MADAME AGNES.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XXII.THE ENEMY ON EITHER HAND.WhatI have just related took place in the month of August. I was at that time extremely anxious about Victor, but an unexpected improvement took place in his condition after Louis’ visit. Alas! he was never to rally again.Louis sent every morning for some time to know how his sick friend was, but he only came to see us once, and then merely for a few minutes. He only left St. M—— with regret. He seemed to feel that, in absenting himself, he left the field clear to his bold rival, as it was now evident he was, and at a time when an attack was threatened against what he cherished the most—the good work he had begun, and Eugénie’s affection. He did not, therefore, inform us at that time of all I have just related. On the contrary, we were left in a state of painful incertitude. But I had every detail at a later day, even the very thoughts of both parties, and from their own lips.However, Albert was not fitted to play the part of a man of gravity or that of a hypocrite for a long time. For that, more perseverance and ability than he had were required. A frivolous man like him may, by careful watch over himself, assume an appearance of thoughtfulness, but he will soon show himself in his true colors through weariness, or at an unguarded moment. He had hardly been in the house a fortnight before he unconsciously showed what he was at the bottom of his heart. He rose at a late hour, he resumed his habit of careful attention to his toilet, he lounged about from morning till night, conversing only of trivial things or discussing points he was ignorant of, and read romances of a doubtful character, which, so far from hiding, he left about in his room. Eugénie kept an eye open to all these things. She watched her cousin with the natural persistency she inherited from her father; she drew her own conclusions, and ended by treating him just as she used to do, like a spoiled child she loved because he was a relative, but would not, on any account, have for a husband. Albert tried now and then to resume his gravity; he went to church, and discussed the loftiest themes. Vain efforts! His uncle and cousin knew what to think of it all. Albert perceived it, and was inwardly furious.Mme. Smithson alone manifested an ever-increasing fondness for him. Her affection for his mother as well as himself, and her acknowledged but constant wish for Mr. Smithson’s property to come into the possession of her own family by the marriage of the two cousins, inclined her towards her nephew. But of what account was Mme. Smithson in the house? Very little. Albert was under no illusion on this point, and therefore had never attached much importance to his aunt’s support. For two or three days he exulted over the stratagem he had formed for awakening unfavorable sentiments in his cousin’s heart toward the engineer. But Eugénie’s suspicions could not last long without her seekingan explanation. Then all would be lost, for Albert felt that Louis did not love Madeleine. If, on the other hand, Eugénie was not in love with Louis, she would keep her conjectures to herself, and merely withdraw her favor from him.Albert’s affairs, therefore, had not in any respect taken the turn he hoped in the beginning. “What can be done? What can be done?” he said to himself. “I must devise some way of getting rid of this fellow who is disturbing my uncle and Eugénie’s peace of mind so much. Things must be brought to a crisis. If Louis were only dismissed, my cousin in her despair would accept me as her husband. My uncle would manifest no opposition out of regard for his wife, and because, after all, I should not be a troublesome son-in-law. At all events, I should have the satisfaction of routing a creature I detest. Whether Eugénie loves him or not, I can never, no, never suffer this artful man to marry her. If my coming only serves to drive him away, I shall be glad I came.”Such calculations were extremely base and dishonorable, but it must be remembered that Albert was devoid of piety, he coveted his cousin’s dowry, and his antipathy to Louis became stronger every day. People destitute of moral principle and religious faith hate those who possess the good qualities they lack themselves. Albert had tried in vain to blind himself with regard to Louis; but the more he studied him, the more clearly he saw he was incontestably a man of great depth, sincere piety, and uncommon energy. At first he doubted his worth, but he could question it no longer.Eugénie during this time was extremely sad and preoccupied, though no one would have suspected what was passing in the depths of her soul. The poor girl could no longer conceal it from herself: she loved Louis. But she was still uncertain as to his love for her. She even asked herself—and this was an additional torture—if he was worthy of the affection she bore him. You will not be astonished if I add that, romantic as Eugénie was, she was a woman to be driven in such a conjuncture to the very step Albert was aiming at. Only one thing was wanting to effect this—the necessity of withdrawing her esteem from Louis. In a noble nature like hers, it would have quenched her love and broken her very heart to despise the object of her affections.Affairs were in this condition when a new incident came to the aid of Albert’s schemes. Mr. Smithson, it will be well to recall, was not originally a manufacturer of paper. A dishonest broker, or one who lacked shrewdness, led him into a succession of unfortunate speculations. Repeated losses were the result. Mr. Smithson perceived his property was diminishing in an alarming manner. He at once settled up his affairs, and, by the advice of Louis’ father, bought the mill at St. M——, the proprietor of which had just died. This was in every respect an advantageous investment: First, it withdrew him from the arena of stock speculations, where fortune, conscience, and honor are daily risked; in the next place, the mill he purchased brought in a fine income. But it was no small affair to conduct such an enterprise, employing as it did five or six hundred workmen.Mr. Smithson’s predecessor, a man perfectly familiar with the business, directed the establishment himself. Everything went on prosperously, and Mr. Smithson wishedto imitate him. In a few months, he saw he was going wrong. The workmen were indolent, the machinery deteriorated, everything was going to ruin. It is not sufficient to be methodical, intelligent, and energetic, in order to conduct a manufacturing concern; a man must have a special knowledge of mechanics and a faculty of adaptation which Mr. Smithson did not possess. He became conscious of this, and resolved to obtain a book-keeper of probity and intelligence to keep his accounts, and an engineer equally versed in his business. They were both soon found, but the book-keeper alone proved suitable. The engineer had practical knowledge enough, but was deficient in energy. The workmen and overseers soon perceived it, and profited by it to do less and less. The engineer was discharged and Louis chosen to fill his place.From the time of Louis’ arrival, the aspect of everything changed. The workmen felt they now had a superintendent to deal with that was inflexible but just. The overseers alone were inclined to resist his authority. They were sharply reprimanded, and the most mutinous discharged. Mr. Smithson, warned by his previous experience, seconded Louis with all the weight of his authority. He gave him absolute control of the manufactory when he was absent, and never failed to come to his support whenever Louis found severe measures necessary.All this did not take place, it may well be supposed, without exciting some murmurs and secret rancor. Among the foremost of those most dissatisfied with this necessary rigor was an overseer by the name of Durand, who came to the mill some months before Louis. He was a man of about forty years of age, of lofty stature, a sombre face expressive of energy, and grave and fluent of speech. He came provided with the best recommendations, but it was afterwards learned they were forged. This man succeeded both in intimidating the engineer who preceded Louis, and acquiring his favor. Half through fear, and half weakness, he allowed Durand to assume an authority he abused in many ways. When Louis replaced this weak man so afraid of Durand, there was more than one contest between him and the overseer. Their last altercation had been very violent. Durand insulted the engineer before all the workmen, and in so bold a manner that Mr. Smithson, informed of what had taken place, at once discharged him. Rather than give up his situation, Durand submitted to the humiliation of begging Louis’ pardon. Notwithstanding this, he was merely kept on sufferance, though he was well paid, for he was clever in his way, and in one sense a model overseer: no one kept better discipline.Astonishing as it may seem, when Louis instituted the evening-school, Durand was the first to offer his assistance, and was appointed monitor. One thing, however, tried Louis: his monitor, always polite and respectful to his face, was in the habit of whispering behind his back, as if secretly conniving with the men. But nothing occurred to justify his suspicions, and Louis at length ceased to attach any importance to the overseer’s strange ways. When the night-school closed, about half-past eight, Durand went away a little before Louis to finish the evening at the St. M—— café, which was greatly frequented by the inhabitants of the place. There he gambled and harangued at his ease, and acquired the reputation of being the ablesttalker in the country around. As to his political opinions, they were not positively known. He was suspected of being a demagogue, and even an ultra one, but there was no proof of it. He was less secret about his religious belief. He called himself a Protestant, and a thorough one.Meanwhile, Albert began to find the life he was leading at his uncle’s wearisome and monotonous. The evenings especially seemed interminable. Mr. Smithson read, Mme. Smithson was absorbed in her tapestry, and Eugénie played on the piano. Albert did not know what to do with himself. He did not dare have recourse to a novel; conversation with his aunt was not very enlivening; and, if he addressed himself to Eugénie, she showed so much skill in embarrassing him on every subject that he avoided the occasion of appearing to so much disadvantage. Besides, Eugénie’s superiority irritated him. Had it not been for her fortune, which he found more and more attractive, and her beauty, to which he could not remain insensible, he would at once have given up all thoughts of marrying her. But her property on the one hand, and her beauty on the other, deterred him. However, with his frivolous mind, he soon found it intolerable to be confined to his cousin’s society every evening, even for the purpose of paying court to her. One night, it suddenly occurred to him to go to the café, and after that he went there regularly after dinner to pass an hour. He was welcomed very cordially, especially by Durand, who at once made every effort to win his favor. The wily overseer was so profuse in respectful attentions that in a few evenings they were friends. Durand, with his uncommon penetration, soon discovered from some indiscreet words Albert dropped what was troubling his shallow mind. He could see he was desirous of marrying his cousin, and so suspicious of Louis that he detested him and asked for nothing better than to see him dismissed. Durand at once resolved to gain Albert’s friendship and profit by it to involve Louis in some inextricable embarrassment. He was determined to have his revenge at whatever cost, but it was necessary to proceed with caution. He began by sounding Albert to make sure of his antipathy to Louis, that he really wished for his dismissal, and if he cared what means were employed provided the end was attained.Durand gave himself no rest till he was sure of all this—a certitude he acquired the day when Albert, impatient at the unfavorable progress of his affairs, resolved to bring things to a sudden crisis by having Louis dismissed, if possible. The overseer waited till Albert left the café, and then proposed he should accompany him to the manufactory, where he lodged.“Willingly, my good fellow,” said Albert. It was a fine evening in the month of September. They set off together by the road that ran along the river half-hidden among trees, through which the moon diffused its purest radiance.“We do not see you any more at the mill,” said Durand. “I daresay I could guess why you have stopped visiting the school.... Would there be any indiscretion in telling you the reason that has occurred to me?”“Not the least in the world.”“Well, then, if I am not mistaken, there is some one at the mill not exactly to your liking.... Yes, somebody keeps you away....”“That may be.”“Ah! I am no fool. I think I have found out the cause of our beingdeprived of your visits. It must have been something serious. See if I haven’t some wit left.... The person you dislike is M. Louis, is it not?”“You are right, my friend,” replied Albert, patting Durand on the shoulder in a familiar manner.“There are others who do not like him any better than you.”“Not you? You are his assistant at the school, and seem on the best of terms with him.”“Seem?Yes, I seem; but to seem and be are sometimes very different things. Listen: the very instant I saw you—excuse my frankness—you inspired me with so much confidence that, faith, I feel inclined to tell you all that is on my mind. It would do me good.”“Do not be afraid of my betraying you,mon cher; speak to me as a friend.”“O monsieur! you are too kind. Well, since you allow me, I tell you plainly I do not like that man; no, not at all.”“He has been insolent and overbearing towards you, I know.”“If that were all, I could forgive him. But it is not a question of myself. I dislike, I detest him for another reason. Whoever likes Mr. Smithson cannot like the engineer, as I can convince anybody who wishes it.”“Explain yourself; I do not exactly understand you.”“Well—but swear you will never repeat what I am going to say.”“I give you my word, which I never break.”“Well, then, this M. Louis is a Tartuffe—a Jesuit; such men are dangerous. Woe to the houses they enter! He has wasted all his property, we know how! It is a shame!... Then he artfully obtained a place in your uncle’s mill, where he has assumed more and more authority; he tries to influence the minds of the workmen; he ... wishes to marry your cousin....Parbleu!I may as well say aloud what everybody is saying in secret.”“Do they say that, Durand?”“Yes, that is the report. But his art and hypocrisy are in vain. More than one of us understand his projects.... And let me assure you we tremble lest he succeed! There will be fine doings when the mill passes into the hands of this Jesuit, who will spend all of Mr. Smithson’s property, and prepare him a pitiful old age. Do you see now why I cannot endure that man? Oh! if I were master I would soon set him a-flying.... But I am not the master, ... it is he who is likely to be. If somebody could only get him dismissed!”“Yes, yes,” said Albert, in a conceited tone. “There is some truth in what you say—a great deal, in fact.... Since I have been here, I have watched and studied his movements, and agree with you that it was rather an unlucky day for my uncle when he admitted this intriguer into his house. His schemes make me anxious.”“Is there no way of defeating them?”“It would be no easy matter.”“Come, now! As if you, Mr. Smithson’s nephew; you who have more learning than all of us put together—who have more wit than I, though I am no fool—as if you could not send him adrift if you wished to!... You could never make me believe that.”“What can I do? I certainly ask for nothing better than to get him into some difficulty; but how? He performs his duties with exasperating fidelity.”“Oh! it is not on that score youmust attack him; he is too cunning to be at fault there.”“Well, if he is not at fault, do you wish me to make him out so?”“Precisely. That is what must be done. See here, M. Albert, as you know of no way, I will tell you an idea that has come into my head; for I have been a long time contriving some means of driving that man away. But I must first warn you not to take my plan for more than it is worth. If it is not a good one, we will try to discover a better one.”“Let us hear it.”“We have an Englishman at the mill who tells me he does not intend to remain. This man has been to the evening-school several times. M. Louis has lent him religious books.... Can’t you guess what I am at?”“No.”“Well, this is my plan. The man I refer to and I are linked together. It would be a long story to tell how and why. If I should go to him—to-morrow, for instance—and say: ‘Adams, I know you intend leaving St. M——. Will you do your friend a favor before you go? Rid me of that engineer. I do not mean for you to kill him or do him any harm: we are neither of us murderers. I simply propose you should play him some trick, as they call it. You are on good terms with him: he lends you books. Go and tell him you have come to consult him about some doubts on the subject of religion. Beg him to enlighten you. Ask for some controversial works, and cautiously insinuate the possibility of abjuring your religion. You will naturally be open in your projects. You will even talk of them with an air of profound conviction. This will cause some noise. I shall then take hold of it. In case of necessity, I shall have a violent dispute with the engineer, which of course will oblige Mr. Smithson to interfere.’ I know he is not disposed to jest about such matters. Once the affair is brought before him, the engineer is lost. I will not give him a week to remain at the mill after that.... Such is my idea; what do you think of it?”“Durand, you are a genius. Your plan is admirable. The moment my uncle finds the engineer is trying to propagate his religion, he is lost, as you say. You must put your project into execution without any delay.”“I am glad to see you approve of it, not only because it flatters my self-love, but because it makes me more hopeful of success. I should be better satisfied, however, if you would promise to help us in case you are needed.... We are not sure of succeeding in our plan. The engineer is cunning, and Mr. Smithson’s way of acting is not always easy to foresee. And if we should fail—if I get into difficulty!...”“I promise to stand by you. Rest assured I shall not be backward in trying my utmost to influence my uncle against him. This will be easy, for he already distrusts the engineer. Nevertheless, admonish your friend to be extremely cautious. No one must have the slightest suspicion of the scheme. Success then would be impossible.”“Adams does not lack wit. He will know how to manage. But one thing alarms me, and will him. If his conversion were to offend Mr. Smithson to such a degree as to cause his dismissal in disgrace! Where could he go without recommendations?”“Why, how simple you are! All this can be turned to his advantage. As soon as he sees my uncle irritated, he must ask for a private interview,consult him as to his belief, and pretend to yield to his arguments. He must end by avowing his determination to remain a Protestant, and declaring he had been led away by the engineer. The result is evident.”“You are sharper than I. I did not think of that. Your idea makes everything safe, and settles the matter.”“And when shall the first shot be fired?”“To-morrow.”“But one question more.... It would be vexatious if the engineer refused the bait and sent Adams a-walking.”“No danger of that. The engineer is a genuine fanatic. I am sure of that, and I have had an opportunity of judging.”While thus conversing, our two conspirators had nearly reached the mill. They separated without being seen. Albert was radiant. As he retired, he said to himself: “Why did I not think of this scheme myself?... It is so simple, and cannot fail! A saint like the engineer will risk everything to gain a soul.... And yet, if he should be afraid, as Durand said; if he is only a Catholic outwardly!... That would be embarrassing! Strange! for once, I hope the fellow is sincere!...”The following morning, Durand took a private opportunity of giving his associate his instructions, and that night Adams begged Louis to grant him an interview in his room after school.The interview took place. Durand had only told the truth: Adams was an artful fellow—one of those men who conceal uncommon duplicity under the appearance of perfect candor. He had been Durand’s tool for a long time. The latter had rendered him more than one service, and employed him in numerous fraudulent transactions, which he generously rewarded him for. Durand lent money upon pledge to workmen in difficulty. He unlawfully appropriated a thousand small objects in the manufactory, and had them sold. His assistant in this dishonest traffic, his man of business, as he called him, was Adams, who was well paid, as may be supposed.The Englishman, cunning as he was, had some difficulty in persuading Louis he was serious in his intention of abjuring his religion. But he dwelt on his doubts with such apparent sincerity, he manifested so strong a desire to be rescued from error, if he was in error, that Louis immediately proposed he should consult thecuré. Adams pretended thecuréintimidated him; he was more at his ease with Louis, and could talk to him with perfect openness of heart. “If I have to go to thecuré” said he, “well, then, I shall defer it. I do not wish to expose myself to observations that would not fail to be made. After all, monsieur,” he added, “I am only in doubt. I am not yet convinced of being in error. When I see clearly I am, oh! then I will no longer conceal my sentiments. But meanwhile, I do not wish everybody to know what is passing in my soul.”These plausible statements banished Louis’ suspicions. He received the young man in his room several evenings in succession. He lent him a small book, easy of comprehension, that contained a thorough refutation of Protestantism. Poor Louis! he behaved with genuine heroism on this occasion. From the first he foresaw all the trouble such an affair was likely to cause him. He did not deceive himself as to the result of this abjuration. He had animmediate presentiment of Mr. Smithson’s anger, and the difficult, nay, intolerable position he would be in if this conversion took place. No matter, he would brave everything rather than neglect his duty as a Christian, which obliged him to point out the true religion to all who sought it.He was also preoccupied at this time by the remembrance of what had taken place at Vinceneau’s, and suffered from the coolness Eugénie manifested towards him. He saw he was kept more at a distance than ever by Mr. Smithson, who looked upon him as a dangerous man. Louis’ situation, it must be confessed, was distressing. He would have given much to have at least one consoling word from the lips of her whom he loved, and before whom he saw he had been calumniated. This unhoped-for happiness was at last granted him under peculiar circumstances. Louis had just been to see the Vinceneau family, which was in a worse plight than ever. The father had taken to drink with fresh madness, and the mother had a fit of indolence that kept her away from the mill. Madeleine alone worked for the whole family. Louis had been there to reason with the mother, who gave him the worst possible reception. He tried to encourage the daughter, but without success. Madeleine had also, to some degree, the family weakness—a lack of energy of character.Louis had come away unusually dejected. On his way back to the manufactory, while dwelling, first on these unfortunate people, then on Adams, who that very day had spoken of soon abjuring his religion, and finally on Victor, about whom he had just received the most alarming intelligence, he met Eugénie face to face. She turned pale at seeing him, and replied to his greeting with extreme coldness as she kept on....Louis’ sadness redoubled. He took a sudden resolution. “I must justify myself,” he said, ... and, intimidated as he was—the man who loves with a pure affection is always timid—he stopped and turned back.“Mademoiselle,” said he, addressing Eugénie, “I have a favor to ask.”“What is it, monsieur?”“Among the poor families I am interested in is one I have never spoken to you about.”“You are under no obligation, monsieur, to inform me of all the families you visit.”“I know it, mademoiselle; but, as I am not ashamed of any of the places I go to, I have no interest in concealing them. If I have not heretofore spoken of this family, it was for a special reason. These people, of the name of Vinceneau, were recommended to me by old Françoise. She took the liveliest interest in one of the members of the household—a girl by the name of Madeleine. She feared lest poverty and her parents’ bad example might be a source of danger to one of her age. Madeleine is irreproachable in her conduct, but weak in character, like her father and mother. Françoise made me promise to watch over her. She would have begged this favor of you, mademoiselle, had not a special reason prevented her. She knew Madeleine’s parents were envious, and regarded the rich with an evil eye. She feared exposing you to impertinence if she brought you in contact with them. Consequently, she recommended them to me. Madeleine has told me of your call at the house. Your kindness touched the mother. As to the father, hisshameful passion for drink has brutalized him.”Eugénie listened with undisguised interest, and softened as Louis continued. When he had finished, she said: “What do you wish me to do? to show some interest in them?”“It would be a very timely act of charity. The mother has not done any work for several days, the father is gone from morning till night, and the daughter is discouraged. You can rouse her courage much better than I. And allow me to say, mademoiselle, that the difficulties that once might have hindered you being removed, this work, for many reasons, is much more suitable for you than for me.”“I will go to see them.”“Thank you, mademoiselle,” replied Louis. “I am overwhelmed with cares and occupations, and give the family up to you with pleasure.”“Do you not mean to visit them any more?”“I have a great mind not to.”“Why not?”“It is a delicate subject, but I think the less I go there, the better.”“I understand you, ... but still I do not think you are right.Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra,[196]is my motto. Is it not yours?”“It would be, mademoiselle, if the world were not so malicious. As it is, people even of the best intentions cannot take too many precautions. I confess there is nothing I dread more than calumny. It always does injury, and it is hard to feel we are losing the esteem of those whose good opinion we desire the most.”“People who allow themselves to be influenced by calumny cannot have much character.”“Do you think so, mademoiselle?”“I am sure of it. Before doubting a person I have once esteemed, I wait till their acts openly condemn them. If I have the misfortune to despise them then, it is because they force me to do so.”These words were uttered in a significant tone. Eugénie then left Louis abruptly with a gracious and dignified salutation.Louis stood looking at her as she went away, admiring her slender form and the exquisite distinction of her whole person. This sudden meeting with her seemed like one of those glimpses of the sun that sometimes occur in the midst of the most violent storms. He thanked God; he felt happy at her indirect assurance that she still regarded him with esteem. He asked himself if she did not love him. He did not dare believe it, but was almost ready to do so. One fear alone remained in all its strength—the fear of incurring Mr. Smithson’s anger by co-operating in the conversion of Adams.Ah! if Louis had not been heartily devoted to his faith, how soon he would have despatched this troublesome neophyte! But, no; he ought not, he could not. He consoled himself by repeating Eugénie’s words, which had struck him in a peculiar manner:Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra.... “Well,” thought he, “what I ought to do is to enlighten those who seek the truth.... I yield to a sense of duty. Eugénie is a Catholic as well as I, and cannot help approving of my course. If Mr. Smithson is displeased, his daughter, to be consistent with her principles, must confess that I am right.”As Louis entered his room, a note was given him from me, imploring him to come to us as soon as possible.CHAPTER XXIII.VICTOR’S DEATH.—PLOTS AGAINST LOUIS.For ten long months, Victor had suffered from a terrible malady that never lets go. Every remedy had been tried in vain. His disease was phthisis of a peculiar kind and of the most alarming character. The two physicians we consulted could only reply when their patient insisted on knowing the truth: “Your illness is of an extremely serious nature; but you are young, and at your age nature often finds unexpected resources in a time of danger.”It was impossible to cure him. They could only prolong his life, and this was the aim of the physicians. By dint of care, they succeeded in keeping him alive till the beginning of September. Then the disease, whose ravages we had not realized, suddenly came to a crisis. Throughout the whole course of his sufferings, I had, in spite of everything, cherished a secret hope in the depths of my heart. When one of those favorable turns came peculiar to such complaints, I flattered myself that he would get well, and abandoned myself to a foolish joy. This joy, so natural, and yet so unreasonable, gave Victor pain. He endeavored to moderate it in a thousand ingenious and delicate ways. He himself was never under any illusion. His illness was fatal: he knew it, and calmly prepared himself for what he called the great journey. He was greatly afflicted to see I was not, like himself, preparing for our separation, the thought of which became more painful in proportion to the horror with which I regarded it. He tried to banish all my false hopes, but his efforts were in vain. I clung to them without owning it. I only gave them up at the time I have arrived at in my sad story. Then I began to realize the frightful truth, and, as I saw his alarming symptoms increase, I thought I should die.Victor at length succeeded in restoring somewhat of calmness to my soul. With a strength of mind that increased in proportion to the nearness of that awful moment, he made his final preparations. He gave himself up to the contemplation of eternal things. His friend, the good Abbé Merlin, administered the last consolations of religion. Louis received them with a faith that edified every one, and a joy that showed how he had profited by his illness to prepare for heaven. He was already there in spirit, and longed to be there in reality. This touched me, and I confess, to my great shame, I reproached him in my excessive grief with some expressions of bitterness. This was the last sorrow I caused my poor husband. Such reproaches could only come from a selfish soul. I now blush at the remembrance.All these necessary steps having been taken, Victor told me I must send for Louis. As you know, he received my note in the evening. That very night he arrived. It was high time. We all three passed the night together talking, praying, and weeping by turns. Victor consoled us. He even forced himself to express anxiety as to Louis’ affairs. The latter spoke of them very unwillingly, for his grief overpowered his sense of love. When Victor learned the trials he was undergoing, he said:“My friend, I fear they are contriving some new plot against you. Eugénie loves you; there is no doubt of that in my mind; but does she love you well enough to withstandall the difficulties that are rising up around you? I know not. If, with her knowledge of you, she allows herself to be influenced by people of evil intentions, it seems to me you will have a right to judge her severely.”