he had never had any intercourse with the Abbé Bonjean, thecuréof the commune. Mme. Smithson and her daughter went to High Mass every Sunday, made thecuréa brief call on New Year’s Day, and went to confession at Easter—that was all. I had some reason, therefore, to say it was a thing of no small importance to see theabbéat Mr. Smithson’s table. What had effected such a change in the mind of this dogmatic Englishman?... Had his daughter begged it as a favor?... By no means. Eugénie was not pious enough to care for the society of thecuré.... Had Mme. Smithson ventured to break the compact which forbade her broaching, even remotely, the subject of religion to her husband? Still less likely. Madame had not the courage unless forced to revolt against some enormity like apostasy. What led Mr. Smithson to invite theabbéwas the result of his own reflections. Since he had taken charge of a manufactory, and been brought in contact with a large number of workmen, some poor and others corrupt, he had felt an increasing desire of being useful to them, both morally and physically. Mr. Smithson had really a noble heart. Catholic benevolence excited his admiration more than he confessed. It caused him to reflect, though he was careful not to reveal his thoughts. These salutary reflections had gradually convinced him that, if he wished to reform the place, he must obtain the aid of some one not only of good-will like Louis, but of incontestable moral authority.... Where find a person with more means than thecuré?... With the extreme prudence habitual to him—and he was more cautious now than ever, as it was a question of a priest—he was desirous of studying his future co-laborer. He could not help it; this black-robed man inspired him with distrust. “I will begin by studying him,” he said to himself; “and, for that, he must come to my house.” This plan decided upon, he acted accordingly. Without telling any one of his secret intention, without even giving a hint of it, except to his wife and daughter at the last moment, he invited theabbé.

Louis had already begun to understand his employer’s prejudices, and was therefore extremely astonished when he arrived to find thecuréhad been invited. But his astonishmentwas mingled with joy. He had already become acquainted with theabbé, and had been to confession to him more than once, and had more than one conversation with him. Thecuréwas even aware of all Louis’ plans, and, as may be supposed, gave them his entire approbation.

There was some stiffness and embarrassment as the guests seated themselves at table, and looked at one another; but, after a few moments, the genuine simplicity of theabbé, who was no fool, and the doctor’s facetiousness, broke the ice. Mr. Smithson alone maintained his usual reserve. He had sent for theabbéthat he might study his character, and he was not neglecting it. As to Louis, seated opposite Eugénie, he seemed to emulate the wise man of the Scriptures who had made a compact with his eyes and his tongue. He tempered the fire of his eye, restrained his flow of words, and courageously filled the part he had imposed on himself—that of a man serious unto coldness, calm unto insensibility.

Everything passed off very well till the dessert. Mr. Smithson then directed the conversation to the condition of his workmen, and spoke of his desire to ameliorate it. Eugénie warmly applauded what her father said; she spoke of some visits she had made, and gave many interesting details respecting the families she had assisted.

The goodabbéhad, alas! one fault. Priests have their faults as well as we—fewer, without doubt, but still they have some. Thecuré’sdefect was a want of prudence. He was agreeable in conversation, and had the best intentions in the world, but he did not weigh his words sufficiently. He never troubled himself about the interpretation, malevolent or otherwise, that certain people might give to them. He was a good man, but not sufficiently mindful of our Saviour’s counsel to be wise as a serpent and simple as a dove. He was amiable and sincere, but lacking in discretion: that was a misfortune. At a time of religious indifference and of impiety like ours, more than usual prudence is necessary for all who love their religion: the impious are so glad to find a pretext for their calumnies! Theabbénow began in the heartiest manner, and very sincerely too, to compliment Mr. Smithson for all he had said, and Mlle. Eugénie for all she had done. He gave a thrilling but true sketch of the ravages want and immorality were making among the working-classes, and dwelt on the necessity of an immediate and efficacious remedy. All this was proper. There was nothing so far to criticise. But theabbéshould have stopped there. He had, however, the indiscretion to keep on, adding many things ill adapted to those before whom he was speaking. “I know what remedies are necessary,” said he; “and who of us does not? They are—instruction to a certain degree, visiting the poor in their houses, dropping a good word, and, above all, the infinite service of leading them back to the holy Catholic religion, which alone knows how to influence the heart of man, and inspire benevolent souls with the wisdom and perseverance necessary for perfecting their noble enterprises. I hope I wound no one’s feelings in expressing myself thus. What I have said is only a well-known truth, readily acknowledged by a multitude of upright souls who have not, however, the happiness of belonging to us.”

Mr. Smithson said nothing. He felt the shaft, however blunted, that was aimed so directly at him. Thecuréhimself seemed conscious of having gone too far in the ardor of his untimely zeal. The Englishman was one of those men who only retort when obliged to: he remained silent. The poorcuréhurt himself still more by enthusiastically eulogizing Louis a few minutes after in these words: “M. Louis, by another year, you will have shown yourself the good angel of the whole country around.”

This appeared exaggerated to Mr. Smithson. It excited his jealousy, already awakened. He imagined he saw proofs of an understanding between thecuréand the engineer in this unfortunate remark. Their understanding had an evident aim, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to diminish his moral influence, and even suppress it. “That is the way with Catholic priests,” he said to himself. “They are ambitious, scheming, eager to rule, and knowing how to find accomplices everywhere.” Thecuréand Louis thenceforth became objects of suspicion, though he was careful not to show it outwardly.

