CHAPTER XIX.
ALBERT’S VISIT.
Fanny, after despatching her letter, was filled with an uneasiness that was continually increasing. “Will he get here in season?” she asked herself. “Perhaps mademoiselle will have come to a decision before Albert arrives.”
But however partial Fanny might be to her protégé, she could not help seeing that Louis possessed rare qualities. If her interests had not been at stake, she would have confessed at once that he alone was worthy of Mlle. Smithson; but her selfishness kept her wilfully blind.
Alas! day after day passed away without result. The wonderful letter Fanny depended so much on produced no effect. Twenty times a day she went from despair into anger.
“Such a fine dowry!” she would exclaim. “Such a pretty girl! And he allowing them to slip through his fingers—to fall into the hands of another—and what other!... A spendthrift who will squander her property—a libertine who will neglect his wife!... Ah! she might be so happy with him, and he with her! And I should be so sure of an easy life in their house! What is he doing?... Is he absorbed in trifles, and going to lose such an opportunity? I was right: he is light-headed. But his mother, Mme. Frémin, has sense enough, I am sure, and has longed for this match these ten years: is she asleep too? Or has she changed her mind?...”
When the day of the dinner came, of which I have just spoken, Fanny’s distress was unbounded. “The enemy is constantly gaining ground,” she muttered to herself. “Every day Mlle. Eugénie becomes less indifferent towards him. Perhaps they will come to an understanding to-night, and vow to love each other. We are lost! Albert is positively a simpleton!”
When Eugénie retired to her chamber, Fanny, quivering with excitement, was there to eye her narrowly, hoping to read the depths of her soul. She saw her mistress was more thoughtful than usual, and began by artfully praising Louis. Eugénie seemed to listen with pleasure. All this caused the wily servant a sleepless night.... When daylight appeared, Fanny had decided on her course. This soubrette was a long-headed woman!
“If I had to choose a husband for Mlle. Eugénie,” she said to herself, “I certainly should not select M. Louis. Mademoiselle would be far happier with Albert. As to him, he will never find another equal to her. But I cannot force them to be happy. It is their own affair. Mine is to look out for my own interests.... What do I want?... To secure a pleasant home for the rest of my life. Perhaps this new suitor would give me one.... Is he really as much of a spendthrift, and as overbearing, as I feared at first? I have seen him only a few times, but I know him well enough to see I may have been greatly deceived, and that there is much more in him than I supposed.... Well, that is settled: if Albert is not here in season, if I see the other one is likely to win the day, I shall take sides with him.... But I will make one more sacrifice for the ungrateful fellow whom I have loved so much! I will write his mother again, and wait a few days longer....”
She wrote, and did not have long to wait. Albert arrived the next day but one. When he appeared, Fanny almost sank to the ground with astonishment and joy: with joy, because she loved him as spinsters always love when they love at all—with as much strength as selfishness; with astonishment, for she hardly recognized him. She had not seen him for a year and a half. He was then in the third year of his law studies—a young man of sprightly, jovial air, faultless in dress, and fluent of speech, though he only talked of trifles.... Quantum mutatus! ... He now had a grave air, his dress was plain even to severity, and there was a solemnity in his manner of speaking that confounded Fanny, but which pleased her. What had wrought such a change? She was dying to know, but had to wait to be enlightened on the point till she could see him in private. This could not take place at once. He must renew his acquaintance with his uncle, aunt, and cousin.
Albert’s sudden arrival caused some surprise, but not very much, however, for he had promised several months before to come about this time. Mr. Smithson received him with his usual quiet, somewhat cool regard. He looked upon his nephew as frivolous, and for such people he had no liking. But Mme. Smithson gave her dear Albert a very different reception. She loved him for his own sake, and especially for his mother’s, whom she regarded with affection and pity. She was quite well aware that her sister’s income was very limited, and to see Albert marry her daughter would by no means have been repugnant to her. Eugénie also received her cousin with the pleasure and cordiality natural to a relative meeting the friend of her childhood.