“Even then I could not,” said Louis.“Your answer does not surprise me. It proves I was right in my impressions. You love her as much as a good man ought to love. You even love her too well; for I believe your affection would render you insensible to the truth rather than blame the object of your love.”“That is true.”“I cannot approve of that. It is not right. There is only one thing, there is only one Being, a noble and well-balanced soul, a soul thoroughly imbued with piety, allows itself to love above all things—that thing is truth, that Being is God. Believe me, if Eugénie allows herself to be alienated from you, it will be a proof she has not the worth you give her credit for, and also that it is not the will of God she should become your wife. Well, I will not oppose the indulgence you feel towards her. I consent to it. Say to yourself she has been deceived, that she is innocent, but submit to the divine will. Do not attempt impossibilities to link together the chain God himself breaks, however dear she may be to you.”Victor seemed to have recalled all the energy of his manly nature to utter these words. His firmness and judicious counsel were not lost on Louis.“I will follow your advice,” said he; “but promise to pray this sorrow may be spared me. God has endowed the one I love with a soul so elevated that it would be easy to make her as pious as an angel.... And I love her so much!”“My poor friend! I do not know that I shall be permitted to pray at once for you in yonder world. If I can, I will pray God you may be united with her, if this union will render you happy—happy, understand me, in the Christian sense of the word; that is to say, happy and better, both of you.”In the middle of the night, Victor requested me to go into the next chamber for some papers he wanted. He availed himself of this opportunity to recommend me to Louis’ care, as I afterwards learned.“Agnes,” said he, “has exhausted her strength in taking care of me so many months. Her physical and mental strength are now merely factitious. It is the very excess of her grief that sustains her. As soon as I am gone, she will be sensible of her weakness. I fear the reaction may prove fatal to her. I implore you to take her and her mother to some place near you in the country. Find them a temporary residence that is healthy and pleasant. Change of scene and pure country air will do her more good than anything else, especially if you add the benefit of your efforts to console her, on which I depend.”Louis made the required promise.... But these recollections are still too painful. Alas! they will always be so. You will excuse me from dwelling on them.The next day, I lost the companion of my life. That pure soul, so full of intelligence, sweetness, and energy, took flight for heaven, leaving me for ever sad and desolate upon earth.... Oh! how happy are those women who to the very hour of death are permitted by God to retain the companionship of a husband tenderly loved, and worthy of being so!...The first moments of overpowering grief had scarcely passed beforethat which Victor had foreseen took place. All at once I lost my apparent strength. I was weighed down with a dull despair. My poor mother trembled for my life. Throughout the day I sat motionless in an arm-chair, interested in no person or subject. My lips alone made an effort from time to time to murmur the words at once so bitter and so sweet: “O Lord! thou gavest him to me; thou hast taken him away; thy will be done!” That was my only prayer. I repeated it from morning till night. Thus lifting my soul heavenward, I found strength to resist the temptation to rebel which constantly assailed me.During that sad time, Louis’ sister joined him in unceasing attentions to me. Louis gave himself entirely up to my service, and notified Mr. Smithson he should be absent several days longer from the manufactory. You can realize how generous this was in him. To absent himself at a time his dearest interests were at stake, and leave the field clear for his enemies, was making an heroic sacrifice to friendship. It was not till a subsequent period I fully appreciated it. At that time, I was wholly absorbed in myself. Extreme grief becomes a kind of passion, and, like all passions, it renders us selfish.When Louis at last saw me a little calmer, he told me of Victor’s wish. “His last request was,” said he, “that you should go into the country awhile with your mother. The air is purer there, and you will regain your strength.”I exclaimed against the proposition. I declared I would not leave the house in which Victor died—where everything recalled his presence. Louis insisted, urged on by the physicians, who declared the change indispensable.“Victor himself implores you through me to consent,” said he. “Remember you will be still obeying him in so doing.”I ended by yielding to their persuasions. “But where shall I go?” said I.“To St. M——, where you will be near me. My sister went there yesterday, and found you pleasant lodgings. You can easily go that far with your mother and sister.”We went there the next day. It was Louis who made all the arrangements, and with how much solicitude and affection I need not say. At length he left us to resume his duties at the mill. The last favor I begged of him was to come and see me often, but not to mention to any one the place of my retirement. Like all who are in real affliction, solitude alone pleased me. The first time for a week, Louis’ thoughts, after leaving me, recurred to the subjects that had absorbed his mind previous to Victor’s death. He began to be alarmed. He wondered if Eugénie had not forgotten him, if she really loved him, if Mr. Smithson was disposed to regard him with more or with less favor, and if Albert had not profited by his absence to injure him in the estimation of Eugénie’s family. But he could only form conjectures as to all this.Now that these events have passed away, I can seize all the details at a glance. I shall therefore tell you many things Louis was necessarily ignorant of when he returned to the manufactory. He would have trembled had he been aware of them. He had scarcely left his post in order to be with Victor during his last moments, when his enemies, thinking the time propitious, resolved to profit by his absence to effect his ruin. They all set to work at once.The deceitful Adams, who had sought to be enlightened as to his religious doubts, went around telling everybody the engineer had convinced him of the falseness of his religion, which he resolved to abjure, and only waited for Louis’ return. People began by laughing at what he said. They had no great opinion of the fellow. They suspected his connection with Durand, who was regarded with fear. Some even thought it was all a trick. But Adams returned to the charge; he spoke with an air of conviction, he seemed changed. To carry out the scheme, he apparently broke off with his former friend, Durand.All these things were repeated from one to another till they reached Mr. Smithson’s ears. He had been obliged to superintend the workmen during Louis’ absence from the manufactory. Already inclined to be suspicious of the engineer, and ignorant of the ties that bound him to Victor, Mr. Smithson interiorly accused him of first manifesting an ultra, I may say, fanatical zeal, and then falling into an indifference and carelessness unworthy of a consistent man. “Because one of his friends is ill,” he said, “is that a sufficient reason for abandoning his post, leaving me overwhelmed with work, and interrupting the school he had begun?... And all this without making any arrangement beforehand!... The man is inconsistent!”Mr. Smithson was therefore unfavorably disposed towards Louis, when, to complete his dissatisfaction, came the news, at first doubtful, then certain, of Adams’ intended abjuration. He became so angry that he could not contain himself, though generally so capable of self-control. The interests of his national religion were at stake. He at once became furious, and made no effort to conceal it.Mme. Smithson and Albert of course took Mr. Smithson’s part against Louis. He was berated as a man of no discretion, deceitful, fanatical, and a Jesuit in disguise. Mme. Smithson was one of those people who boldly say: “I don’t think much of a person who changes his religion!” As if it were not merely reasonable for a man to give up error for truth when the truth is revealed to him. Albert was influenced by motives you are already aware of. He was triumphant. He had never expected such success from so simple a trick. Circumstances had indeed favored him but too well. Seeing Mr. Smithson in such a frame of mind, he had no doubts of his dismissing Louis as soon as he returned.But his joy was strangely diminished by an unexpected incident. They were discussing the affair one evening in thesalon. “Excuse me, father,” said Eugénie, “for meddling with what does not concern me, but you know I always was the advocate of a bad cause.”Every one looked up at this unexpected interruption. Eugénie was not a woman to be intimidated when she foresaw opposition: rather, the contrary. She continued, without being troubled in the least: “I find a great many are disposed to attack M. Louis, but no one thinks of defending him. It were to be wished some one would be his defender, though I do not say his conduct is irreproachable.”“Very far from that,” said Mr. Smithson.“But if he is not innocent, is he as culpable as he may have appeared? What is he accused of? He has been absent several days from the mill. This adds greatly to yourlabors, my dear father, but his absence is justifiable to a certain degree. Do you know M. Louis’ history?”“As well as you, I suppose, child.”“Perhaps not.”“Has he related it to you?”“No; Fanny took pains to do that. Fanny is at once curious and a gossip.”“My cousin is very severe towards so devoted a servant. Is she indulgent only to the culpable?”This ill-timed interruption gave Eugénie a glimpse of light. “There is an understanding between them,” she said to herself, “and that explains many things.” She continued, addressing her father: “M. Louis made an attempt at his own life. He was drowning, when a brave man and an invalid—M. Barnier—at the risk of his own life, threw himself into the river, and saved him. This was the origin of their friendship, which does honor to M. Louis and to the person so devoted to him. This M. Barnier is dying to-day.”“Who told you so, my child?” asked Mr. Smithson.“The newspapers from town allude to it. M. Barnier is a well-known man, and esteemed by his very enemies themselves. It is to be with him M. Louis is gone. Does not such a motive justify his absence?”Mr. Smithson had attentively listened to what his daughter said. If we except what related to religious subjects, he was an impartial and even kindly disposed man. “With such a reason for his absence,” he replied, “I shall cease to regard it as inexcusable. Nevertheless, he ought to have made me aware of what had taken place. He simply said he was going to stay with a sick friend: that was not a sufficient explanation. What I dislike in the man is his dissimulation.”“I acknowledge there may be some reason for distrust,” resumed Eugénie, “but he has given no proofs of duplicity since he came here that I am aware of. He certainly has done nothing without consulting you, father.”“He did, to be sure, propose several things he wished to do; but did he reveal his real aim, his ultimate object?”“Had he any?”“Had he any?... The Adams affair proves it. The evening-school and the library were only founded to propagate Catholicism.”“With what object?”“The aim of these enthusiasts is always the same. They wish to impart their belief to others, that they may afterwards exercise authority over their disciples. Louis and thecuréare linked together. Their project is to make my manufactory like a convent, where they can reign in spite of me. But I will settle that matter.”“And you will do right, uncle,” said Albert. “There is no tyranny more artful and more encroaching than that of the priesthood.”“I did not know my cousin detested the clergy to such a degree,” said Eugénie, with an air of mockery and disdain which convinced Albert he had made a fresh blunder. “I thought, on the contrary, you had a sincere respect for priests. It seems I was deceived....”“Enough on this point,” said Mr. Smithson. “I will see Adams, and learn from him what has occurred. And I will speak to the engineer accordingly when he returns.”This conversation took place in the evening. Mme. Smithson was present. She did not speak, but was extremely irritated. Eugénielittle thought she had caused her mother as great an affliction as she had ever experienced in her life. For ten, perhaps fifteen, years, Mme. Smithson had clung to the idea of a match between her daughter and nephew. She had taken comfort in the thought of uniting the two beings she loved best on earth. Besides, it was a good way, and the only one in her power, of securing to Albert a fortune he had need of; for the career he had embraced, and the tastes he had imbibed, made it necessary he should be wealthy, which was by no means the case. This plan till lately had been confined to Mme. Smithson’s own breast; but, since Albert’s arrival, she had ventured to allude to it in her conversations with him. The latter responded with enthusiastic gratitude, expressing an ardent desire to have the proposed union realized. Alas! from the beginning there had been one difficulty which fretted Mme. Smithson. Would her husband approve of her scheme? As Albert approached manhood, this consent became more and more doubtful. Mr. Smithson treated his nephew kindly, but had no great opinion of him, and did not like him. How overcome this obstacle? There was only one way: Eugénie herself must desire the marriage. Mr. Smithson never opposed his daughter, and would then overlook his antipathy to the object of her choice. Things were having a very different tendency. Mme. Smithson had long tried to hide the fact from herself, but she must at last acknowledge it: Eugénie manifested no partiality for her cousin. This evening’s occurrence banished all illusion. She not only saw Eugénie had not the least thought of marrying Albert, but she suspected her of loving another, ... a man Mme. Smithson could no longer endure. He had in her eyes three faults, any one of which would have set her against him: he was her dear nephew’s rival, he had no property, and he was grave and pious to a degree that could not fail to be repulsive to a trivial woman and a half-way Christian like her. To complete her despair, Albert came secretly to see her that very same evening.“Aunt,” said he, “our affairs are getting on badly!... Confess that I had more penetration than you were willing to allow.”“What! what! what do you mean? Do you think Eugénie loves that spendthrift, that bigot?... Nonsense! she only wishes to tease you.”“I am of a different opinion. I have long been aware of her fancy for him. What she said in his favor this evening was very judicious and moderate, but there was in the tone of her voice, ... in her look, a something I could not mistake. For the first time, she betrayed her feelings. I tell you she loves him!”“Why, that would be dreadful!”“I foresaw it.”“Foresaw!—such a thing?”“Eugénie is romantic, and the rogue puts on the air of a hero of romance.”“Set your heart at rest, Albert. I promise to watch over your interests. I assure you, in case of need, I will bring your uncle himself to your aid.”“I will talk to Eugénie to-morrow morning,” she said to herself. “I shall never believe in such presumption till she confesses it herself.”The next morning, Mme. Smithson went, full of anxiety, to her daughter’s chamber. Eugénie was that very moment thinking of Louis. The more she examined her own heart, the more clearly she saw herself forced to acknowledge her esteemfor him. She had inwardly condemned him many times, but had as often found her suspicions were groundless. Without showing the least partiality for Louis, she could not help seeing he was intelligent, energetic, and sincerely pious. She even acknowledged that, of all the men she had ever met, not one was to be compared to him; he was superior to them all in every respect. From this, it was not a long step to confess him worthy of her affection. But he—did he love her?... Not a word, not a sign, had escaped him to indicate such a thing, and yet there was in his bearing towards her, in the tone of his voice, and in the value he attached to her good opinion, a something that assured her she had made a profound impression on him. But, then, why this coldness so rigorously maintained?... He was poor—and through his own fault—while she was rich. His coldness perhaps resulted from extreme delicacy.Eugénie cut short her reflections by repeating: “Does he love me?... It may be. Do I love him?... I dare not say no. But we are in a peculiar position. If I find him, at the end of the account, worthy of being my husband, doubtless I should have to make the advances! But I like originality in everything. My father alone excites my fears. M. Louis would not be his choice. Why does he show himself so zealous a Catholic at present? Why not wait till he is married—if married we ever are? Then he could be as devoted to the church as he pleases.”Mme. Smithson was hardly to be recognized when she entered her daughter’s room. She was generally affable and smiling, but now her face was lowering and agitated. She was evidently very nervous, as was usually the case when she had some disagreeable communication to make to her daughter. Eugénie at once divined what was passing in her mother’s heart. She was careful, however, not to aid her in unburdening herself.After speaking of several things of no importance, Mme. Smithson assumed an unconcerned air—a sign of her extreme embarrassment—and broached the subject with a boldness peculiar to timid people when they see there is no way of receding.“I must confess that was a strange notion of yours last evening.”“What notion do you refer to, mother?” said Eugénie, in a tone at once dignified and ingenuous. She felt the storm was coming. As usual on such occasions, she laid aside the familiarthoufor the respectfulyou. There was a spice of mischief in her tactics which I do not intend to applaud. She thus redoubled her mother’s embarrassment, and by the politeness of her manner increased her hesitation.“What notion do I refer to?... You need not ask that. You know well enough what I allude to.... Yes; why should you, without any obligation, set yourself up to defend a man who is no relation of ours or even one of our friends, but a mere employé of your father’s; one who suits him certainly, but who is likely to cause trouble in the house; ... who is, in short, a dangerous man?...”“You astonish me to the last degree, mother! I never, no, never should have suspected M. Louis of dangerous designs, or that he even had the power to disturb us.”“Raillery, my dear, is in this case quite out of place. What secret motive have you for undertaking his defence?”“I? I have none. What motive could I have?”“Then, why take sides against us?”“Why, I have not taken sides against you!”“How can you deny it?”“I do deny it, mother, with your permission. My father imputed intentions to M. Louis which perhaps he never had. I merely observed it would be more just to wait for proofs before condemning him. That is all, and a very small affair.”“Wait for proofs before condemning him, do you say?... Well, he has them. Adams has confessed everything.... He acknowledges that M. Louis endeavored to convert him, lent him books, taught him the catechism, and, what was worse, dwelt a great deal on hell as a place he could not fail to go to if he, Adams, remained a Protestant. The poor fellow has not recovered from his terror yet!... Your father has talked to him very kindly, given him good advice, mingled with kind reproaches. Adams was affected, and ended by saying he never wished to see M. Louis again; and he did a lucky thing!”“It seems to me that Adams is either a simpleton or a hypocrite.”“Eugénie, that is altogether too much!”“I do not see anything very astonishing in what I have said. Please listen to me a moment, mother. To hesitate between two creeds, without being able to decide on either, seems to me a proof of weakness. But if, on the contrary, Adams invented this story of his conversion in order to yield at a favorable moment and gain the good-will of my father more than ever, would not this show a duplicity and artfulness that could only belong to a hypocrite?...”“Adams could not have invented such a thing. It would have rendered him liable to dismissal.”“I beg your pardon, mother. Adams did not risk anything. The course he has taken proves it. And that is precisely what makes me distrust him.”“How can you impute such motives to anybody!... Adams has renounced his intention, because he was convinced by your father’s arguments. He has behaved like an honest man!”“Excuse me, mother; we are in more danger than ever of not understanding each other. Why! you seem to rejoice that Adams has returned to his errors! You appear to think his course very natural, and to approve of it!”“Yes, I do approve of it; people ought not to change their religion.”“You might as well say a person ought not to acknowledge his error when he is mistaken. I am by no means of your opinion, though I am not very religious.”“A proposof religion, my dear, you seem to have taken a strange turn. You have grown so rigorous as to astonish me; there is not an ultra notion you do not approve of. You have completely changed since.... But I will not make you angry.”“Since M. Louis came here?... A pretty idea. But I am not surprised.”“You said it yourself, but it is true. Since that man came here, you have changed every way. I know not why or wherefore, but it is a fact. Your cousin himself has observed it, and it grieves him. You are no longer towards him as you once were. You keep him at a distance. You are not lively as you used to be. You only talk of things serious enough to put one asleep.”“It is nearly ten years since I wasbrought in such close contact with my cousin as now. I was very young then. I have grown older and more sensible. Why has not he done the same?”“Your sarcasm is malicious and unmerited. Albert is a charming fellow.”“Oh! I agree with you! But this very fact injures him in my estimation. A charming fellow is one who requires an hour to dress; is skilled in paying a multitude of compliments he does not mean; has a petty mind that only takes interest in trifles; in short, a useless being it is impossible to rely on. When Albert came, he seemed to be conscious of the absurdity of being a charming fellow. He tried to put on a semblance of gravity, but it did not last long. Once more the proverb held good:Chasser le naturel, il revient au galop.”[197]“Wonderful, my dear. You have every qualification for adévote: especially one characteristic—maliciousness. Poor Albert! how you have set him off! Happily, there is not a word of truth in all you have said. He a man on whom you cannot rely! He has a heart of gold.”“I do not dispute the goodness of his heart. I have never put it to the proof.”“What a wicked insinuation! How dreadful it is to always believe the worst of everybody.”“Well, let it be so: he has a kind heart!... But is there any depth to him?”“As much as is necessary. This would be a sad world if we were always obliged to live with moody people like some one I know of. I really believe he is your beau ideal.”“I do not say that; but, if he is really what he appears to be, he merits my good opinion. I wish all I live with resembled him.”“Well done! A little more, and you will tell me he is the realization of all your dreams.”“I do not know him well enough to accord him all your words seem to imply.”“At all events, you know him well enough to take an interest in him, and much more than would suit your father.... Your cousin even was scandalized at your daring to defend him against your father, who had good reason to blame him.”“My cousin would do well to attend to his own affairs, and not meddle with mine. If he came here to watch me, sneer at me, and give me advice, he had better have remained in Paris.”“He came here hoping to find the friend of his childhood glad to see him, and ready to show him the affection he merits. Everybody does not judge him as severely as you do. I know many girls who....”“Who would be glad to marry him! Well, they may have him!”“That is too much! The son of my sister whom I love with all my heart! A child whom I brought up and love almost as much as I do you!”“But, mother, I am not displeased because you love him. I do not dislike him. I wish him well, and would do him all the good in my power. But when I make choice of a husband, I shall choose one with qualities Albert will never possess.”“I have suspected it for a long time. Yes; I thought long ago, seeing the turn your mind was taking, that, when you married, it would be foolishly.”“What do you mean by foolishly?”“Marrying a man without property, or one with eccentric notions,or some prosy creature of more or less sincerity. I am very much afraid you are infatuated about an individual who has all these defects combined. Fortunately.... You understand me....”“What, mother?”“Yes; we shall watch over your interests, your father and I, and if you are disposed to make a foolish match, like one that occurs to me, we shall know how to prevent it. We shall not hesitate if obliged to render you happy in spite of yourself.”“Render me happy?... At all events, it would not be by forcing me to marry Albert.”“Anyhow, you shall marry no one else.... It is I who say so, and your father will show you he is of my opinion.”Upon this, Mme. Smithson went out, violently shutting the door after her. Like all people of weak character, she must either yield or fall into a rage. It was beyond her ability to discuss or oppose anything calmly.It was all over! All her plans were overthrown! She must bid farewell to her dearest hopes! She must no longer think of retaining Albert and sending for his mother—for Mme. Smithson’s desires went as far as that! Her dream was to unite the two families by marrying Eugénie and Albert. Instead of that, what a perspective opened before her!—a marriage between her daughter and Louis, which roused all her antipathies at once! She was beside herself at the bare thought of seeing herself connected with a son-in-law she could not endure, and who was no less repulsive to Mr. Smithson.... Her maternal heart was kind when no one contradicted her, but there was in its depths, as often happens in weak natures, a dash of spitefulness. Having returned to her chamber, Mme. Smithson began to reflect. She seldom gave herself up to reflection, and then only when she was troubled, as is the case with some people. As might be supposed, she was too excited to reflect advantageously.“Oh! oh!” she said to herself, “Eugénie dares resist me the only time I ever asked her to obey! She despises Albert. She speaks scornfully of him! And that is not sufficient: she carries her audacity so far as to sing the praises of a man I detest!... See what it is to be indulgent to one’s children! The day comes when, for a mere caprice, they tread under foot what was dearest to you.... Well, since she will do nothing for me, I will do nothing for her.... She rejects Albert. I will have the other one driven away.... Since that meddler came, everything has gone wrong here.... What a nuisance that man is! If he had not come here, everything would have gone on as I wished.... I will go in search of my husband. It will be easy to have the engineer sent off, after committing so many blunders. When he is gone, we shall have to endure my daughter’s ill-humor, but everything comes to an end in this world. The time will come when, realizing her folly, Eugénie will listen to reason.”The interview between Mr. Smithson and his wife took place a little while after. What was said I never knew. Mme. Smithson alluded to it once or twice at a later day, but merely acknowledged she did very wrong. The remembrance was evidently painful, and she said no more.Eugénie at once foresaw this private interview between her parents. The conversation she had just hadwith her mother only served to enlighten her more fully as to the state of her feelings. Forced to express her opinion of Albert and Louis, she had spoken from her heart. She was herself in a measure astonished at seeing so clearly she did not love Albert—that there was a possibility of loving Louis—that perhaps she already loved him.... And she also comprehended more clearly all the difficulties such an attachment would meet with. Her mother’s opposition had hitherto been doubtful. It was now certain, and the consequence was to be feared.“My mother is so much offended,” she said to herself, “that she will try to unburden her mind to my father at once, and perhaps influence him against me. Before the day is over, she will tell him all I said, and the thousand inferences she has drawn from it. This interview fills me with alarm! I wish I knew what they will decide upon, if they come to any decision....”Eugénie tried in vain to get some light on the point, but was not able to obtain much. The interview took place. Mr. Smithson seemed vexed and thoughtful after his wife left the office. Mme. Smithson went directly to give the porter orders to send the engineer to her husband as soon as he arrived. Louis had sent word the evening before he should return the following day.TO BE CONTINUED.

