A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.
CHAPTER IX.
A FRIENDLY PARTY.—WHAT ADRIENNE DID WITH HER TEN PIECES OF GOLD.—UNEXPECTED VISITORS.—A HAPPY MEETING.
We must suppose that an interval of a year and a half has passed since the events happened which I related in the last chapter. The family of de Roisel are staying at Paris, as usual during the winter; and this chapter opens on a certain day, soon after Christmas, when they had guests to dinner. Eusèbe, and his father and mother, were there; also Adrienne Fallachon, accompanied by her father and her English governess. Maurice had met Adrienne again in the Luxembourg gardens, and at length the two families had become acquainted.
The dinner was in the middle of the day on account of the children, and afterwards, to amuse them as they sat round the fire, a singular sort of game was introduced. All were to confess in turn such faults or follies as they were conscious of in themselves, and to relate what bad, or silly, or ridiculous actions these faults had led them into,—it being understood that the grown-up people were only to speak of the faults and follies of their childhood.
They had just settled down to the game when Mr. Duberger came in. He joined in it at once, and related, with great goodnature and perfect candour and simplicity, a multitude of absurdities and mistakes which he had committed in complete innocence, but through negligence and absence of mind. He made every one laugh heartily at his stories.
Eusèbe was the only one of the party who had nothing to relate, for he knew of no imperfection in himself. Some of those present tried to help his memory a little; but no! he could remember no fault he had ever committed. He recollected, and related, only deeds of heroism, which did not fail to cause a slight astonishment in his hearers.
Adrienne, who, under the watchful care of her governess, had much improved in character since we knew her before, spoke of her own caprice and selfishness; and said she always should consider she had caused the misfortunes which befell Cressida, through refusing to give her ten pieces of gold to the poor woman.
“And what did you do at last with those ten napoleons?” asked Mr. Duberger.
Miss Henriette, the English governess, replied for Adrienne: “To tell you that, sir,” she said, “would not be keeping to our game.”
“But I can tell you what she did with them,” said Maurice. “When she went home that day, she had such a scolding from Miss Henriette for her hardness of heart, that she was very sorry indeed, and I have heard she cried a good deal. Well, a day or two afterwards a poor workman was killed, in falling from the scaffolding of a house, that was being built close by. Adrienne heard that he had left a widow and children in the greatest distress; and what do you think she did? She asked Miss Henriette to take her to see this poor woman, and gave her the ten napoleons. I know too that she has often been kind to poor people since, and given away her pocket-money.”
“It is all quite true,” said Adrienne’s father. “I should have told you of it long ago, but Adrienne made me promise that I would not.”
The little girl blushed, and her governess, who was sitting by her, took her hand; but at this moment the general attention was drawn in another direction. A servant came into the room, and spoke in a low voice to Mrs. de Roisel, who replied aloud: “Ask them to come in here, of course.”
The next moment the servant announced Mr. and Mrs. Leopold Kirchner; and a lady and gentleman with three children entered the room.
The name of Fritz’s niece—the poor woman whom Maurice had helped—was known to every one present; it was known also that her husband, having already made a good fortune in America, was about to return to Europe with his family, but their arrival at this time was unexpected. Their dress showed that they had but just come off a journey, and it was evident that, on arriving in Paris, their first thought had been to pay a visit to Maurice.
Finding so many persons in the room, the new-comers stood for a moment confused; and Mrs. de Roisel hastened forward to welcome them.
“Oh, father,” exclaimed the little girl, “here is Maurice. I know him, though he is grown much bigger in two years.”
Maurice was immediately embraced and kissed by every member of the family in turn.
“It rests with God,” said Leopold Kirchner, with deep emotion,—“it rests with God to reward such actions as yours; but if ever it should happen that we can be of any service to you, remember that all we possess, and all we can do, is at your command. But we had another benefactor at the same time.”
“Yes, that was Mr. Duberger,” Maurice hastened to say, glad to turn attention away from himself. “Here he is!”