In the course of two hours, he was made to feel quite at home, at liberty to go where he pleased, and to do what he liked. All the family had some employment, Eugénie as well as her parents. Albert at once profited by this liberty to prendre langue, as the saying is—to get the news from Fanny. For had she not induced him to come here, and made him aware of her projects?... He found her in a small building not far from the house. It was on the banks of the river, which was more charming here than in any other part. Its peaceful current glided between high banks where grew on either hand a row of willows whose pendant branches swept the very waters. Everything was delightfully quiet and romantic. It was Eugénie’s favorite retreat, where she often came in the morning to read, or to muse as the day declined. But Albert gave no heed to the beauties of nature around him.
“At last we can have a talk, my good Fanny,” said he: “talk of our mutual plans, eh! eh!—for it seems you, too, wish me to marry Eugénie. Our plans are in danger, if I am to believe your two letters: it is possible I may be set aside! That would be a pity! My cousin is handsomer than ever.... But to tell the truth, her style of beauty is not exactly to my taste: she is too dignified. But ...”
“Too dignified!... Mademoiselle is enchanting; and then, there is her fortune, which it is no harm to consider.”
“My uncle’s losses have made a hole in it, however.”
“But they are being repaired every day by his industry. You would not believe how profitable this mill is. Come, tell me plainly, will you ever find a wife as rich?—with even half as much as she will have?...”
“Ma foi! no.”
“And the money you would never find again you have come near letting slip into another’s hands!... There is some danger of it still.”
“You alarm me.”
“It is just so. Why were you so long in coming?”
“Because ... Tiens, my dear, I was just going to tell you a fib, but it would do no good. I may as well show my hand.... I came very reluctantly, because I prefer my bachelor life. It would suit me better to wait a while. Would it be dangerous to ask a delay of two or four years?”
“Ah! it is not enough to furnish you with a handsome wife and a fine fortune! One must wait till you are disposed to accept them! Where are your wits?”
“Come, do not get angry. I see I must marry her at once. I will do as you say. Here, I am all ready to listen to your advice, for you must tell me what I am to do.”
“You give in? You may as well! Come, own that you gave me a false impression. And I was so pleased! Your grave air and plain dress made me hope you were converted—I see I was mistaken, and am sorry for it.”
“A fine farce. And so I even took you in! But did you not tell me to come here like a man seriously disposed? If I succeeded in deceiving you, the disguise must be perfect. The rest are more easily taken in than you!... But that is not the point. You look quite frightened. What are you afraid of?”
“Everything, and principally lest you make Mlle. Eugénie unhappy.”
“She shall be mistress: that is what she likes—what else?”
“When you are married, you will no longer have any need of me, and will send me away.”
“Send you away! I am ready to swear.... Here, I will give you my promise in writing: you shall never leave my house. Fanny, do you think me capable of such ingratitude? I am frivolous, but I have some heart, you well know, you old grumbler.... Well, how do affairs really stand?... Does not your affection for me incline you to take too gloomy a view of things?... My enemy—my rival, if I rightly understand your letters—is a fellow who ruined himself, and came here to win the beautiful Eugénie’s heart and fortune; he is very sedate in appearance, and artful in reality. But it is not enough to be ruined, and long for a fortune—the thing is to get it. The first condition is to please the lady. Is he a handsome fellow?”
“No; but he has a sensible, refined face calculated to strike the fancy of a young lady like your cousin.”
“Has he much wit?”
“He talks little, but well.”
“He is religious, I think you said?”
“Yes; he has founded a library and a school for the benefit of the workmen, and he visits the poor. All this affords him many opportunities of meeting Mlle. Eugénie. She gives him books for his library, paper and pens for his school, and they agree upon the families to visit.”
“Ha! he is a knowing fellow. He thinks that a good way to please my cousin and to see her. Then Eugénie is more religious than she used to be?”
“It seems so, but you know it is not easy to tell what is going on in mademoiselle’s heart.”
“Fanny, you have rendered me a service I shall never forget. It was time to come—high time. I am even afraid I am too late. Have you detected anything to make you think her in love with him already?”
“She began by regarding him with aversion. This softened into indifference. What further change there is I do not know.”
“What caused her aversion?”
“She thought he came here to catch her.”
“The deuce!”
“His piety seemed to her mere artifice.”
“Evidently!... Is any one ever converted without a motive?”
“You are a wicked creature, Albert. Louis may be a hypocrite, but all religious people are not hypocrites. I even begin to think he is not.”