MADAME AGNES.FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.CHAPTER XXII.THE ENEMY ON EITHER HAND.WhatI have just related took place in the month of August. I was at that time extremely anxious about Victor, but an unexpected improvement took place in his condition after Louis’ visit. Alas! he was never to rally again.Louis sent every morning for some time to know how his sick friend was, but he only came to see us once, and then merely for a few minutes. He only left St. M—— with regret. He seemed to feel that, in absenting himself, he left the field clear to his bold rival, as it was now evident he was, and at a time when an attack was threatened against what he cherished the most—the good work he had begun, and Eugénie’s affection. He did not, therefore, inform us at that time of all I have just related. On the contrary, we were left in a state of painful incertitude. But I had every detail at a later day, even the very thoughts of both parties, and from their own lips.However, Albert was not fitted to play the part of a man of gravity or that of a hypocrite for a long time. For that, more perseverance and ability than he had were required. A frivolous man like him may, by careful watch over himself, assume an appearance of thoughtfulness, but he will soon show himself in his true colors through weariness, or at an unguarded moment. He had hardly been in the house a fortnight before he unconsciously showed what he was at the bottom of his heart. He rose at a late hour, he resumed his habit of careful attention to his toilet, he lounged about from morning till night, conversing only of trivial things or discussing points he was ignorant of, and read romances of a doubtful character, which, so far from hiding, he left about in his room. Eugénie kept an eye open to all these things. She watched her cousin with the natural persistency she inherited from her father; she drew her own conclusions, and ended by treating him just as she used to do, like a spoiled child she loved because he was a relative, but would not, on any account, have for a husband. Albert tried now and then to resume his gravity; he went to church, and discussed the loftiest themes. Vain efforts! His uncle and cousin knew what to think of it all. Albert perceived it, and was inwardly furious.Mme. Smithson alone manifested an ever-increasing fondness for him. Her affection for his mother as well as himself, and her acknowledged but constant wish for Mr. Smithson’s property to come into the possession of her own family by the marriage of the two cousins, inclined her towards her nephew. But of what account was Mme. Smithson in the house? Very little. Albert was under no illusion on this point, and therefore had never attached much importance to his aunt’s support. For two or three days he exulted over the stratagem he had formed for awakening unfavorable sentiments in his cousin’s heart toward the engineer. But Eugénie’s suspicions could not last long without her seekingan explanation. Then all would be lost, for Albert felt that Louis did not love Madeleine. If, on the other hand, Eugénie was not in love with Louis, she would keep her conjectures to herself, and merely withdraw her favor from him.Albert’s affairs, therefore, had not in any respect taken the turn he hoped in the beginning. “What can be done? What can be done?” he said to himself. “I must devise some way of getting rid of this fellow who is disturbing my uncle and Eugénie’s peace of mind so much. Things must be brought to a crisis. If Louis were only dismissed, my cousin in her despair would accept me as her husband. My uncle would manifest no opposition out of regard for his wife, and because, after all, I should not be a troublesome son-in-law. At all events, I should have the satisfaction of routing a creature I detest. Whether Eugénie loves him or not, I can never, no, never suffer this artful man to marry her. If my coming only serves to drive him away, I shall be glad I came.”Such calculations were extremely base and dishonorable, but it must be remembered that Albert was devoid of piety, he coveted his cousin’s dowry, and his antipathy to Louis became stronger every day. People destitute of moral principle and religious faith hate those who possess the good qualities they lack themselves. Albert had tried in vain to blind himself with regard to Louis; but the more he studied him, the more clearly he saw he was incontestably a man of great depth, sincere piety, and uncommon energy. At first he doubted his worth, but he could question it no longer.Eugénie during this time was extremely sad and preoccupied, though no one would have suspected what was passing in the depths of her soul. The poor girl could no longer conceal it from herself: she loved Louis. But she was still uncertain as to his love for her. She even asked herself—and this was an additional torture—if he was worthy of the affection she bore him. You will not be astonished if I add that, romantic as Eugénie was, she was a woman to be driven in such a conjuncture to the very step Albert was aiming at. Only one thing was wanting to effect this—the necessity of withdrawing her esteem from Louis. In a noble nature like hers, it would have quenched her love and broken her very heart to despise the object of her affections.Affairs were in this condition when a new incident came to the aid of Albert’s schemes. Mr. Smithson, it will be well to recall, was not originally a manufacturer of paper. A dishonest broker, or one who lacked shrewdness, led him into a succession of unfortunate speculations. Repeated losses were the result. Mr. Smithson perceived his property was diminishing in an alarming manner. He at once settled up his affairs, and, by the advice of Louis’ father, bought the mill at St. M——, the proprietor of which had just died. This was in every respect an advantageous investment: First, it withdrew him from the arena of stock speculations, where fortune, conscience, and honor are daily risked; in the next place, the mill he purchased brought in a fine income. But it was no small affair to conduct such an enterprise, employing as it did five or six hundred workmen.Mr. Smithson’s predecessor, a man perfectly familiar with the business, directed the establishment himself. Everything went on prosperously, and Mr. Smithson wishedto imitate him. In a few months, he saw he was going wrong. The workmen were indolent, the machinery deteriorated, everything was going to ruin. It is not sufficient to be methodical, intelligent, and energetic, in order to conduct a manufacturing concern; a man must have a special knowledge of mechanics and a faculty of adaptation which Mr. Smithson did not possess. He became conscious of this, and resolved to obtain a book-keeper of probity and intelligence to keep his accounts, and an engineer equally versed in his business. They were both soon found, but the book-keeper alone proved suitable. The engineer had practical knowledge enough, but was deficient in energy. The workmen and overseers soon perceived it, and profited by it to do less and less. The engineer was discharged and Louis chosen to fill his place.From the time of Louis’ arrival, the aspect of everything changed. The workmen felt they now had a superintendent to deal with that was inflexible but just. The overseers alone were inclined to resist his authority. They were sharply reprimanded, and the most mutinous discharged. Mr. Smithson, warned by his previous experience, seconded Louis with all the weight of his authority. He gave him absolute control of the manufactory when he was absent, and never failed to come to his support whenever Louis found severe measures necessary.All this did not take place, it may well be supposed, without exciting some murmurs and secret rancor. Among the foremost of those most dissatisfied with this necessary rigor was an overseer by the name of Durand, who came to the mill some months before Louis. He was a man of about forty years of age, of lofty stature, a sombre face expressive of energy, and grave and fluent of speech. He came provided with the best recommendations, but it was afterwards learned they were forged. This man succeeded both in intimidating the engineer who preceded Louis, and acquiring his favor. Half through fear, and half weakness, he allowed Durand to assume an authority he abused in many ways. When Louis replaced this weak man so afraid of Durand, there was more than one contest between him and the overseer. Their last altercation had been very violent. Durand insulted the engineer before all the workmen, and in so bold a manner that Mr. Smithson, informed of what had taken place, at once discharged him. Rather than give up his situation, Durand submitted to the humiliation of begging Louis’ pardon. Notwithstanding this, he was merely kept on sufferance, though he was well paid, for he was clever in his way, and in one sense a model overseer: no one kept better discipline.Astonishing as it may seem, when Louis instituted the evening-school, Durand was the first to offer his assistance, and was appointed monitor. One thing, however, tried Louis: his monitor, always polite and respectful to his face, was in the habit of whispering behind his back, as if secretly conniving with the men. But nothing occurred to justify his suspicions, and Louis at length ceased to attach any importance to the overseer’s strange ways. When the night-school closed, about half-past eight, Durand went away a little before Louis to finish the evening at the St. M—— café, which was greatly frequented by the inhabitants of the place. There he gambled and harangued at his ease, and acquired the reputation of being the ablesttalker in the country around. As to his political opinions, they were not positively known. He was suspected of being a demagogue, and even an ultra one, but there was no proof of it. He was less secret about his religious belief. He called himself a Protestant, and a thorough one.Meanwhile, Albert began to find the life he was leading at his uncle’s wearisome and monotonous. The evenings especially seemed interminable. Mr. Smithson read, Mme. Smithson was absorbed in her tapestry, and Eugénie played on the piano. Albert did not know what to do with himself. He did not dare have recourse to a novel; conversation with his aunt was not very enlivening; and, if he addressed himself to Eugénie, she showed so much skill in embarrassing him on every subject that he avoided the occasion of appearing to so much disadvantage. Besides, Eugénie’s superiority irritated him. Had it not been for her fortune, which he found more and more attractive, and her beauty, to which he could not remain insensible, he would at once have given up all thoughts of marrying her. But her property on the one hand, and her beauty on the other, deterred him. However, with his frivolous mind, he soon found it intolerable to be confined to his cousin’s society every evening, even for the purpose of paying court to her. One night, it suddenly occurred to him to go to the café, and after that he went there regularly after dinner to pass an hour. He was welcomed very cordially, especially by Durand, who at once made every effort to win his favor. The wily overseer was so profuse in respectful attentions that in a few evenings they were friends. Durand, with his uncommon penetration, soon discovered from some indiscreet words Albert dropped what was troubling his shallow mind. He could see he was desirous of marrying his cousin, and so suspicious of Louis that he detested him and asked for nothing better than to see him dismissed. Durand at once resolved to gain Albert’s friendship and profit by it to involve Louis in some inextricable embarrassment. He was determined to have his revenge at whatever cost, but it was necessary to proceed with caution. He began by sounding Albert to make sure of his antipathy to Louis, that he really wished for his dismissal, and if he cared what means were employed provided the end was attained.Durand gave himself no rest till he was sure of all this—a certitude he acquired the day when Albert, impatient at the unfavorable progress of his affairs, resolved to bring things to a sudden crisis by having Louis dismissed, if possible. The overseer waited till Albert left the café, and then proposed he should accompany him to the manufactory, where he lodged.“Willingly, my good fellow,” said Albert. It was a fine evening in the month of September. They set off together by the road that ran along the river half-hidden among trees, through which the moon diffused its purest radiance.“We do not see you any more at the mill,” said Durand. “I daresay I could guess why you have stopped visiting the school.... Would there be any indiscretion in telling you the reason that has occurred to me?”“Not the least in the world.”“Well, then, if I am not mistaken, there is some one at the mill not exactly to your liking.... Yes, somebody keeps you away....”“That may be.”“Ah! I am no fool. I think I have found out the cause of our beingdeprived of your visits. It must have been something serious. See if I haven’t some wit left.... The person you dislike is M. Louis, is it not?”“You are right, my friend,” replied Albert, patting Durand on the shoulder in a familiar manner.“There are others who do not like him any better than you.”“Not you? You are his assistant at the school, and seem on the best of terms with him.”“Seem?Yes, I seem; but to seem and be are sometimes very different things. Listen: the very instant I saw you—excuse my frankness—you inspired me with so much confidence that, faith, I feel inclined to tell you all that is on my mind. It would do me good.”“Do not be afraid of my betraying you,mon cher; speak to me as a friend.”“O monsieur! you are too kind. Well, since you allow me, I tell you plainly I do not like that man; no, not at all.”“He has been insolent and overbearing towards you, I know.”“If that were all, I could forgive him. But it is not a question of myself. I dislike, I detest him for another reason. Whoever likes Mr. Smithson cannot like the engineer, as I can convince anybody who wishes it.”“Explain yourself; I do not exactly understand you.”“Well—but swear you will never repeat what I am going to say.”“I give you my word, which I never break.”“Well, then, this M. Louis is a Tartuffe—a Jesuit; such men are dangerous. Woe to the houses they enter! He has wasted all his property, we know how! It is a shame!... Then he artfully obtained a place in your uncle’s mill, where he has assumed more and more authority; he tries to influence the minds of the workmen; he ... wishes to marry your cousin....Parbleu!I may as well say aloud what everybody is saying in secret.”“Do they say that, Durand?”“Yes, that is the report. But his art and hypocrisy are in vain. More than one of us understand his projects.... And let me assure you we tremble lest he succeed! There will be fine doings when the mill passes into the hands of this Jesuit, who will spend all of Mr. Smithson’s property, and prepare him a pitiful old age. Do you see now why I cannot endure that man? Oh! if I were master I would soon set him a-flying.... But I am not the master, ... it is he who is likely to be. If somebody could only get him dismissed!”“Yes, yes,” said Albert, in a conceited tone. “There is some truth in what you say—a great deal, in fact.... Since I have been here, I have watched and studied his movements, and agree with you that it was rather an unlucky day for my uncle when he admitted this intriguer into his house. His schemes make me anxious.”“Is there no way of defeating them?”“It would be no easy matter.”“Come, now! As if you, Mr. Smithson’s nephew; you who have more learning than all of us put together—who have more wit than I, though I am no fool—as if you could not send him adrift if you wished to!... You could never make me believe that.”“What can I do? I certainly ask for nothing better than to get him into some difficulty; but how? He performs his duties with exasperating fidelity.”“Oh! it is not on that score youmust attack him; he is too cunning to be at fault there.”“Well, if he is not at fault, do you wish me to make him out so?”“Precisely. That is what must be done. See here, M. Albert, as you know of no way, I will tell you an idea that has come into my head; for I have been a long time contriving some means of driving that man away. But I must first warn you not to take my plan for more than it is worth. If it is not a good one, we will try to discover a better one.”“Let us hear it.”“We have an Englishman at the mill who tells me he does not intend to remain. This man has been to the evening-school several times. M. Louis has lent him religious books.... Can’t you guess what I am at?”“No.”“Well, this is my plan. The man I refer to and I are linked together. It would be a long story to tell how and why. If I should go to him—to-morrow, for instance—and say: ‘Adams, I know you intend leaving St. M——. Will you do your friend a favor before you go? Rid me of that engineer. I do not mean for you to kill him or do him any harm: we are neither of us murderers. I simply propose you should play him some trick, as they call it. You are on good terms with him: he lends you books. Go and tell him you have come to consult him about some doubts on the subject of religion. Beg him to enlighten you. Ask for some controversial works, and cautiously insinuate the possibility of abjuring your religion. You will naturally be open in your projects. You will even talk of them with an air of profound conviction. This will cause some noise. I shall then take hold of it. In case of necessity, I shall have a violent dispute with the engineer, which of course will oblige Mr. Smithson to interfere.’ I know he is not disposed to jest about such matters. Once the affair is brought before him, the engineer is lost. I will not give him a week to remain at the mill after that.... Such is my idea; what do you think of it?”“Durand, you are a genius. Your plan is admirable. The moment my uncle finds the engineer is trying to propagate his religion, he is lost, as you say. You must put your project into execution without any delay.”“I am glad to see you approve of it, not only because it flatters my self-love, but because it makes me more hopeful of success. I should be better satisfied, however, if you would promise to help us in case you are needed.... We are not sure of succeeding in our plan. The engineer is cunning, and Mr. Smithson’s way of acting is not always easy to foresee. And if we should fail—if I get into difficulty!...”“I promise to stand by you. Rest assured I shall not be backward in trying my utmost to influence my uncle against him. This will be easy, for he already distrusts the engineer. Nevertheless, admonish your friend to be extremely cautious. No one must have the slightest suspicion of the scheme. Success then would be impossible.”“Adams does not lack wit. He will know how to manage. But one thing alarms me, and will him. If his conversion were to offend Mr. Smithson to such a degree as to cause his dismissal in disgrace! Where could he go without recommendations?”“Why, how simple you are! All this can be turned to his advantage. As soon as he sees my uncle irritated, he must ask for a private interview,consult him as to his belief, and pretend to yield to his arguments. He must end by avowing his determination to remain a Protestant, and declaring he had been led away by the engineer. The result is evident.”“You are sharper than I. I did not think of that. Your idea makes everything safe, and settles the matter.”“And when shall the first shot be fired?”“To-morrow.”“But one question more.... It would be vexatious if the engineer refused the bait and sent Adams a-walking.”