MADAME AGNES. FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARles Dubois. CHAPTER XIV. PERHAPS PROPHETIC. speak to her, but said, in a frank, natural tone: "You have been to see my patient; she spoke of you yesterday." "Yes, mademoiselle; I have just come from there. I do not think she will need our assistance long. Poor woman, or rather, happy woman, she is at last going to receive the reward she so well deserves!... But how many others there are still to be aided when she is gone! . . . There is so much wretchedness whichever way we turn! If there were only more like you, mademoiselle, to look after the poor!" My "And you also, monsieur. father has told me something of your plans. I will not speak of my ap proval: my approbation is of little value; but I assure you they please me. Above all, I hope you will not allow yourself to be discouraged by difficulties you are likely to meet with." It was the first time for many weeks that Louis had met Eugénie alone. He felt greatly excited, and naturally said to himself: "Ought I to manifest any appearance of avoiding her?... Or, on the contrary, shall I keep on? Any avoidance might make her think unfavorably of me. . . . But would it be prudent to speak to her?..." While thus debating with himself, he looked at Eugénie as she advanced towards him, handsome and dignified as ever, and as calm as he was agitated. He still kept on, yielding to an irresistible attraction without bringing himself to an account for it. As he advanced, he recalled how Françoise had praised her. "That dear woman," he said, "could have no interest in deceiving me. A soul so upright and pure could only tell the truth. And who has had a better opportunity of knowing Mlle. Eugénie? . . . Well, I must study this unique girl a little more! . . . I "I hope, with the help of God, to will speak to her! . . . I have judg- overcome them, mademoiselle. But ed her too severely. I must learn the efforts of an isolated individual her real nature. I must show her like myself are of little avail, espe what I am. She has, I am sure, cially when one has had no more conceived some suspicion about me experience and is no richer than I." which she may already regret. At all events, my line of conduct here is plainly marked out. I am resolv. ed to regain her esteem, and obtain her assistance in the good I am doing, in order that it may be done more effectually and speedily. Now is the time to make the attempt! ..." As he said this to himself, he met Eugénie. She did not appear at all embarrassed as he advanced to These words were uttered in a tone of frankness and simplicity that produced a lively impression on Eugénie. "If he is sincere in what he says," said she to herself, "my sus picions about him are unjust; but this frankness and simplicity of manner are perhaps subtle means of blinding my eyes." She therefore remained on her guard. "Ah! monsieur, it is not money alone we should give the poor! What they need, above all, is advice, which you are much better fitted to give than I who have had no experience of life." There was a tinge of irony in these last words that did not escape Louis, but he pretended not to observe it. "I do not think," said he, "that I have had as much experience as you suppose, mademoiselle. However, a Christian seeks aid from a different source than the insufficient arsenal of human experience. What we should, above all, remind the poor of, what we should induce them to love, are the precepts of religion which they may have forgotten and no longer practise for want of knowing their value." "You are very pious, it seems, monsieur," she said, in a slight tone of raillery. "I must put an end to this," said Louis to himself. "She seems to regard me as a hypocrite. I will prove to her I am not. If she refuses to believe me, her persistency in such odious and unjust suspicions will redound to her own injury." "Mademoiselle," said he, "I am not very pious, but I desire to be so, or rather to become so again, for I was as long as my mother lived. She was taken away too soon for my good, for I had need of her counsels and guidance. I have realized it since! You have doubtless had an account of my life. It may be summed up in three words: folly, despair, and return to God. I dare not pledge my word that this return is irrevocable: I have given too many proofs of weakness to rely on myself. God, who has brought me back to himself, can alone give me the necessary strength to remain faithful to him. But if I cannot promise ever to falter again, I can at least venture to declare that my conversion is sincere-so sincere that, having lost all I had, I regard this loss as extremely fortunate, for it was, in God's providence, the means of leading me back to the faith. Such a benefit can never be too dearly purchased!" Louis kept his eyes fastened on Eugénie as he spoke. She looked up more than once; the expression of his face and the tone of his voice were so evidently those of an honest man, that she felt all her doubts give way. "Monsieur," said she, "I do not know as I should reproach myself for what I said with regard to your piety, though I perceive it has wounded you, for it has led to an explanation on your part which . . .” "Which has made me happy," was what Eugénie was about to say, but she stopped quite confused as she bethought herself of the interpretation he might give to her words. Louis comprehended her embarrassment; he saw her fears, and came to her aid. "Which you thought necessary, mademoiselle," suggested he. "I can understand that. It is rather a rare phenomenon to see a young man pass from dissipation to piety." Eugénie immediately recovered her usual serenity. "Well, monsieur," said she, "now I know your intentions and projects; I assure you my mother and myself will second them as much as is in our power. What is there we can do? "Tell me what charitable offices you like the least, mademoiselle, or what you find too difficult to perform." "That is admirable! We have often longed for a representative, a substitute, who could effect what we were unable to do. But how can we otherwise aid you "You are kind enough, then, to allow me to be the medium of your alms. It is a pleasant office to receive contributions for the benefit of others, especially from people as benevolent as you, mademoiselle. I accept the post with lively gratitude, and will at once ask you for some good books for the library I have established for the workmen." "I will bring you twenty volumes to-morrow that