“Sir,” said Leopold Kirchner to him, “I am not surprised to see you here. My wife’s uncle, Fritz Keller, who wrote to us very often about Maurice de Roisel, told us how you had become his friend and that of his parents. It is natural that those who have good hearts should come together, and esteem and love each other. I find no words, sir, in which I can express my gratitude to you.”
MAURICE WAS EMBRACED BY ALL THE FAMILY.
There was an evident sincerity, and a certain dignity too, in this language that went to the hearts of all. Then they talked of Fritz, who had died at a great age towards the beginning of the winter; and Maurice brought in Cressida to show the horse to his new friends. He had learnt from Mr. Duberger how to value it, and no longer used it as a plaything. Mr. Duberger always declared it to be the most remarkable and ingenious automaton that had ever been made.
When Cressida was brought in Eusèbe informed his parents that he must go away. He had not amused himself at all, and the sight of Cressida always put him out of temper. He regretted so much that when the little horse belonged to him, he had not destroyed it.
CHAPTER X.
CONCLUSION.
Something tells me that among my little readers there may be a few—perhaps the oldest or most clever—who wish to ask me certain questions. They may say to me:—
“Now what moral lesson do you draw from your story? That boy, Eusèbe, who is about the naughtiest and most disagreeable boy that ever lived, is left just as well off, and as happy as the dear good little Maurice. An author can make shadow or sunshine fall upon his paper as he pleases: then he should punish the bad, and make the good happy.”
In reply, I say to you: My dear little gentlemen and my pretty young ladies, you must know that Providence, which watches over us from above, does not institute special rewards for virtue, as men may do; nor has any system like ours for punishing the bad. Yet Providence is always just. To those who do good no other reward is sometimes accorded than that of being good: but, in truth, that is the best reward of all. If a man bestow charity in the hope that God will, as a reward, render him prosperous, he is not really charitable, but only a speculator who risks a little in the hope that he may gain much. Nor can we always see how Providence punishes the bad. They may be rich and prosperous, yet they may suffer from the hatred that is in their hearts, and from the envy they feel towards those who appear happy.
But to satisfy my little readers I will leap over the fifteen years which separate the present time from that at which my story began, and see what has become of the principal characters.
To begin with Eusèbe. You may meet him everywhere; at the theatres, in the park, at races, always with his glass in his eye, generally with a cigar in his mouth, and dressed in a conspicuous and ridiculous fashion. But you may ask perhaps what he does? Nothing: that is the only thing he is capable of doing. With a cold heart and an empty head he has no friendships, nor has he intellect enough even to enjoy his amusements.
That attack of the nerves which his parents always dreaded, but which never came, was an excuse for not working at college; and when his education was supposed to be finished, it was discovered one fine day that he knew nothing and was fit for nothing. But I am forgetting: he has one occupation, which is the misery of his life. His occupation is to envy. When any of his old college companions or his schoolfellows are successful in literature, science, or art, he is miserable. It is torture to him to hear them praised. He does what he can to detract from their merit and renown; and finds a certain satisfaction—perhaps a slight consolation—in laughing at them for their application and industry.
“How a fellow can be such a fool as to work hard in that way!” he will say with an air of superiority.
In short, Eusèbe would like to sweep away all genius, talent, and wit from the face of the earth, and when there remained only fools upon it, he might be king among them. And now, my little readers, what do you think of Eusèbe? Is he happy, do you suppose?
WITH HIS GLASS IN HIS EYE, AND DRESSED IN A RIDICULOUS FASHION.
You ask now if Adrienne Fallachon became a duchess after all?
No; far from it. She grew up wiser and less ambitious than her father. She has lately married a young lawyer, a cousin of her own, whom she loved. So she has not even changed her name, which is still Fallachon.
And Maurice?
Maurice has lately left college, where he has greatly distinguished himself. As a young man, he is still as kind, gentle, and brave, as he used to be when a boy; and is as generally loved as his cousin Eusèbe is disliked. His talent and his inclination both seem to point to a literary career, as the one he will take to; nor can any be more honourable or useful when the writer teaches what is true, and good, and noble. I am sure we all wish him success and happiness.