“No danger of that. The engineer is a genuine fanatic. I am sure of that, and I have had an opportunity of judging.”While thus conversing, our two conspirators had nearly reached the mill. They separated without being seen. Albert was radiant. As he retired, he said to himself: “Why did I not think of this scheme myself?... It is so simple, and cannot fail! A saint like the engineer will risk everything to gain a soul.... And yet, if he should be afraid, as Durand said; if he is only a Catholic outwardly!... That would be embarrassing! Strange! for once, I hope the fellow is sincere!...”The following morning, Durand took a private opportunity of giving his associate his instructions, and that night Adams begged Louis to grant him an interview in his room after school.The interview took place. Durand had only told the truth: Adams was an artful fellow—one of those men who conceal uncommon duplicity under the appearance of perfect candor. He had been Durand’s tool for a long time. The latter had rendered him more than one service, and employed him in numerous fraudulent transactions, which he generously rewarded him for. Durand lent money upon pledge to workmen in difficulty. He unlawfully appropriated a thousand small objects in the manufactory, and had them sold. His assistant in this dishonest traffic, his man of business, as he called him, was Adams, who was well paid, as may be supposed.The Englishman, cunning as he was, had some difficulty in persuading Louis he was serious in his intention of abjuring his religion. But he dwelt on his doubts with such apparent sincerity, he manifested so strong a desire to be rescued from error, if he was in error, that Louis immediately proposed he should consult thecuré. Adams pretended thecuréintimidated him; he was more at his ease with Louis, and could talk to him with perfect openness of heart. “If I have to go to thecuré” said he, “well, then, I shall defer it. I do not wish to expose myself to observations that would not fail to be made. After all, monsieur,” he added, “I am only in doubt. I am not yet convinced of being in error. When I see clearly I am, oh! then I will no longer conceal my sentiments. But meanwhile, I do not wish everybody to know what is passing in my soul.”These plausible statements banished Louis’ suspicions. He received the young man in his room several evenings in succession. He lent him a small book, easy of comprehension, that contained a thorough refutation of Protestantism. Poor Louis! he behaved with genuine heroism on this occasion. From the first he foresaw all the trouble such an affair was likely to cause him. He did not deceive himself as to the result of this abjuration. He had animmediate presentiment of Mr. Smithson’s anger, and the difficult, nay, intolerable position he would be in if this conversion took place. No matter, he would brave everything rather than neglect his duty as a Christian, which obliged him to point out the true religion to all who sought it.He was also preoccupied at this time by the remembrance of what had taken place at Vinceneau’s, and suffered from the coolness Eugénie manifested towards him. He saw he was kept more at a distance than ever by Mr. Smithson, who looked upon him as a dangerous man. Louis’ situation, it must be confessed, was distressing. He would have given much to have at least one consoling word from the lips of her whom he loved, and before whom he saw he had been calumniated. This unhoped-for happiness was at last granted him under peculiar circumstances. Louis had just been to see the Vinceneau family, which was in a worse plight than ever. The father had taken to drink with fresh madness, and the mother had a fit of indolence that kept her away from the mill. Madeleine alone worked for the whole family. Louis had been there to reason with the mother, who gave him the worst possible reception. He tried to encourage the daughter, but without success. Madeleine had also, to some degree, the family weakness—a lack of energy of character.Louis had come away unusually dejected. On his way back to the manufactory, while dwelling, first on these unfortunate people, then on Adams, who that very day had spoken of soon abjuring his religion, and finally on Victor, about whom he had just received the most alarming intelligence, he met Eugénie face to face. She turned pale at seeing him, and replied to his greeting with extreme coldness as she kept on....Louis’ sadness redoubled. He took a sudden resolution. “I must justify myself,” he said, ... and, intimidated as he was—the man who loves with a pure affection is always timid—he stopped and turned back.“Mademoiselle,” said he, addressing Eugénie, “I have a favor to ask.”“What is it, monsieur?”“Among the poor families I am interested in is one I have never spoken to you about.”“You are under no obligation, monsieur, to inform me of all the families you visit.”“I know it, mademoiselle; but, as I am not ashamed of any of the places I go to, I have no interest in concealing them. If I have not heretofore spoken of this family, it was for a special reason. These people, of the name of Vinceneau, were recommended to me by old Françoise. She took the liveliest interest in one of the members of the household—a girl by the name of Madeleine. She feared lest poverty and her parents’ bad example might be a source of danger to one of her age. Madeleine is irreproachable in her conduct, but weak in character, like her father and mother. Françoise made me promise to watch over her. She would have begged this favor of you, mademoiselle, had not a special reason prevented her. She knew Madeleine’s parents were envious, and regarded the rich with an evil eye. She feared exposing you to impertinence if she brought you in contact with them. Consequently, she recommended them to me. Madeleine has told me of your call at the house. Your kindness touched the mother. As to the father, hisshameful passion for drink has brutalized him.”Eugénie listened with undisguised interest, and softened as Louis continued. When he had finished, she said: “What do you wish me to do? to show some interest in them?”“It would be a very timely act of charity. The mother has not done any work for several days, the father is gone from morning till night, and the daughter is discouraged. You can rouse her courage much better than I. And allow me to say, mademoiselle, that the difficulties that once might have hindered you being removed, this work, for many reasons, is much more suitable for you than for me.”“I will go to see them.”“Thank you, mademoiselle,” replied Louis. “I am overwhelmed with cares and occupations, and give the family up to you with pleasure.”“Do you not mean to visit them any more?”“I have a great mind not to.”“Why not?”“It is a delicate subject, but I think the less I go there, the better.”“I understand you, ... but still I do not think you are right.Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra,[196]is my motto. Is it not yours?”“It would be, mademoiselle, if the world were not so malicious. As it is, people even of the best intentions cannot take too many precautions. I confess there is nothing I dread more than calumny. It always does injury, and it is hard to feel we are losing the esteem of those whose good opinion we desire the most.”“People who allow themselves to be influenced by calumny cannot have much character.”“Do you think so, mademoiselle?”“I am sure of it. Before doubting a person I have once esteemed, I wait till their acts openly condemn them. If I have the misfortune to despise them then, it is because they force me to do so.”These words were uttered in a significant tone. Eugénie then left Louis abruptly with a gracious and dignified salutation.Louis stood looking at her as she went away, admiring her slender form and the exquisite distinction of her whole person. This sudden meeting with her seemed like one of those glimpses of the sun that sometimes occur in the midst of the most violent storms. He thanked God; he felt happy at her indirect assurance that she still regarded him with esteem. He asked himself if she did not love him. He did not dare believe it, but was almost ready to do so. One fear alone remained in all its strength—the fear of incurring Mr. Smithson’s anger by co-operating in the conversion of Adams.Ah! if Louis had not been heartily devoted to his faith, how soon he would have despatched this troublesome neophyte! But, no; he ought not, he could not. He consoled himself by repeating Eugénie’s words, which had struck him in a peculiar manner:Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra.... “Well,” thought he, “what I ought to do is to enlighten those who seek the truth.... I yield to a sense of duty. Eugénie is a Catholic as well as I, and cannot help approving of my course. If Mr. Smithson is displeased, his daughter, to be consistent with her principles, must confess that I am right.”As Louis entered his room, a note was given him from me, imploring him to come to us as soon as possible.CHAPTER XXIII.VICTOR’S DEATH.—PLOTS AGAINST LOUIS.For ten long months, Victor had suffered from a terrible malady that never lets go. Every remedy had been tried in vain. His disease was phthisis of a peculiar kind and of the most alarming character. The two physicians we consulted could only reply when their patient insisted on knowing the truth: “Your illness is of an extremely serious nature; but you are young, and at your age nature often finds unexpected resources in a time of danger.”It was impossible to cure him. They could only prolong his life, and this was the aim of the physicians. By dint of care, they succeeded in keeping him alive till the beginning of September. Then the disease, whose ravages we had not realized, suddenly came to a crisis. Throughout the whole course of his sufferings, I had, in spite of everything, cherished a secret hope in the depths of my heart. When one of those favorable turns came peculiar to such complaints, I flattered myself that he would get well, and abandoned myself to a foolish joy. This joy, so natural, and yet so unreasonable, gave Victor pain. He endeavored to moderate it in a thousand ingenious and delicate ways. He himself was never under any illusion. His illness was fatal: he knew it, and calmly prepared himself for what he called the great journey. He was greatly afflicted to see I was not, like himself, preparing for our separation, the thought of which became more painful in proportion to the horror with which I regarded it. He tried to banish all my false hopes, but his efforts were in vain. I clung to them without owning it. I only gave them up at the time I have arrived at in my sad story. Then I began to realize the frightful truth, and, as I saw his alarming symptoms increase, I thought I should die.Victor at length succeeded in restoring somewhat of calmness to my soul. With a strength of mind that increased in proportion to the nearness of that awful moment, he made his final preparations. He gave himself up to the contemplation of eternal things. His friend, the good Abbé Merlin, administered the last consolations of religion. Louis received them with a faith that edified every one, and a joy that showed how he had profited by his illness to prepare for heaven. He was already there in spirit, and longed to be there in reality. This touched me, and I confess, to my great shame, I reproached him in my excessive grief with some expressions of bitterness. This was the last sorrow I caused my poor husband. Such reproaches could only come from a selfish soul. I now blush at the remembrance.All these necessary steps having been taken, Victor told me I must send for Louis. As you know, he received my note in the evening. That very night he arrived. It was high time. We all three passed the night together talking, praying, and weeping by turns. Victor consoled us. He even forced himself to express anxiety as to Louis’ affairs. The latter spoke of them very unwillingly, for his grief overpowered his sense of love. When Victor learned the trials he was undergoing, he said:“My friend, I fear they are contriving some new plot against you. Eugénie loves you; there is no doubt of that in my mind; but does she love you well enough to withstandall the difficulties that are rising up around you? I know not. If, with her knowledge of you, she allows herself to be influenced by people of evil intentions, it seems to me you will have a right to judge her severely.”“Even then I could not,” said Louis.“Your answer does not surprise me. It proves I was right in my impressions. You love her as much as a good man ought to love. You even love her too well; for I believe your affection would render you insensible to the truth rather than blame the object of your love.”“That is true.”“I cannot approve of that. It is not right. There is only one thing, there is only one Being, a noble and well-balanced soul, a soul thoroughly imbued with piety, allows itself to love above all things—that thing is truth, that Being is God. Believe me, if Eugénie allows herself to be alienated from you, it will be a proof she has not the worth you give her credit for, and also that it is not the will of God she should become your wife. Well, I will not oppose the indulgence you feel towards her. I consent to it. Say to yourself she has been deceived, that she is innocent, but submit to the divine will. Do not attempt impossibilities to link together the chain God himself breaks, however dear she may be to you.”Victor seemed to have recalled all the energy of his manly nature to utter these words. His firmness and judicious counsel were not lost on Louis.“I will follow your advice,” said he; “but promise to pray this sorrow may be spared me. God has endowed the one I love with a soul so elevated that it would be easy to make her as pious as an angel.... And I love her so much!”“My poor friend! I do not know that I shall be permitted to pray at once for you in yonder world. If I can, I will pray God you may be united with her, if this union will render you happy—happy, understand me, in the Christian sense of the word; that is to say, happy and better, both of you.”In the middle of the night, Victor requested me to go into the next chamber for some papers he wanted. He availed himself of this opportunity to recommend me to Louis’ care, as I afterwards learned.“Agnes,” said he, “has exhausted her strength in taking care of me so many months. Her physical and mental strength are now merely factitious. It is the very excess of her grief that sustains her. As soon as I am gone, she will be sensible of her weakness. I fear the reaction may prove fatal to her. I implore you to take her and her mother to some place near you in the country. Find them a temporary residence that is healthy and pleasant. Change of scene and pure country air will do her more good than anything else, especially if you add the benefit of your efforts to console her, on which I depend.”Louis made the required promise.... But these recollections are still too painful. Alas! they will always be so. You will excuse me from dwelling on them.The next day, I lost the companion of my life. That pure soul, so full of intelligence, sweetness, and energy, took flight for heaven, leaving me for ever sad and desolate upon earth.... Oh! how happy are those women who to the very hour of death are permitted by God to retain the companionship of a husband tenderly loved, and worthy of being so!...The first moments of overpowering grief had scarcely passed beforethat which Victor had foreseen took place. All at once I lost my apparent strength. I was weighed down with a dull despair. My poor mother trembled for my life. Throughout the day I sat motionless in an arm-chair, interested in no person or subject. My lips alone made an effort from time to time to murmur the words at once so bitter and so sweet: “O Lord! thou gavest him to me; thou hast taken him away; thy will be done!” That was my only prayer. I repeated it from morning till night. Thus lifting my soul heavenward, I found strength to resist the temptation to rebel which constantly assailed me.During that sad time, Louis’ sister joined him in unceasing attentions to me. Louis gave himself entirely up to my service, and notified Mr. Smithson he should be absent several days longer from the manufactory. You can realize how generous this was in him. To absent himself at a time his dearest interests were at stake, and leave the field clear for his enemies, was making an heroic sacrifice to friendship. It was not till a subsequent period I fully appreciated it. At that time, I was wholly absorbed in myself. Extreme grief becomes a kind of passion, and, like all passions, it renders us selfish.When Louis at last saw me a little calmer, he told me of Victor’s wish. “His last request was,” said he, “that you should go into the country awhile with your mother. The air is purer there, and you will regain your strength.”I exclaimed against the proposition. I declared I would not leave the house in which Victor died—where everything recalled his presence. Louis insisted, urged on by the physicians, who declared the change indispensable.“Victor himself implores you through me to consent,” said he. “Remember you will be still obeying him in so doing.”I ended by yielding to their persuasions. “But where shall I go?” said I.“To St. M——, where you will be near me. My sister went there yesterday, and found you pleasant lodgings. You can easily go that far with your mother and sister.”We went there the next day. It was Louis who made all the arrangements, and with how much solicitude and affection I need not say. At length he left us to resume his duties at the mill. The last favor I begged of him was to come and see me often, but not to mention to any one the place of my retirement. Like all who are in real affliction, solitude alone pleased me. The first time for a week, Louis’ thoughts, after leaving me, recurred to the subjects that had absorbed his mind previous to Victor’s death. He began to be alarmed. He wondered if Eugénie had not forgotten him, if she really loved him, if Mr. Smithson was disposed to regard him with more or with less favor, and if Albert had not profited by his absence to injure him in the estimation of Eugénie’s family. But he could only form conjectures as to all this.Now that these events have passed away, I can seize all the details at a glance. I shall therefore tell you many things Louis was necessarily ignorant of when he returned to the manufactory. He would have trembled had he been aware of them. He had scarcely left his post in order to be with Victor during his last moments, when his enemies, thinking the time propitious, resolved to profit by his absence to effect his ruin. They all set to work at once.The deceitful Adams, who had sought to be enlightened as to his religious doubts, went around telling everybody the engineer had convinced him of the falseness of his religion, which he resolved to abjure, and only waited for Louis’ return. People began by laughing at what he said. They had no great opinion of the fellow. They suspected his connection with Durand, who was regarded with fear. Some even thought it was all a trick. But Adams returned to the charge; he spoke with an air of conviction, he seemed changed. To carry out the scheme, he apparently broke off with his former friend, Durand.All these things were repeated from one to another till they reached Mr. Smithson’s ears. He had been obliged to superintend the workmen during Louis’ absence from the manufactory. Already inclined to be suspicious of the engineer, and ignorant of the ties that bound him to Victor, Mr. Smithson interiorly accused him of first manifesting an ultra, I may say, fanatical zeal, and then falling into an indifference and carelessness unworthy of a consistent man. “Because one of his friends is ill,” he said, “is that a sufficient reason for abandoning his post, leaving me overwhelmed with work, and interrupting the school he had begun?... And all this without making any arrangement beforehand!... The man is inconsistent!”Mr. Smithson was therefore unfavorably disposed towards Louis, when, to complete his dissatisfaction, came the news, at first doubtful, then certain, of Adams’ intended abjuration. He became so angry that he could not contain himself, though generally so capable of self-control. The interests of his national religion were at stake. He at once became furious, and made no effort to conceal it.Mme. Smithson and Albert of course took Mr. Smithson’s part against Louis. He was berated as a man of no discretion, deceitful, fanatical, and a Jesuit in disguise. Mme. Smithson was one of those people who boldly say: “I don’t think much of a person who changes his religion!” As if it were not merely reasonable for a man to give up error for truth when the truth is revealed to him. Albert was influenced by motives you are already aware of. He was triumphant. He had never expected such success from so simple a trick. Circumstances had indeed favored him but too well. Seeing Mr. Smithson in such a frame of mind, he had no doubts of his dismissing Louis as soon as he returned.But his joy was strangely diminished by an unexpected incident. They were discussing the affair one evening in thesalon. “Excuse me, father,” said Eugénie, “for meddling with what does not concern me, but you know I always was the advocate of a bad cause.”Every one looked up at this unexpected interruption. Eugénie was not a woman to be intimidated when she foresaw opposition: rather, the contrary. She continued, without being troubled in the least: “I find a great many are disposed to attack M. Louis, but no one thinks of defending him. It were to be wished some one would be his defender, though I do not say his conduct is irreproachable.”