Louis had begun to understand human nature, and at once realized all the imprudence of thecuré’sremarks. He foresaw the bad effect they would have on the master of the house. He tried in vain, by some adroit turn in the conversation, to lessen, if not to annul, the unfortunate impression theabbé’sconversation might have produced. Thecurépersisted in his opinion, and only added to his previous blunder. Louis felt he should not gain anything, and stopped short with so distressed an air that it was pitiful to see him.

Mr. Smithson, led away by his prejudices, thought Louis’ depression the consequence of his accomplice’s betraying so awkwardly the secret tie between them. “The engineer is, perhaps, the more dangerous of the two,” he said to himself. “I should never have suspected their plan, had it not been for theabbé’simprudent frankness.” Hence he concluded there would be more need than ever of keeping an eye on his subordinate.

Eugénie, though not pious, understood her religion too well, and loved it, or rather, admired it too much, to be astonished at what thecuréhad said. She thoroughly agreed with him, but, as the conversation became serious, she only attended to the most important points, and paid but little attention to theabbé’simprudent remarks. The praise he bestowed on Louis did not seem to her excessive. She rather approved than condemned it. She did not, therefore, suspect the cause of Louis’ sadness, but attributed it to a want of ease naturally occasioned by the inferior position into which he had been thrown by his misfortunes. More than once she came to his aid, politely addressing the conversation to him. Seeing him still preoccupied, she ended by proposing after dinner that he should sing something to her accompaniment. Louis excused himself. “I insist upon it,” she said, in a tone of sweet authority that instantly transported him into a new world. He forgot thecuré’simprudence, its probable effect on Mr. Smithson, and his own difficult position. The first time for a long while—ten years, perhaps—he had one of those moments of cloudless happiness that rarely falls to man’s lot, and can never be forgotten. It seemed as if a mysterious, ravishing voice whispered that Eugénie was beginning to love him. At least, he no longer doubted for the moment the possibility of her loving him some day. Louis had the soul of an artist, and possessed undoubted talent, and he sang that evening as he had never sung in his life.

When the song was ended, he turned toward Eugénie, and read in her eyes sincere astonishment and admiration, but nothing else. All his doubts, all his sadness, revived. An instant before, his heart overflowed with joy: now he was so cast down that he was alarmed, and wondered what misfortune was going to happen to him. I am not exaggerating: ardent natures often pass through such alternations of extreme joy and sadness. The evening passed away without any new incident. Before midnight, the guests returned home, and were free to yield to their own thoughts. The few hours just elapsed had modified the sentiments of all who had dined together at Mr. Smithson’s.

Eugénie, without allowing it to appear outwardly, had also had one of those sudden revelations that like a flash reveal everything with unexpected clearness. For the first time, she fully realized the possibility of loving one whom she at first despised. Louis’ dignified, melancholy air, his grave, earnest manner of conversing, his remarkable musical talent, and the sympathetic tone of his voice, all produced an effect on Eugénie she had never experienced before. Not that she loved him yet, but she asked herself how long her indifference would last. First impressions are hard to efface from ardent souls. Eugénie was alarmed at the idea of loving one who had at first inspired her with so much distrust. She resolved to watch more carefully over herself, and keep an observant eye on one who might take a place in her heart she did not wish to give, unless for ever.

This was wise. One cannot take too much precaution when there is reason to fear the heart is disposed to yield. The heart is the best or the worst of counsellors, according as it is guided or abandoned by reason. Besides, Eugénie was wholly ignorant of Louis’ feelings towards her.

Poor Louis ended the evening in disheartening reflections. He began by dwelling on a painful alternative: either Eugénie did not suspect his love for her, or, if she perceived it, her only response was a coldness that was discouraging. “And yet,” thought he, “if I am mistaken!... If she already loves me in her heart!... If at least she could some day love me!” ... He smiled. Then another fear, still worse than the rest, crossed his mind. “Well, if it were so, there would be another obstacle in the way more dangerous than the indifference of Mlle. Eugénie herself—the opposition of her father. He would never consent to the marriage. His antipathy to me has always been evident. Theabbéhas completed my ruin. I am henceforth a dangerous man—a fanatic—in Mr. Smithson’s eyes!”

“What shall I do?” added Louis, by way of conclusion. “Shall I give up the work I have undertaken? Ought I to practise my religion secretly, in order to give no offence?... No, indeed; that would be cowardly, unworthy of a man of courage, and criminal ingratitude towards God, who has been so merciful to me.... No hateful concessions! With the divine assistance, I will do what I think is for the best. Whatever happens will be the will of God.... Whatever it may be, I shall be sure of having nothing to repent of....”

To be serious, I should add that Louis, in forming this resolution, was not so heroic as he really believed himself to be. He was young, he was in love: and youth and love have always some hope in store.

It is useless to speak of Mr. Smithson. We are aware of his sentiments. Louis was not wrong in his fears respecting him. And yet, however sad Louis’ position might be, it was soon to become still more so. A new cloud was rising without his suspecting it.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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