are of no use to me, and are exactly what you want." Louis and Eugénie then separated. The interview was short, but it led to the very points which enabled them to study and appreciate each other better than they could have done in two hours in a salon. That evening, Louis appeared to his workmen more cheerful and social than usual. He was at last sure of gaining Eugénie's esteem. Without acknowledging it to himself, he already loved her to such a degree that he was extremely desirous of revealing himself to her under an aspect more and more favorable. This is loving worthily and heartily. As to Eugénie, when she entered the presence of the poor woman she went to visit, she could not resist the desire of speaking again of Louis. An instinctive, perhaps superstitious, feeling made her believe, as well as he, that this woman, who was dying in so pious a frame of mind after so heroic a life, could not be mistaken in her opinion. "So pure a soul ought to be able to read clearly the hearts of those around her," she said to herself. "Has M. Beauvais been here to-day, Mère Françoise ?" she asked. "Yes, mademoiselle. I am glad you spoke of him. I do not expect to see him again in this world, and was so taken up with a favor I had to ask him that I forgot to express my gratitude for all his kindness to Every day he has brought me something new; but that is the least me. of his benefits. I particularly wished to express my thanks for all the good he has done me by his conversation. Ah! mademoiselle, how I wish you could hear him speak of God, the misery of this world, and the joys of heaven! If I die happy, it is owing to him. Before he came to see me, I was afraid of death. However poor we may be, we cling to life so strongly! . . . Thanks to him, I now feel I cannot die too soon.... I have told M. le Curé all this, and he made me promise to pray for one who has so successfully come to his aid. When I reach heaven, I shall pray for him and for you, mademoiselle. You have both been so kind to me. Promise to tell him all this." This testimony, so spontaneous and heart-felt, from a dying person, with regard to Louis' goodness and piety, and this union of their names in the expression of her gratitude, produced a profound and lasting impression on the tender, romantic soul of Eugénie. All the way home she dwelt on what had occurred. She began to reproach herself for her suspicions-suspicions now vanished. It was not that she loved Louis, or even had an idea she might love him, but her noble mind had a horror of the injustice she had been guilty of towards an innocent and unfortunate man. "I will repair it," she said to herself, "by faithfully keeping the promise I made him." That very evening, she spoke of Louis to her father and mother, repeating the conversation she had had with him, and expressing a wish to co-operate in the good work he was undertaking. "It is a work in which we cannot refuse our sympathy," she said, "for its object is to ameliorate the condition of our workmen-3 question that has preoccupied us all for a long time." Eugénie's object in this was to ing him in any other benevolent enterprise, you must consult me before coming to any decision. This young man, I say, has good qualities, but he is a little enthusiastic. His ardor just now needs moderating; after a while, it may be necessary to revive it. Let him go on. We will aid him when we can be of service, but must be a little on our guard." The oracle had spoken. Eugénie reflected on what had been said. It was evident that Louis inspired her father with some distrust. Mr. Smithson, according to his habit, left his wife and daughter at an early hour to work in his office. CHAPTER XV. A QUESTION. EUGENIE, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father's words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it. . . . But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy? ... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father's reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. " My mother must be aware of my father's real sentiments," she said to herself; "I will ask her." Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not VOL. XVII.-29 exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint. "Mother," said Eugénie, "give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis ?" "You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him." 66 Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing-a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character? . . . The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have." "Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here for well-known reasons. Your father he better or worse?-that is the question-a serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought him worse." was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary-too high, in my estimation-but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for." "Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets." "Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace." "But not to me." "It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons." "It is not a question of his sins." "What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to another this evening." "It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be-that is, one who has forsaken his errors, "What can you see in him so re- acknowledges he has gone astray, markable ?" repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant. and reclaiming those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. But if he is not the man I think-if these fine projects are only a lure, an artful means . . ." "A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewil "And you think M. Louis this dered with your fancies. Do you white blackbird ?" "I really do." "Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him." Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not fancy him-understand that-in the least. I do not even believe I ever could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young men of his age. But is imagine he wishes to revolutionize. the establishment, and supplant your father?..." "Let us not exaggerate things I beg, mother. What I wished you to understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?" "I haven't the slightest idea." "Indeed! . . . I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, and affect all these airs of dis interested benevolence, to bring about a secret project ?" |