“Very far from that,” said Mr. Smithson.“But if he is not innocent, is he as culpable as he may have appeared? What is he accused of? He has been absent several days from the mill. This adds greatly to yourlabors, my dear father, but his absence is justifiable to a certain degree. Do you know M. Louis’ history?”“As well as you, I suppose, child.”“Perhaps not.”“Has he related it to you?”“No; Fanny took pains to do that. Fanny is at once curious and a gossip.”“My cousin is very severe towards so devoted a servant. Is she indulgent only to the culpable?”This ill-timed interruption gave Eugénie a glimpse of light. “There is an understanding between them,” she said to herself, “and that explains many things.” She continued, addressing her father: “M. Louis made an attempt at his own life. He was drowning, when a brave man and an invalid—M. Barnier—at the risk of his own life, threw himself into the river, and saved him. This was the origin of their friendship, which does honor to M. Louis and to the person so devoted to him. This M. Barnier is dying to-day.”“Who told you so, my child?” asked Mr. Smithson.“The newspapers from town allude to it. M. Barnier is a well-known man, and esteemed by his very enemies themselves. It is to be with him M. Louis is gone. Does not such a motive justify his absence?”Mr. Smithson had attentively listened to what his daughter said. If we except what related to religious subjects, he was an impartial and even kindly disposed man. “With such a reason for his absence,” he replied, “I shall cease to regard it as inexcusable. Nevertheless, he ought to have made me aware of what had taken place. He simply said he was going to stay with a sick friend: that was not a sufficient explanation. What I dislike in the man is his dissimulation.”“I acknowledge there may be some reason for distrust,” resumed Eugénie, “but he has given no proofs of duplicity since he came here that I am aware of. He certainly has done nothing without consulting you, father.”“He did, to be sure, propose several things he wished to do; but did he reveal his real aim, his ultimate object?”“Had he any?”“Had he any?... The Adams affair proves it. The evening-school and the library were only founded to propagate Catholicism.”“With what object?”“The aim of these enthusiasts is always the same. They wish to impart their belief to others, that they may afterwards exercise authority over their disciples. Louis and thecuréare linked together. Their project is to make my manufactory like a convent, where they can reign in spite of me. But I will settle that matter.”“And you will do right, uncle,” said Albert. “There is no tyranny more artful and more encroaching than that of the priesthood.”“I did not know my cousin detested the clergy to such a degree,” said Eugénie, with an air of mockery and disdain which convinced Albert he had made a fresh blunder. “I thought, on the contrary, you had a sincere respect for priests. It seems I was deceived....”“Enough on this point,” said Mr. Smithson. “I will see Adams, and learn from him what has occurred. And I will speak to the engineer accordingly when he returns.”This conversation took place in the evening. Mme. Smithson was present. She did not speak, but was extremely irritated. Eugénielittle thought she had caused her mother as great an affliction as she had ever experienced in her life. For ten, perhaps fifteen, years, Mme. Smithson had clung to the idea of a match between her daughter and nephew. She had taken comfort in the thought of uniting the two beings she loved best on earth. Besides, it was a good way, and the only one in her power, of securing to Albert a fortune he had need of; for the career he had embraced, and the tastes he had imbibed, made it necessary he should be wealthy, which was by no means the case. This plan till lately had been confined to Mme. Smithson’s own breast; but, since Albert’s arrival, she had ventured to allude to it in her conversations with him. The latter responded with enthusiastic gratitude, expressing an ardent desire to have the proposed union realized. Alas! from the beginning there had been one difficulty which fretted Mme. Smithson. Would her husband approve of her scheme? As Albert approached manhood, this consent became more and more doubtful. Mr. Smithson treated his nephew kindly, but had no great opinion of him, and did not like him. How overcome this obstacle? There was only one way: Eugénie herself must desire the marriage. Mr. Smithson never opposed his daughter, and would then overlook his antipathy to the object of her choice. Things were having a very different tendency. Mme. Smithson had long tried to hide the fact from herself, but she must at last acknowledge it: Eugénie manifested no partiality for her cousin. This evening’s occurrence banished all illusion. She not only saw Eugénie had not the least thought of marrying Albert, but she suspected her of loving another, ... a man Mme. Smithson could no longer endure. He had in her eyes three faults, any one of which would have set her against him: he was her dear nephew’s rival, he had no property, and he was grave and pious to a degree that could not fail to be repulsive to a trivial woman and a half-way Christian like her. To complete her despair, Albert came secretly to see her that very same evening.“Aunt,” said he, “our affairs are getting on badly!... Confess that I had more penetration than you were willing to allow.”“What! what! what do you mean? Do you think Eugénie loves that spendthrift, that bigot?... Nonsense! she only wishes to tease you.”“I am of a different opinion. I have long been aware of her fancy for him. What she said in his favor this evening was very judicious and moderate, but there was in the tone of her voice, ... in her look, a something I could not mistake. For the first time, she betrayed her feelings. I tell you she loves him!”“Why, that would be dreadful!”“I foresaw it.”“Foresaw!—such a thing?”“Eugénie is romantic, and the rogue puts on the air of a hero of romance.”“Set your heart at rest, Albert. I promise to watch over your interests. I assure you, in case of need, I will bring your uncle himself to your aid.”“I will talk to Eugénie to-morrow morning,” she said to herself. “I shall never believe in such presumption till she confesses it herself.”The next morning, Mme. Smithson went, full of anxiety, to her daughter’s chamber. Eugénie was that very moment thinking of Louis. The more she examined her own heart, the more clearly she saw herself forced to acknowledge her esteemfor him. She had inwardly condemned him many times, but had as often found her suspicions were groundless. Without showing the least partiality for Louis, she could not help seeing he was intelligent, energetic, and sincerely pious. She even acknowledged that, of all the men she had ever met, not one was to be compared to him; he was superior to them all in every respect. From this, it was not a long step to confess him worthy of her affection. But he—did he love her?... Not a word, not a sign, had escaped him to indicate such a thing, and yet there was in his bearing towards her, in the tone of his voice, and in the value he attached to her good opinion, a something that assured her she had made a profound impression on him. But, then, why this coldness so rigorously maintained?... He was poor—and through his own fault—while she was rich. His coldness perhaps resulted from extreme delicacy.Eugénie cut short her reflections by repeating: “Does he love me?... It may be. Do I love him?... I dare not say no. But we are in a peculiar position. If I find him, at the end of the account, worthy of being my husband, doubtless I should have to make the advances! But I like originality in everything. My father alone excites my fears. M. Louis would not be his choice. Why does he show himself so zealous a Catholic at present? Why not wait till he is married—if married we ever are? Then he could be as devoted to the church as he pleases.”Mme. Smithson was hardly to be recognized when she entered her daughter’s room. She was generally affable and smiling, but now her face was lowering and agitated. She was evidently very nervous, as was usually the case when she had some disagreeable communication to make to her daughter. Eugénie at once divined what was passing in her mother’s heart. She was careful, however, not to aid her in unburdening herself.After speaking of several things of no importance, Mme. Smithson assumed an unconcerned air—a sign of her extreme embarrassment—and broached the subject with a boldness peculiar to timid people when they see there is no way of receding.“I must confess that was a strange notion of yours last evening.”“What notion do you refer to, mother?” said Eugénie, in a tone at once dignified and ingenuous. She felt the storm was coming. As usual on such occasions, she laid aside the familiarthoufor the respectfulyou. There was a spice of mischief in her tactics which I do not intend to applaud. She thus redoubled her mother’s embarrassment, and by the politeness of her manner increased her hesitation.“What notion do I refer to?... You need not ask that. You know well enough what I allude to.... Yes; why should you, without any obligation, set yourself up to defend a man who is no relation of ours or even one of our friends, but a mere employé of your father’s; one who suits him certainly, but who is likely to cause trouble in the house; ... who is, in short, a dangerous man?...”“You astonish me to the last degree, mother! I never, no, never should have suspected M. Louis of dangerous designs, or that he even had the power to disturb us.”“Raillery, my dear, is in this case quite out of place. What secret motive have you for undertaking his defence?”“I? I have none. What motive could I have?”“Then, why take sides against us?”“Why, I have not taken sides against you!”“How can you deny it?”“I do deny it, mother, with your permission. My father imputed intentions to M. Louis which perhaps he never had. I merely observed it would be more just to wait for proofs before condemning him. That is all, and a very small affair.”“Wait for proofs before condemning him, do you say?... Well, he has them. Adams has confessed everything.... He acknowledges that M. Louis endeavored to convert him, lent him books, taught him the catechism, and, what was worse, dwelt a great deal on hell as a place he could not fail to go to if he, Adams, remained a Protestant. The poor fellow has not recovered from his terror yet!... Your father has talked to him very kindly, given him good advice, mingled with kind reproaches. Adams was affected, and ended by saying he never wished to see M. Louis again; and he did a lucky thing!”“It seems to me that Adams is either a simpleton or a hypocrite.”“Eugénie, that is altogether too much!”“I do not see anything very astonishing in what I have said. Please listen to me a moment, mother. To hesitate between two creeds, without being able to decide on either, seems to me a proof of weakness. But if, on the contrary, Adams invented this story of his conversion in order to yield at a favorable moment and gain the good-will of my father more than ever, would not this show a duplicity and artfulness that could only belong to a hypocrite?...”“Adams could not have invented such a thing. It would have rendered him liable to dismissal.”“I beg your pardon, mother. Adams did not risk anything. The course he has taken proves it. And that is precisely what makes me distrust him.”“How can you impute such motives to anybody!... Adams has renounced his intention, because he was convinced by your father’s arguments. He has behaved like an honest man!”“Excuse me, mother; we are in more danger than ever of not understanding each other. Why! you seem to rejoice that Adams has returned to his errors! You appear to think his course very natural, and to approve of it!”“Yes, I do approve of it; people ought not to change their religion.”“You might as well say a person ought not to acknowledge his error when he is mistaken. I am by no means of your opinion, though I am not very religious.”“A proposof religion, my dear, you seem to have taken a strange turn. You have grown so rigorous as to astonish me; there is not an ultra notion you do not approve of. You have completely changed since.... But I will not make you angry.”“Since M. Louis came here?... A pretty idea. But I am not surprised.”“You said it yourself, but it is true. Since that man came here, you have changed every way. I know not why or wherefore, but it is a fact. Your cousin himself has observed it, and it grieves him. You are no longer towards him as you once were. You keep him at a distance. You are not lively as you used to be. You only talk of things serious enough to put one asleep.”“It is nearly ten years since I wasbrought in such close contact with my cousin as now. I was very young then. I have grown older and more sensible. Why has not he done the same?”“Your sarcasm is malicious and unmerited. Albert is a charming fellow.”“Oh! I agree with you! But this very fact injures him in my estimation. A charming fellow is one who requires an hour to dress; is skilled in paying a multitude of compliments he does not mean; has a petty mind that only takes interest in trifles; in short, a useless being it is impossible to rely on. When Albert came, he seemed to be conscious of the absurdity of being a charming fellow. He tried to put on a semblance of gravity, but it did not last long. Once more the proverb held good:Chasser le naturel, il revient au galop.”[197]“Wonderful, my dear. You have every qualification for adévote: especially one characteristic—maliciousness. Poor Albert! how you have set him off! Happily, there is not a word of truth in all you have said. He a man on whom you cannot rely! He has a heart of gold.”“I do not dispute the goodness of his heart. I have never put it to the proof.”“What a wicked insinuation! How dreadful it is to always believe the worst of everybody.”“Well, let it be so: he has a kind heart!... But is there any depth to him?”“As much as is necessary. This would be a sad world if we were always obliged to live with moody people like some one I know of. I really believe he is your beau ideal.”“I do not say that; but, if he is really what he appears to be, he merits my good opinion. I wish all I live with resembled him.”“Well done! A little more, and you will tell me he is the realization of all your dreams.”“I do not know him well enough to accord him all your words seem to imply.”“At all events, you know him well enough to take an interest in him, and much more than would suit your father.... Your cousin even was scandalized at your daring to defend him against your father, who had good reason to blame him.”“My cousin would do well to attend to his own affairs, and not meddle with mine. If he came here to watch me, sneer at me, and give me advice, he had better have remained in Paris.”“He came here hoping to find the friend of his childhood glad to see him, and ready to show him the affection he merits. Everybody does not judge him as severely as you do. I know many girls who....”“Who would be glad to marry him! Well, they may have him!”“That is too much! The son of my sister whom I love with all my heart! A child whom I brought up and love almost as much as I do you!”“But, mother, I am not displeased because you love him. I do not dislike him. I wish him well, and would do him all the good in my power. But when I make choice of a husband, I shall choose one with qualities Albert will never possess.”“I have suspected it for a long time. Yes; I thought long ago, seeing the turn your mind was taking, that, when you married, it would be foolishly.”“What do you mean by foolishly?”“Marrying a man without property, or one with eccentric notions,or some prosy creature of more or less sincerity. I am very much afraid you are infatuated about an individual who has all these defects combined. Fortunately.... You understand me....”“What, mother?”“Yes; we shall watch over your interests, your father and I, and if you are disposed to make a foolish match, like one that occurs to me, we shall know how to prevent it. We shall not hesitate if obliged to render you happy in spite of yourself.”“Render me happy?... At all events, it would not be by forcing me to marry Albert.”“Anyhow, you shall marry no one else.... It is I who say so, and your father will show you he is of my opinion.”Upon this, Mme. Smithson went out, violently shutting the door after her. Like all people of weak character, she must either yield or fall into a rage. It was beyond her ability to discuss or oppose anything calmly.It was all over! All her plans were overthrown! She must bid farewell to her dearest hopes! She must no longer think of retaining Albert and sending for his mother—for Mme. Smithson’s desires went as far as that! Her dream was to unite the two families by marrying Eugénie and Albert. Instead of that, what a perspective opened before her!—a marriage between her daughter and Louis, which roused all her antipathies at once! She was beside herself at the bare thought of seeing herself connected with a son-in-law she could not endure, and who was no less repulsive to Mr. Smithson.... Her maternal heart was kind when no one contradicted her, but there was in its depths, as often happens in weak natures, a dash of spitefulness. Having returned to her chamber, Mme. Smithson began to reflect. She seldom gave herself up to reflection, and then only when she was troubled, as is the case with some people. As might be supposed, she was too excited to reflect advantageously.“Oh! oh!” she said to herself, “Eugénie dares resist me the only time I ever asked her to obey! She despises Albert. She speaks scornfully of him! And that is not sufficient: she carries her audacity so far as to sing the praises of a man I detest!... See what it is to be indulgent to one’s children! The day comes when, for a mere caprice, they tread under foot what was dearest to you.... Well, since she will do nothing for me, I will do nothing for her.... She rejects Albert. I will have the other one driven away.... Since that meddler came, everything has gone wrong here.... What a nuisance that man is! If he had not come here, everything would have gone on as I wished.... I will go in search of my husband. It will be easy to have the engineer sent off, after committing so many blunders. When he is gone, we shall have to endure my daughter’s ill-humor, but everything comes to an end in this world. The time will come when, realizing her folly, Eugénie will listen to reason.”The interview between Mr. Smithson and his wife took place a little while after. What was said I never knew. Mme. Smithson alluded to it once or twice at a later day, but merely acknowledged she did very wrong. The remembrance was evidently painful, and she said no more.Eugénie at once foresaw this private interview between her parents. The conversation she had just hadwith her mother only served to enlighten her more fully as to the state of her feelings. Forced to express her opinion of Albert and Louis, she had spoken from her heart. She was herself in a measure astonished at seeing so clearly she did not love Albert—that there was a possibility of loving Louis—that perhaps she already loved him.... And she also comprehended more clearly all the difficulties such an attachment would meet with. Her mother’s opposition had hitherto been doubtful. It was now certain, and the consequence was to be feared.“My mother is so much offended,” she said to herself, “that she will try to unburden her mind to my father at once, and perhaps influence him against me. Before the day is over, she will tell him all I said, and the thousand inferences she has drawn from it. This interview fills me with alarm! I wish I knew what they will decide upon, if they come to any decision....”Eugénie tried in vain to get some light on the point, but was not able to obtain much. The interview took place. Mr. Smithson seemed vexed and thoughtful after his wife left the office. Mme. Smithson went directly to give the porter orders to send the engineer to her husband as soon as he arrived. Louis had sent word the evening before he should return the following day.TO BE CONTINUED.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS.

THE ENEMY ON EITHER HAND.

WhatI have just related took place in the month of August. I was at that time extremely anxious about Victor, but an unexpected improvement took place in his condition after Louis’ visit. Alas! he was never to rally again.

Louis sent every morning for some time to know how his sick friend was, but he only came to see us once, and then merely for a few minutes. He only left St. M—— with regret. He seemed to feel that, in absenting himself, he left the field clear to his bold rival, as it was now evident he was, and at a time when an attack was threatened against what he cherished the most—the good work he had begun, and Eugénie’s affection. He did not, therefore, inform us at that time of all I have just related. On the contrary, we were left in a state of painful incertitude. But I had every detail at a later day, even the very thoughts of both parties, and from their own lips.

However, Albert was not fitted to play the part of a man of gravity or that of a hypocrite for a long time. For that, more perseverance and ability than he had were required. A frivolous man like him may, by careful watch over himself, assume an appearance of thoughtfulness, but he will soon show himself in his true colors through weariness, or at an unguarded moment. He had hardly been in the house a fortnight before he unconsciously showed what he was at the bottom of his heart. He rose at a late hour, he resumed his habit of careful attention to his toilet, he lounged about from morning till night, conversing only of trivial things or discussing points he was ignorant of, and read romances of a doubtful character, which, so far from hiding, he left about in his room. Eugénie kept an eye open to all these things. She watched her cousin with the natural persistency she inherited from her father; she drew her own conclusions, and ended by treating him just as she used to do, like a spoiled child she loved because he was a relative, but would not, on any account, have for a husband. Albert tried now and then to resume his gravity; he went to church, and discussed the loftiest themes. Vain efforts! His uncle and cousin knew what to think of it all. Albert perceived it, and was inwardly furious.

Mme. Smithson alone manifested an ever-increasing fondness for him. Her affection for his mother as well as himself, and her acknowledged but constant wish for Mr. Smithson’s property to come into the possession of her own family by the marriage of the two cousins, inclined her towards her nephew. But of what account was Mme. Smithson in the house? Very little. Albert was under no illusion on this point, and therefore had never attached much importance to his aunt’s support. For two or three days he exulted over the stratagem he had formed for awakening unfavorable sentiments in his cousin’s heart toward the engineer. But Eugénie’s suspicions could not last long without her seekingan explanation. Then all would be lost, for Albert felt that Louis did not love Madeleine. If, on the other hand, Eugénie was not in love with Louis, she would keep her conjectures to herself, and merely withdraw her favor from him.

Albert’s affairs, therefore, had not in any respect taken the turn he hoped in the beginning. “What can be done? What can be done?” he said to himself. “I must devise some way of getting rid of this fellow who is disturbing my uncle and Eugénie’s peace of mind so much. Things must be brought to a crisis. If Louis were only dismissed, my cousin in her despair would accept me as her husband. My uncle would manifest no opposition out of regard for his wife, and because, after all, I should not be a troublesome son-in-law. At all events, I should have the satisfaction of routing a creature I detest. Whether Eugénie loves him or not, I can never, no, never suffer this artful man to marry her. If my coming only serves to drive him away, I shall be glad I came.”

Such calculations were extremely base and dishonorable, but it must be remembered that Albert was devoid of piety, he coveted his cousin’s dowry, and his antipathy to Louis became stronger every day. People destitute of moral principle and religious faith hate those who possess the good qualities they lack themselves. Albert had tried in vain to blind himself with regard to Louis; but the more he studied him, the more clearly he saw he was incontestably a man of great depth, sincere piety, and uncommon energy. At first he doubted his worth, but he could question it no longer.

Eugénie during this time was extremely sad and preoccupied, though no one would have suspected what was passing in the depths of her soul. The poor girl could no longer conceal it from herself: she loved Louis. But she was still uncertain as to his love for her. She even asked herself—and this was an additional torture—if he was worthy of the affection she bore him. You will not be astonished if I add that, romantic as Eugénie was, she was a woman to be driven in such a conjuncture to the very step Albert was aiming at. Only one thing was wanting to effect this—the necessity of withdrawing her esteem from Louis. In a noble nature like hers, it would have quenched her love and broken her very heart to despise the object of her affections.

Affairs were in this condition when a new incident came to the aid of Albert’s schemes. Mr. Smithson, it will be well to recall, was not originally a manufacturer of paper. A dishonest broker, or one who lacked shrewdness, led him into a succession of unfortunate speculations. Repeated losses were the result. Mr. Smithson perceived his property was diminishing in an alarming manner. He at once settled up his affairs, and, by the advice of Louis’ father, bought the mill at St. M——, the proprietor of which had just died. This was in every respect an advantageous investment: First, it withdrew him from the arena of stock speculations, where fortune, conscience, and honor are daily risked; in the next place, the mill he purchased brought in a fine income. But it was no small affair to conduct such an enterprise, employing as it did five or six hundred workmen.

Mr. Smithson’s predecessor, a man perfectly familiar with the business, directed the establishment himself. Everything went on prosperously, and Mr. Smithson wishedto imitate him. In a few months, he saw he was going wrong. The workmen were indolent, the machinery deteriorated, everything was going to ruin. It is not sufficient to be methodical, intelligent, and energetic, in order to conduct a manufacturing concern; a man must have a special knowledge of mechanics and a faculty of adaptation which Mr. Smithson did not possess. He became conscious of this, and resolved to obtain a book-keeper of probity and intelligence to keep his accounts, and an engineer equally versed in his business. They were both soon found, but the book-keeper alone proved suitable. The engineer had practical knowledge enough, but was deficient in energy. The workmen and overseers soon perceived it, and profited by it to do less and less. The engineer was discharged and Louis chosen to fill his place.

From the time of Louis’ arrival, the aspect of everything changed. The workmen felt they now had a superintendent to deal with that was inflexible but just. The overseers alone were inclined to resist his authority. They were sharply reprimanded, and the most mutinous discharged. Mr. Smithson, warned by his previous experience, seconded Louis with all the weight of his authority. He gave him absolute control of the manufactory when he was absent, and never failed to come to his support whenever Louis found severe measures necessary.

All this did not take place, it may well be supposed, without exciting some murmurs and secret rancor. Among the foremost of those most dissatisfied with this necessary rigor was an overseer by the name of Durand, who came to the mill some months before Louis. He was a man of about forty years of age, of lofty stature, a sombre face expressive of energy, and grave and fluent of speech. He came provided with the best recommendations, but it was afterwards learned they were forged. This man succeeded both in intimidating the engineer who preceded Louis, and acquiring his favor. Half through fear, and half weakness, he allowed Durand to assume an authority he abused in many ways. When Louis replaced this weak man so afraid of Durand, there was more than one contest between him and the overseer. Their last altercation had been very violent. Durand insulted the engineer before all the workmen, and in so bold a manner that Mr. Smithson, informed of what had taken place, at once discharged him. Rather than give up his situation, Durand submitted to the humiliation of begging Louis’ pardon. Notwithstanding this, he was merely kept on sufferance, though he was well paid, for he was clever in his way, and in one sense a model overseer: no one kept better discipline.

Astonishing as it may seem, when Louis instituted the evening-school, Durand was the first to offer his assistance, and was appointed monitor. One thing, however, tried Louis: his monitor, always polite and respectful to his face, was in the habit of whispering behind his back, as if secretly conniving with the men. But nothing occurred to justify his suspicions, and Louis at length ceased to attach any importance to the overseer’s strange ways. When the night-school closed, about half-past eight, Durand went away a little before Louis to finish the evening at the St. M—— café, which was greatly frequented by the inhabitants of the place. There he gambled and harangued at his ease, and acquired the reputation of being the ablesttalker in the country around. As to his political opinions, they were not positively known. He was suspected of being a demagogue, and even an ultra one, but there was no proof of it. He was less secret about his religious belief. He called himself a Protestant, and a thorough one.

Meanwhile, Albert began to find the life he was leading at his uncle’s wearisome and monotonous. The evenings especially seemed interminable. Mr. Smithson read, Mme. Smithson was absorbed in her tapestry, and Eugénie played on the piano. Albert did not know what to do with himself. He did not dare have recourse to a novel; conversation with his aunt was not very enlivening; and, if he addressed himself to Eugénie, she showed so much skill in embarrassing him on every subject that he avoided the occasion of appearing to so much disadvantage. Besides, Eugénie’s superiority irritated him. Had it not been for her fortune, which he found more and more attractive, and her beauty, to which he could not remain insensible, he would at once have given up all thoughts of marrying her. But her property on the one hand, and her beauty on the other, deterred him. However, with his frivolous mind, he soon found it intolerable to be confined to his cousin’s society every evening, even for the purpose of paying court to her. One night, it suddenly occurred to him to go to the café, and after that he went there regularly after dinner to pass an hour. He was welcomed very cordially, especially by Durand, who at once made every effort to win his favor. The wily overseer was so profuse in respectful attentions that in a few evenings they were friends. Durand, with his uncommon penetration, soon discovered from some indiscreet words Albert dropped what was troubling his shallow mind. He could see he was desirous of marrying his cousin, and so suspicious of Louis that he detested him and asked for nothing better than to see him dismissed. Durand at once resolved to gain Albert’s friendship and profit by it to involve Louis in some inextricable embarrassment. He was determined to have his revenge at whatever cost, but it was necessary to proceed with caution. He began by sounding Albert to make sure of his antipathy to Louis, that he really wished for his dismissal, and if he cared what means were employed provided the end was attained.

Durand gave himself no rest till he was sure of all this—a certitude he acquired the day when Albert, impatient at the unfavorable progress of his affairs, resolved to bring things to a sudden crisis by having Louis dismissed, if possible. The overseer waited till Albert left the café, and then proposed he should accompany him to the manufactory, where he lodged.

“Willingly, my good fellow,” said Albert. It was a fine evening in the month of September. They set off together by the road that ran along the river half-hidden among trees, through which the moon diffused its purest radiance.

“We do not see you any more at the mill,” said Durand. “I daresay I could guess why you have stopped visiting the school.... Would there be any indiscretion in telling you the reason that has occurred to me?”

“Not the least in the world.”

“Well, then, if I am not mistaken, there is some one at the mill not exactly to your liking.... Yes, somebody keeps you away....”

“That may be.”

“Ah! I am no fool. I think I have found out the cause of our beingdeprived of your visits. It must have been something serious. See if I haven’t some wit left.... The person you dislike is M. Louis, is it not?”

“You are right, my friend,” replied Albert, patting Durand on the shoulder in a familiar manner.

“There are others who do not like him any better than you.”

“Not you? You are his assistant at the school, and seem on the best of terms with him.”

“Seem?Yes, I seem; but to seem and be are sometimes very different things. Listen: the very instant I saw you—excuse my frankness—you inspired me with so much confidence that, faith, I feel inclined to tell you all that is on my mind. It would do me good.”

“Do not be afraid of my betraying you,mon cher; speak to me as a friend.”

“O monsieur! you are too kind. Well, since you allow me, I tell you plainly I do not like that man; no, not at all.”

“He has been insolent and overbearing towards you, I know.”

“If that were all, I could forgive him. But it is not a question of myself. I dislike, I detest him for another reason. Whoever likes Mr. Smithson cannot like the engineer, as I can convince anybody who wishes it.”

“Explain yourself; I do not exactly understand you.”

“Well—but swear you will never repeat what I am going to say.”

“I give you my word, which I never break.”

“Well, then, this M. Louis is a Tartuffe—a Jesuit; such men are dangerous. Woe to the houses they enter! He has wasted all his property, we know how! It is a shame!... Then he artfully obtained a place in your uncle’s mill, where he has assumed more and more authority; he tries to influence the minds of the workmen; he ... wishes to marry your cousin....Parbleu!I may as well say aloud what everybody is saying in secret.”

“Do they say that, Durand?”

“Yes, that is the report. But his art and hypocrisy are in vain. More than one of us understand his projects.... And let me assure you we tremble lest he succeed! There will be fine doings when the mill passes into the hands of this Jesuit, who will spend all of Mr. Smithson’s property, and prepare him a pitiful old age. Do you see now why I cannot endure that man? Oh! if I were master I would soon set him a-flying.... But I am not the master, ... it is he who is likely to be. If somebody could only get him dismissed!”

“Yes, yes,” said Albert, in a conceited tone. “There is some truth in what you say—a great deal, in fact.... Since I have been here, I have watched and studied his movements, and agree with you that it was rather an unlucky day for my uncle when he admitted this intriguer into his house. His schemes make me anxious.”

“Is there no way of defeating them?”

“It would be no easy matter.”

“Come, now! As if you, Mr. Smithson’s nephew; you who have more learning than all of us put together—who have more wit than I, though I am no fool—as if you could not send him adrift if you wished to!... You could never make me believe that.”

“What can I do? I certainly ask for nothing better than to get him into some difficulty; but how? He performs his duties with exasperating fidelity.”

“Oh! it is not on that score youmust attack him; he is too cunning to be at fault there.”

“Well, if he is not at fault, do you wish me to make him out so?”

“Precisely. That is what must be done. See here, M. Albert, as you know of no way, I will tell you an idea that has come into my head; for I have been a long time contriving some means of driving that man away. But I must first warn you not to take my plan for more than it is worth. If it is not a good one, we will try to discover a better one.”

“Let us hear it.”

“We have an Englishman at the mill who tells me he does not intend to remain. This man has been to the evening-school several times. M. Louis has lent him religious books.... Can’t you guess what I am at?”

“No.”

“Well, this is my plan. The man I refer to and I are linked together. It would be a long story to tell how and why. If I should go to him—to-morrow, for instance—and say: ‘Adams, I know you intend leaving St. M——. Will you do your friend a favor before you go? Rid me of that engineer. I do not mean for you to kill him or do him any harm: we are neither of us murderers. I simply propose you should play him some trick, as they call it. You are on good terms with him: he lends you books. Go and tell him you have come to consult him about some doubts on the subject of religion. Beg him to enlighten you. Ask for some controversial works, and cautiously insinuate the possibility of abjuring your religion. You will naturally be open in your projects. You will even talk of them with an air of profound conviction. This will cause some noise. I shall then take hold of it. In case of necessity, I shall have a violent dispute with the engineer, which of course will oblige Mr. Smithson to interfere.’ I know he is not disposed to jest about such matters. Once the affair is brought before him, the engineer is lost. I will not give him a week to remain at the mill after that.... Such is my idea; what do you think of it?”

“Durand, you are a genius. Your plan is admirable. The moment my uncle finds the engineer is trying to propagate his religion, he is lost, as you say. You must put your project into execution without any delay.”

“I am glad to see you approve of it, not only because it flatters my self-love, but because it makes me more hopeful of success. I should be better satisfied, however, if you would promise to help us in case you are needed.... We are not sure of succeeding in our plan. The engineer is cunning, and Mr. Smithson’s way of acting is not always easy to foresee. And if we should fail—if I get into difficulty!...”

“I promise to stand by you. Rest assured I shall not be backward in trying my utmost to influence my uncle against him. This will be easy, for he already distrusts the engineer. Nevertheless, admonish your friend to be extremely cautious. No one must have the slightest suspicion of the scheme. Success then would be impossible.”

“Adams does not lack wit. He will know how to manage. But one thing alarms me, and will him. If his conversion were to offend Mr. Smithson to such a degree as to cause his dismissal in disgrace! Where could he go without recommendations?”

“Why, how simple you are! All this can be turned to his advantage. As soon as he sees my uncle irritated, he must ask for a private interview,consult him as to his belief, and pretend to yield to his arguments. He must end by avowing his determination to remain a Protestant, and declaring he had been led away by the engineer. The result is evident.”

“You are sharper than I. I did not think of that. Your idea makes everything safe, and settles the matter.”

“And when shall the first shot be fired?”

“To-morrow.”

“But one question more.... It would be vexatious if the engineer refused the bait and sent Adams a-walking.”

“No danger of that. The engineer is a genuine fanatic. I am sure of that, and I have had an opportunity of judging.”

While thus conversing, our two conspirators had nearly reached the mill. They separated without being seen. Albert was radiant. As he retired, he said to himself: “Why did I not think of this scheme myself?... It is so simple, and cannot fail! A saint like the engineer will risk everything to gain a soul.... And yet, if he should be afraid, as Durand said; if he is only a Catholic outwardly!... That would be embarrassing! Strange! for once, I hope the fellow is sincere!...”

The following morning, Durand took a private opportunity of giving his associate his instructions, and that night Adams begged Louis to grant him an interview in his room after school.

The interview took place. Durand had only told the truth: Adams was an artful fellow—one of those men who conceal uncommon duplicity under the appearance of perfect candor. He had been Durand’s tool for a long time. The latter had rendered him more than one service, and employed him in numerous fraudulent transactions, which he generously rewarded him for. Durand lent money upon pledge to workmen in difficulty. He unlawfully appropriated a thousand small objects in the manufactory, and had them sold. His assistant in this dishonest traffic, his man of business, as he called him, was Adams, who was well paid, as may be supposed.

The Englishman, cunning as he was, had some difficulty in persuading Louis he was serious in his intention of abjuring his religion. But he dwelt on his doubts with such apparent sincerity, he manifested so strong a desire to be rescued from error, if he was in error, that Louis immediately proposed he should consult thecuré. Adams pretended thecuréintimidated him; he was more at his ease with Louis, and could talk to him with perfect openness of heart. “If I have to go to thecuré” said he, “well, then, I shall defer it. I do not wish to expose myself to observations that would not fail to be made. After all, monsieur,” he added, “I am only in doubt. I am not yet convinced of being in error. When I see clearly I am, oh! then I will no longer conceal my sentiments. But meanwhile, I do not wish everybody to know what is passing in my soul.”

These plausible statements banished Louis’ suspicions. He received the young man in his room several evenings in succession. He lent him a small book, easy of comprehension, that contained a thorough refutation of Protestantism. Poor Louis! he behaved with genuine heroism on this occasion. From the first he foresaw all the trouble such an affair was likely to cause him. He did not deceive himself as to the result of this abjuration. He had animmediate presentiment of Mr. Smithson’s anger, and the difficult, nay, intolerable position he would be in if this conversion took place. No matter, he would brave everything rather than neglect his duty as a Christian, which obliged him to point out the true religion to all who sought it.

He was also preoccupied at this time by the remembrance of what had taken place at Vinceneau’s, and suffered from the coolness Eugénie manifested towards him. He saw he was kept more at a distance than ever by Mr. Smithson, who looked upon him as a dangerous man. Louis’ situation, it must be confessed, was distressing. He would have given much to have at least one consoling word from the lips of her whom he loved, and before whom he saw he had been calumniated. This unhoped-for happiness was at last granted him under peculiar circumstances. Louis had just been to see the Vinceneau family, which was in a worse plight than ever. The father had taken to drink with fresh madness, and the mother had a fit of indolence that kept her away from the mill. Madeleine alone worked for the whole family. Louis had been there to reason with the mother, who gave him the worst possible reception. He tried to encourage the daughter, but without success. Madeleine had also, to some degree, the family weakness—a lack of energy of character.

Louis had come away unusually dejected. On his way back to the manufactory, while dwelling, first on these unfortunate people, then on Adams, who that very day had spoken of soon abjuring his religion, and finally on Victor, about whom he had just received the most alarming intelligence, he met Eugénie face to face. She turned pale at seeing him, and replied to his greeting with extreme coldness as she kept on....

Louis’ sadness redoubled. He took a sudden resolution. “I must justify myself,” he said, ... and, intimidated as he was—the man who loves with a pure affection is always timid—he stopped and turned back.

“Mademoiselle,” said he, addressing Eugénie, “I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it, monsieur?”

“Among the poor families I am interested in is one I have never spoken to you about.”

“You are under no obligation, monsieur, to inform me of all the families you visit.”

“I know it, mademoiselle; but, as I am not ashamed of any of the places I go to, I have no interest in concealing them. If I have not heretofore spoken of this family, it was for a special reason. These people, of the name of Vinceneau, were recommended to me by old Françoise. She took the liveliest interest in one of the members of the household—a girl by the name of Madeleine. She feared lest poverty and her parents’ bad example might be a source of danger to one of her age. Madeleine is irreproachable in her conduct, but weak in character, like her father and mother. Françoise made me promise to watch over her. She would have begged this favor of you, mademoiselle, had not a special reason prevented her. She knew Madeleine’s parents were envious, and regarded the rich with an evil eye. She feared exposing you to impertinence if she brought you in contact with them. Consequently, she recommended them to me. Madeleine has told me of your call at the house. Your kindness touched the mother. As to the father, hisshameful passion for drink has brutalized him.”

Eugénie listened with undisguised interest, and softened as Louis continued. When he had finished, she said: “What do you wish me to do? to show some interest in them?”

“It would be a very timely act of charity. The mother has not done any work for several days, the father is gone from morning till night, and the daughter is discouraged. You can rouse her courage much better than I. And allow me to say, mademoiselle, that the difficulties that once might have hindered you being removed, this work, for many reasons, is much more suitable for you than for me.”

“I will go to see them.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” replied Louis. “I am overwhelmed with cares and occupations, and give the family up to you with pleasure.”

“Do you not mean to visit them any more?”

“I have a great mind not to.”

“Why not?”

“It is a delicate subject, but I think the less I go there, the better.”

“I understand you, ... but still I do not think you are right.Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra,[196]is my motto. Is it not yours?”

“It would be, mademoiselle, if the world were not so malicious. As it is, people even of the best intentions cannot take too many precautions. I confess there is nothing I dread more than calumny. It always does injury, and it is hard to feel we are losing the esteem of those whose good opinion we desire the most.”

“People who allow themselves to be influenced by calumny cannot have much character.”

“Do you think so, mademoiselle?”

“I am sure of it. Before doubting a person I have once esteemed, I wait till their acts openly condemn them. If I have the misfortune to despise them then, it is because they force me to do so.”

These words were uttered in a significant tone. Eugénie then left Louis abruptly with a gracious and dignified salutation.

Louis stood looking at her as she went away, admiring her slender form and the exquisite distinction of her whole person. This sudden meeting with her seemed like one of those glimpses of the sun that sometimes occur in the midst of the most violent storms. He thanked God; he felt happy at her indirect assurance that she still regarded him with esteem. He asked himself if she did not love him. He did not dare believe it, but was almost ready to do so. One fear alone remained in all its strength—the fear of incurring Mr. Smithson’s anger by co-operating in the conversion of Adams.

Ah! if Louis had not been heartily devoted to his faith, how soon he would have despatched this troublesome neophyte! But, no; he ought not, he could not. He consoled himself by repeating Eugénie’s words, which had struck him in a peculiar manner:Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra.... “Well,” thought he, “what I ought to do is to enlighten those who seek the truth.... I yield to a sense of duty. Eugénie is a Catholic as well as I, and cannot help approving of my course. If Mr. Smithson is displeased, his daughter, to be consistent with her principles, must confess that I am right.”

As Louis entered his room, a note was given him from me, imploring him to come to us as soon as possible.

VICTOR’S DEATH.—PLOTS AGAINST LOUIS.

For ten long months, Victor had suffered from a terrible malady that never lets go. Every remedy had been tried in vain. His disease was phthisis of a peculiar kind and of the most alarming character. The two physicians we consulted could only reply when their patient insisted on knowing the truth: “Your illness is of an extremely serious nature; but you are young, and at your age nature often finds unexpected resources in a time of danger.”

It was impossible to cure him. They could only prolong his life, and this was the aim of the physicians. By dint of care, they succeeded in keeping him alive till the beginning of September. Then the disease, whose ravages we had not realized, suddenly came to a crisis. Throughout the whole course of his sufferings, I had, in spite of everything, cherished a secret hope in the depths of my heart. When one of those favorable turns came peculiar to such complaints, I flattered myself that he would get well, and abandoned myself to a foolish joy. This joy, so natural, and yet so unreasonable, gave Victor pain. He endeavored to moderate it in a thousand ingenious and delicate ways. He himself was never under any illusion. His illness was fatal: he knew it, and calmly prepared himself for what he called the great journey. He was greatly afflicted to see I was not, like himself, preparing for our separation, the thought of which became more painful in proportion to the horror with which I regarded it. He tried to banish all my false hopes, but his efforts were in vain. I clung to them without owning it. I only gave them up at the time I have arrived at in my sad story. Then I began to realize the frightful truth, and, as I saw his alarming symptoms increase, I thought I should die.

Victor at length succeeded in restoring somewhat of calmness to my soul. With a strength of mind that increased in proportion to the nearness of that awful moment, he made his final preparations. He gave himself up to the contemplation of eternal things. His friend, the good Abbé Merlin, administered the last consolations of religion. Louis received them with a faith that edified every one, and a joy that showed how he had profited by his illness to prepare for heaven. He was already there in spirit, and longed to be there in reality. This touched me, and I confess, to my great shame, I reproached him in my excessive grief with some expressions of bitterness. This was the last sorrow I caused my poor husband. Such reproaches could only come from a selfish soul. I now blush at the remembrance.

All these necessary steps having been taken, Victor told me I must send for Louis. As you know, he received my note in the evening. That very night he arrived. It was high time. We all three passed the night together talking, praying, and weeping by turns. Victor consoled us. He even forced himself to express anxiety as to Louis’ affairs. The latter spoke of them very unwillingly, for his grief overpowered his sense of love. When Victor learned the trials he was undergoing, he said:

“My friend, I fear they are contriving some new plot against you. Eugénie loves you; there is no doubt of that in my mind; but does she love you well enough to withstandall the difficulties that are rising up around you? I know not. If, with her knowledge of you, she allows herself to be influenced by people of evil intentions, it seems to me you will have a right to judge her severely.”

“Even then I could not,” said Louis.

“Your answer does not surprise me. It proves I was right in my impressions. You love her as much as a good man ought to love. You even love her too well; for I believe your affection would render you insensible to the truth rather than blame the object of your love.”

“That is true.”

“I cannot approve of that. It is not right. There is only one thing, there is only one Being, a noble and well-balanced soul, a soul thoroughly imbued with piety, allows itself to love above all things—that thing is truth, that Being is God. Believe me, if Eugénie allows herself to be alienated from you, it will be a proof she has not the worth you give her credit for, and also that it is not the will of God she should become your wife. Well, I will not oppose the indulgence you feel towards her. I consent to it. Say to yourself she has been deceived, that she is innocent, but submit to the divine will. Do not attempt impossibilities to link together the chain God himself breaks, however dear she may be to you.”

Victor seemed to have recalled all the energy of his manly nature to utter these words. His firmness and judicious counsel were not lost on Louis.

“I will follow your advice,” said he; “but promise to pray this sorrow may be spared me. God has endowed the one I love with a soul so elevated that it would be easy to make her as pious as an angel.... And I love her so much!”

“My poor friend! I do not know that I shall be permitted to pray at once for you in yonder world. If I can, I will pray God you may be united with her, if this union will render you happy—happy, understand me, in the Christian sense of the word; that is to say, happy and better, both of you.”

In the middle of the night, Victor requested me to go into the next chamber for some papers he wanted. He availed himself of this opportunity to recommend me to Louis’ care, as I afterwards learned.

“Agnes,” said he, “has exhausted her strength in taking care of me so many months. Her physical and mental strength are now merely factitious. It is the very excess of her grief that sustains her. As soon as I am gone, she will be sensible of her weakness. I fear the reaction may prove fatal to her. I implore you to take her and her mother to some place near you in the country. Find them a temporary residence that is healthy and pleasant. Change of scene and pure country air will do her more good than anything else, especially if you add the benefit of your efforts to console her, on which I depend.”

Louis made the required promise.... But these recollections are still too painful. Alas! they will always be so. You will excuse me from dwelling on them.

The next day, I lost the companion of my life. That pure soul, so full of intelligence, sweetness, and energy, took flight for heaven, leaving me for ever sad and desolate upon earth.... Oh! how happy are those women who to the very hour of death are permitted by God to retain the companionship of a husband tenderly loved, and worthy of being so!...

The first moments of overpowering grief had scarcely passed beforethat which Victor had foreseen took place. All at once I lost my apparent strength. I was weighed down with a dull despair. My poor mother trembled for my life. Throughout the day I sat motionless in an arm-chair, interested in no person or subject. My lips alone made an effort from time to time to murmur the words at once so bitter and so sweet: “O Lord! thou gavest him to me; thou hast taken him away; thy will be done!” That was my only prayer. I repeated it from morning till night. Thus lifting my soul heavenward, I found strength to resist the temptation to rebel which constantly assailed me.

During that sad time, Louis’ sister joined him in unceasing attentions to me. Louis gave himself entirely up to my service, and notified Mr. Smithson he should be absent several days longer from the manufactory. You can realize how generous this was in him. To absent himself at a time his dearest interests were at stake, and leave the field clear for his enemies, was making an heroic sacrifice to friendship. It was not till a subsequent period I fully appreciated it. At that time, I was wholly absorbed in myself. Extreme grief becomes a kind of passion, and, like all passions, it renders us selfish.

When Louis at last saw me a little calmer, he told me of Victor’s wish. “His last request was,” said he, “that you should go into the country awhile with your mother. The air is purer there, and you will regain your strength.”

I exclaimed against the proposition. I declared I would not leave the house in which Victor died—where everything recalled his presence. Louis insisted, urged on by the physicians, who declared the change indispensable.

“Victor himself implores you through me to consent,” said he. “Remember you will be still obeying him in so doing.”

I ended by yielding to their persuasions. “But where shall I go?” said I.

“To St. M——, where you will be near me. My sister went there yesterday, and found you pleasant lodgings. You can easily go that far with your mother and sister.”

We went there the next day. It was Louis who made all the arrangements, and with how much solicitude and affection I need not say. At length he left us to resume his duties at the mill. The last favor I begged of him was to come and see me often, but not to mention to any one the place of my retirement. Like all who are in real affliction, solitude alone pleased me. The first time for a week, Louis’ thoughts, after leaving me, recurred to the subjects that had absorbed his mind previous to Victor’s death. He began to be alarmed. He wondered if Eugénie had not forgotten him, if she really loved him, if Mr. Smithson was disposed to regard him with more or with less favor, and if Albert had not profited by his absence to injure him in the estimation of Eugénie’s family. But he could only form conjectures as to all this.

Now that these events have passed away, I can seize all the details at a glance. I shall therefore tell you many things Louis was necessarily ignorant of when he returned to the manufactory. He would have trembled had he been aware of them. He had scarcely left his post in order to be with Victor during his last moments, when his enemies, thinking the time propitious, resolved to profit by his absence to effect his ruin. They all set to work at once.

The deceitful Adams, who had sought to be enlightened as to his religious doubts, went around telling everybody the engineer had convinced him of the falseness of his religion, which he resolved to abjure, and only waited for Louis’ return. People began by laughing at what he said. They had no great opinion of the fellow. They suspected his connection with Durand, who was regarded with fear. Some even thought it was all a trick. But Adams returned to the charge; he spoke with an air of conviction, he seemed changed. To carry out the scheme, he apparently broke off with his former friend, Durand.

All these things were repeated from one to another till they reached Mr. Smithson’s ears. He had been obliged to superintend the workmen during Louis’ absence from the manufactory. Already inclined to be suspicious of the engineer, and ignorant of the ties that bound him to Victor, Mr. Smithson interiorly accused him of first manifesting an ultra, I may say, fanatical zeal, and then falling into an indifference and carelessness unworthy of a consistent man. “Because one of his friends is ill,” he said, “is that a sufficient reason for abandoning his post, leaving me overwhelmed with work, and interrupting the school he had begun?... And all this without making any arrangement beforehand!... The man is inconsistent!”

Mr. Smithson was therefore unfavorably disposed towards Louis, when, to complete his dissatisfaction, came the news, at first doubtful, then certain, of Adams’ intended abjuration. He became so angry that he could not contain himself, though generally so capable of self-control. The interests of his national religion were at stake. He at once became furious, and made no effort to conceal it.

Mme. Smithson and Albert of course took Mr. Smithson’s part against Louis. He was berated as a man of no discretion, deceitful, fanatical, and a Jesuit in disguise. Mme. Smithson was one of those people who boldly say: “I don’t think much of a person who changes his religion!” As if it were not merely reasonable for a man to give up error for truth when the truth is revealed to him. Albert was influenced by motives you are already aware of. He was triumphant. He had never expected such success from so simple a trick. Circumstances had indeed favored him but too well. Seeing Mr. Smithson in such a frame of mind, he had no doubts of his dismissing Louis as soon as he returned.

But his joy was strangely diminished by an unexpected incident. They were discussing the affair one evening in thesalon. “Excuse me, father,” said Eugénie, “for meddling with what does not concern me, but you know I always was the advocate of a bad cause.”

Every one looked up at this unexpected interruption. Eugénie was not a woman to be intimidated when she foresaw opposition: rather, the contrary. She continued, without being troubled in the least: “I find a great many are disposed to attack M. Louis, but no one thinks of defending him. It were to be wished some one would be his defender, though I do not say his conduct is irreproachable.”

“Very far from that,” said Mr. Smithson.

“But if he is not innocent, is he as culpable as he may have appeared? What is he accused of? He has been absent several days from the mill. This adds greatly to yourlabors, my dear father, but his absence is justifiable to a certain degree. Do you know M. Louis’ history?”

“As well as you, I suppose, child.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Has he related it to you?”

“No; Fanny took pains to do that. Fanny is at once curious and a gossip.”

“My cousin is very severe towards so devoted a servant. Is she indulgent only to the culpable?”

This ill-timed interruption gave Eugénie a glimpse of light. “There is an understanding between them,” she said to herself, “and that explains many things.” She continued, addressing her father: “M. Louis made an attempt at his own life. He was drowning, when a brave man and an invalid—M. Barnier—at the risk of his own life, threw himself into the river, and saved him. This was the origin of their friendship, which does honor to M. Louis and to the person so devoted to him. This M. Barnier is dying to-day.”

“Who told you so, my child?” asked Mr. Smithson.

“The newspapers from town allude to it. M. Barnier is a well-known man, and esteemed by his very enemies themselves. It is to be with him M. Louis is gone. Does not such a motive justify his absence?”

Mr. Smithson had attentively listened to what his daughter said. If we except what related to religious subjects, he was an impartial and even kindly disposed man. “With such a reason for his absence,” he replied, “I shall cease to regard it as inexcusable. Nevertheless, he ought to have made me aware of what had taken place. He simply said he was going to stay with a sick friend: that was not a sufficient explanation. What I dislike in the man is his dissimulation.”

“I acknowledge there may be some reason for distrust,” resumed Eugénie, “but he has given no proofs of duplicity since he came here that I am aware of. He certainly has done nothing without consulting you, father.”

“He did, to be sure, propose several things he wished to do; but did he reveal his real aim, his ultimate object?”

“Had he any?”

“Had he any?... The Adams affair proves it. The evening-school and the library were only founded to propagate Catholicism.”

“With what object?”

“The aim of these enthusiasts is always the same. They wish to impart their belief to others, that they may afterwards exercise authority over their disciples. Louis and thecuréare linked together. Their project is to make my manufactory like a convent, where they can reign in spite of me. But I will settle that matter.”

“And you will do right, uncle,” said Albert. “There is no tyranny more artful and more encroaching than that of the priesthood.”

“I did not know my cousin detested the clergy to such a degree,” said Eugénie, with an air of mockery and disdain which convinced Albert he had made a fresh blunder. “I thought, on the contrary, you had a sincere respect for priests. It seems I was deceived....”

“Enough on this point,” said Mr. Smithson. “I will see Adams, and learn from him what has occurred. And I will speak to the engineer accordingly when he returns.”

This conversation took place in the evening. Mme. Smithson was present. She did not speak, but was extremely irritated. Eugénielittle thought she had caused her mother as great an affliction as she had ever experienced in her life. For ten, perhaps fifteen, years, Mme. Smithson had clung to the idea of a match between her daughter and nephew. She had taken comfort in the thought of uniting the two beings she loved best on earth. Besides, it was a good way, and the only one in her power, of securing to Albert a fortune he had need of; for the career he had embraced, and the tastes he had imbibed, made it necessary he should be wealthy, which was by no means the case. This plan till lately had been confined to Mme. Smithson’s own breast; but, since Albert’s arrival, she had ventured to allude to it in her conversations with him. The latter responded with enthusiastic gratitude, expressing an ardent desire to have the proposed union realized. Alas! from the beginning there had been one difficulty which fretted Mme. Smithson. Would her husband approve of her scheme? As Albert approached manhood, this consent became more and more doubtful. Mr. Smithson treated his nephew kindly, but had no great opinion of him, and did not like him. How overcome this obstacle? There was only one way: Eugénie herself must desire the marriage. Mr. Smithson never opposed his daughter, and would then overlook his antipathy to the object of her choice. Things were having a very different tendency. Mme. Smithson had long tried to hide the fact from herself, but she must at last acknowledge it: Eugénie manifested no partiality for her cousin. This evening’s occurrence banished all illusion. She not only saw Eugénie had not the least thought of marrying Albert, but she suspected her of loving another, ... a man Mme. Smithson could no longer endure. He had in her eyes three faults, any one of which would have set her against him: he was her dear nephew’s rival, he had no property, and he was grave and pious to a degree that could not fail to be repulsive to a trivial woman and a half-way Christian like her. To complete her despair, Albert came secretly to see her that very same evening.

“Aunt,” said he, “our affairs are getting on badly!... Confess that I had more penetration than you were willing to allow.”

“What! what! what do you mean? Do you think Eugénie loves that spendthrift, that bigot?... Nonsense! she only wishes to tease you.”

“I am of a different opinion. I have long been aware of her fancy for him. What she said in his favor this evening was very judicious and moderate, but there was in the tone of her voice, ... in her look, a something I could not mistake. For the first time, she betrayed her feelings. I tell you she loves him!”

“Why, that would be dreadful!”

“I foresaw it.”

“Foresaw!—such a thing?”

“Eugénie is romantic, and the rogue puts on the air of a hero of romance.”

“Set your heart at rest, Albert. I promise to watch over your interests. I assure you, in case of need, I will bring your uncle himself to your aid.”

“I will talk to Eugénie to-morrow morning,” she said to herself. “I shall never believe in such presumption till she confesses it herself.”

The next morning, Mme. Smithson went, full of anxiety, to her daughter’s chamber. Eugénie was that very moment thinking of Louis. The more she examined her own heart, the more clearly she saw herself forced to acknowledge her esteemfor him. She had inwardly condemned him many times, but had as often found her suspicions were groundless. Without showing the least partiality for Louis, she could not help seeing he was intelligent, energetic, and sincerely pious. She even acknowledged that, of all the men she had ever met, not one was to be compared to him; he was superior to them all in every respect. From this, it was not a long step to confess him worthy of her affection. But he—did he love her?... Not a word, not a sign, had escaped him to indicate such a thing, and yet there was in his bearing towards her, in the tone of his voice, and in the value he attached to her good opinion, a something that assured her she had made a profound impression on him. But, then, why this coldness so rigorously maintained?... He was poor—and through his own fault—while she was rich. His coldness perhaps resulted from extreme delicacy.

Eugénie cut short her reflections by repeating: “Does he love me?... It may be. Do I love him?... I dare not say no. But we are in a peculiar position. If I find him, at the end of the account, worthy of being my husband, doubtless I should have to make the advances! But I like originality in everything. My father alone excites my fears. M. Louis would not be his choice. Why does he show himself so zealous a Catholic at present? Why not wait till he is married—if married we ever are? Then he could be as devoted to the church as he pleases.”

Mme. Smithson was hardly to be recognized when she entered her daughter’s room. She was generally affable and smiling, but now her face was lowering and agitated. She was evidently very nervous, as was usually the case when she had some disagreeable communication to make to her daughter. Eugénie at once divined what was passing in her mother’s heart. She was careful, however, not to aid her in unburdening herself.

After speaking of several things of no importance, Mme. Smithson assumed an unconcerned air—a sign of her extreme embarrassment—and broached the subject with a boldness peculiar to timid people when they see there is no way of receding.

“I must confess that was a strange notion of yours last evening.”

“What notion do you refer to, mother?” said Eugénie, in a tone at once dignified and ingenuous. She felt the storm was coming. As usual on such occasions, she laid aside the familiarthoufor the respectfulyou. There was a spice of mischief in her tactics which I do not intend to applaud. She thus redoubled her mother’s embarrassment, and by the politeness of her manner increased her hesitation.

“What notion do I refer to?... You need not ask that. You know well enough what I allude to.... Yes; why should you, without any obligation, set yourself up to defend a man who is no relation of ours or even one of our friends, but a mere employé of your father’s; one who suits him certainly, but who is likely to cause trouble in the house; ... who is, in short, a dangerous man?...”

“You astonish me to the last degree, mother! I never, no, never should have suspected M. Louis of dangerous designs, or that he even had the power to disturb us.”

“Raillery, my dear, is in this case quite out of place. What secret motive have you for undertaking his defence?”

“I? I have none. What motive could I have?”

“Then, why take sides against us?”

“Why, I have not taken sides against you!”

“How can you deny it?”

“I do deny it, mother, with your permission. My father imputed intentions to M. Louis which perhaps he never had. I merely observed it would be more just to wait for proofs before condemning him. That is all, and a very small affair.”

“Wait for proofs before condemning him, do you say?... Well, he has them. Adams has confessed everything.... He acknowledges that M. Louis endeavored to convert him, lent him books, taught him the catechism, and, what was worse, dwelt a great deal on hell as a place he could not fail to go to if he, Adams, remained a Protestant. The poor fellow has not recovered from his terror yet!... Your father has talked to him very kindly, given him good advice, mingled with kind reproaches. Adams was affected, and ended by saying he never wished to see M. Louis again; and he did a lucky thing!”

“It seems to me that Adams is either a simpleton or a hypocrite.”

“Eugénie, that is altogether too much!”

“I do not see anything very astonishing in what I have said. Please listen to me a moment, mother. To hesitate between two creeds, without being able to decide on either, seems to me a proof of weakness. But if, on the contrary, Adams invented this story of his conversion in order to yield at a favorable moment and gain the good-will of my father more than ever, would not this show a duplicity and artfulness that could only belong to a hypocrite?...”

“Adams could not have invented such a thing. It would have rendered him liable to dismissal.”

“I beg your pardon, mother. Adams did not risk anything. The course he has taken proves it. And that is precisely what makes me distrust him.”

“How can you impute such motives to anybody!... Adams has renounced his intention, because he was convinced by your father’s arguments. He has behaved like an honest man!”

“Excuse me, mother; we are in more danger than ever of not understanding each other. Why! you seem to rejoice that Adams has returned to his errors! You appear to think his course very natural, and to approve of it!”

“Yes, I do approve of it; people ought not to change their religion.”

“You might as well say a person ought not to acknowledge his error when he is mistaken. I am by no means of your opinion, though I am not very religious.”

“A proposof religion, my dear, you seem to have taken a strange turn. You have grown so rigorous as to astonish me; there is not an ultra notion you do not approve of. You have completely changed since.... But I will not make you angry.”

“Since M. Louis came here?... A pretty idea. But I am not surprised.”

“You said it yourself, but it is true. Since that man came here, you have changed every way. I know not why or wherefore, but it is a fact. Your cousin himself has observed it, and it grieves him. You are no longer towards him as you once were. You keep him at a distance. You are not lively as you used to be. You only talk of things serious enough to put one asleep.”

“It is nearly ten years since I wasbrought in such close contact with my cousin as now. I was very young then. I have grown older and more sensible. Why has not he done the same?”

“Your sarcasm is malicious and unmerited. Albert is a charming fellow.”

“Oh! I agree with you! But this very fact injures him in my estimation. A charming fellow is one who requires an hour to dress; is skilled in paying a multitude of compliments he does not mean; has a petty mind that only takes interest in trifles; in short, a useless being it is impossible to rely on. When Albert came, he seemed to be conscious of the absurdity of being a charming fellow. He tried to put on a semblance of gravity, but it did not last long. Once more the proverb held good:Chasser le naturel, il revient au galop.”[197]

“Wonderful, my dear. You have every qualification for adévote: especially one characteristic—maliciousness. Poor Albert! how you have set him off! Happily, there is not a word of truth in all you have said. He a man on whom you cannot rely! He has a heart of gold.”

“I do not dispute the goodness of his heart. I have never put it to the proof.”

“What a wicked insinuation! How dreadful it is to always believe the worst of everybody.”

“Well, let it be so: he has a kind heart!... But is there any depth to him?”

“As much as is necessary. This would be a sad world if we were always obliged to live with moody people like some one I know of. I really believe he is your beau ideal.”

“I do not say that; but, if he is really what he appears to be, he merits my good opinion. I wish all I live with resembled him.”

“Well done! A little more, and you will tell me he is the realization of all your dreams.”

“I do not know him well enough to accord him all your words seem to imply.”

“At all events, you know him well enough to take an interest in him, and much more than would suit your father.... Your cousin even was scandalized at your daring to defend him against your father, who had good reason to blame him.”

“My cousin would do well to attend to his own affairs, and not meddle with mine. If he came here to watch me, sneer at me, and give me advice, he had better have remained in Paris.”

“He came here hoping to find the friend of his childhood glad to see him, and ready to show him the affection he merits. Everybody does not judge him as severely as you do. I know many girls who....”

“Who would be glad to marry him! Well, they may have him!”

“That is too much! The son of my sister whom I love with all my heart! A child whom I brought up and love almost as much as I do you!”

“But, mother, I am not displeased because you love him. I do not dislike him. I wish him well, and would do him all the good in my power. But when I make choice of a husband, I shall choose one with qualities Albert will never possess.”

“I have suspected it for a long time. Yes; I thought long ago, seeing the turn your mind was taking, that, when you married, it would be foolishly.”

“What do you mean by foolishly?”

“Marrying a man without property, or one with eccentric notions,or some prosy creature of more or less sincerity. I am very much afraid you are infatuated about an individual who has all these defects combined. Fortunately.... You understand me....”

“What, mother?”

“Yes; we shall watch over your interests, your father and I, and if you are disposed to make a foolish match, like one that occurs to me, we shall know how to prevent it. We shall not hesitate if obliged to render you happy in spite of yourself.”

“Render me happy?... At all events, it would not be by forcing me to marry Albert.”

“Anyhow, you shall marry no one else.... It is I who say so, and your father will show you he is of my opinion.”

Upon this, Mme. Smithson went out, violently shutting the door after her. Like all people of weak character, she must either yield or fall into a rage. It was beyond her ability to discuss or oppose anything calmly.

It was all over! All her plans were overthrown! She must bid farewell to her dearest hopes! She must no longer think of retaining Albert and sending for his mother—for Mme. Smithson’s desires went as far as that! Her dream was to unite the two families by marrying Eugénie and Albert. Instead of that, what a perspective opened before her!—a marriage between her daughter and Louis, which roused all her antipathies at once! She was beside herself at the bare thought of seeing herself connected with a son-in-law she could not endure, and who was no less repulsive to Mr. Smithson.... Her maternal heart was kind when no one contradicted her, but there was in its depths, as often happens in weak natures, a dash of spitefulness. Having returned to her chamber, Mme. Smithson began to reflect. She seldom gave herself up to reflection, and then only when she was troubled, as is the case with some people. As might be supposed, she was too excited to reflect advantageously.

“Oh! oh!” she said to herself, “Eugénie dares resist me the only time I ever asked her to obey! She despises Albert. She speaks scornfully of him! And that is not sufficient: she carries her audacity so far as to sing the praises of a man I detest!... See what it is to be indulgent to one’s children! The day comes when, for a mere caprice, they tread under foot what was dearest to you.... Well, since she will do nothing for me, I will do nothing for her.... She rejects Albert. I will have the other one driven away.... Since that meddler came, everything has gone wrong here.... What a nuisance that man is! If he had not come here, everything would have gone on as I wished.... I will go in search of my husband. It will be easy to have the engineer sent off, after committing so many blunders. When he is gone, we shall have to endure my daughter’s ill-humor, but everything comes to an end in this world. The time will come when, realizing her folly, Eugénie will listen to reason.”

The interview between Mr. Smithson and his wife took place a little while after. What was said I never knew. Mme. Smithson alluded to it once or twice at a later day, but merely acknowledged she did very wrong. The remembrance was evidently painful, and she said no more.

Eugénie at once foresaw this private interview between her parents. The conversation she had just hadwith her mother only served to enlighten her more fully as to the state of her feelings. Forced to express her opinion of Albert and Louis, she had spoken from her heart. She was herself in a measure astonished at seeing so clearly she did not love Albert—that there was a possibility of loving Louis—that perhaps she already loved him.... And she also comprehended more clearly all the difficulties such an attachment would meet with. Her mother’s opposition had hitherto been doubtful. It was now certain, and the consequence was to be feared.

“My mother is so much offended,” she said to herself, “that she will try to unburden her mind to my father at once, and perhaps influence him against me. Before the day is over, she will tell him all I said, and the thousand inferences she has drawn from it. This interview fills me with alarm! I wish I knew what they will decide upon, if they come to any decision....”

Eugénie tried in vain to get some light on the point, but was not able to obtain much. The interview took place. Mr. Smithson seemed vexed and thoughtful after his wife left the office. Mme. Smithson went directly to give the porter orders to send the engineer to her husband as soon as he arrived. Louis had sent word the evening before he should return the following day.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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