“Come, go on!... Well, I see Eugénie regards him as a saint. She admires him, if nothing more. The danger is imminent.”
“What are you going to do? Nothing wrong, I hope.”
“Be easy on that score. I am going to keep an eye on that man, and study him. If he is sincere, I will make him ridiculous; if he is false, I will unmask him. Of course, I shall also employ other means. If Eugénie is not yet in love with him, I shall be the foremost to win her heart. If she is attached to him, I shall do my utmost to appear more worthy of her regard, and to rout him. It is unnecessary to say I shall persist in my rôle as a person of gravity. Eugénie is absurdly romantic. I must endeavor to appear more saintly than this new apostle. No one will suspect the farce. It is an age since I was here, and it would not be astonishing if I also had been converted during the interval.”
“Don’t go too far!”
“You may rely on that. There is only one thing I am anxious about. Have I not some invisible obstacle to contend against?... Eugénie has a will of her own. If she has already made up her mind, if her heart is set on him, all my attempts would be of no avail.”
“Things have not come to that pass yet, I have every reason to believe. I know where and when she has seen him, and what he has said to her. She only regards him with esteem, you may be sure.”
After deciding on his plans, Albert had but one wish—to put them at once in execution. That very evening at dinner he directed the conversation to Louis. Mme. Smithson heartily praised the engineer. Mr. Smithson neither praised nor spoke disparagingly of him. He kept his suspicions with regard to Louis to himself. He was not in the habit of doing anything hastily, but had fully made up his mind to dismiss him if he found him as thorough a Catholic as he had reason to believe; that is, an overzealous one, secretly contriving with the curé all sorts of dark plots, the idea of which alarmed him.
Eugénie, in a perfectly natural manner, confirmed all her mother had said, spoke of the good works he had undertaken, and finally mentioned the part she had had in them.
“I also should be delighted to participate in all these laudable undertakings,” said Albert. “I must tell you, dear cousin, that I am beginning to be reasonable. I take an interest in studying the great social problems, especially the extinction of pauperism, and the moral improvement of the lower classes.”
Mr. Smithson gave Albert an incredulous look, and Eugénie broke out into unrestrained laughter.
“Well,” said Albert, intimidated and cut to the quick, “you shall see if what I tell you is not true! To-morrow I will visit this wonderful school, and offer my services to the person who has charge of it. I rather think they will not be refused.”
“Oh!” said Eugénie, “how amusing it will be to see you drilling under M. Louis’ orders!... You will soon have enough of it.”
“You think me fickle, then?”
“Rather so.”
“You are mistaken. I always like the same things, and especially the same people, my dear cousin.”
“How gallant you have become,” said Eugénie, laughing again. “But what has come over us! We used to say thou to each other; now we say you. Once we kept up a succession of compliments anything but flattering to each other, and here you are now gracious, amiable, and complimentary beyond description! It is a pity I can make no return.... But it is all in vain, my dear Albert; neither your white cravat nor your subdued air can deceive me. My aunt wrote me not long ago that you were just the same. Do you hear?—your own mother said there was no change in you.”
This unvarnished statement had really been made in one of Mme. Frémin’s letters. She little thought of injuring her son by showing him in so true a light.
“My mother was mistaken,” said Albert, exceedingly vexed at such annoying remarks; “or rather, you have given a wrong interpretation to her words. I am indeed the same in a certain sense. When there is cause for laughter, I am ready to laugh. But though it is proper to laugh at suitable times, I feel that excessive and constant gaiety is unworthy of a man who aspires to a high place in the estimation of others.”
“Ah! to think of your sermonizing, my dear cousin,” cried Eugénie, looking at him with a mocking air. “But now I begin to understand your behavior.... Yes; that is it.... You have an eye to the bench. You consider gravity as part of a judge’s outfit. You are right, but between ourselves, as no one hears you, confess that the mask is anything but comfortable.”
Albert was vexed and uneasy. His attempts were in vain: he could not persuade Eugénie he was really what he wished to appear. His sagacious cousin continued to banter him with a wit he found it difficult to ward off.
Eugénie had no special design in her bantering, but her very simplicity and wit disarmed Albert, and thwarted his plans. How far this was from the belle passion he hoped to inspire! Eugénie treated him merely like a cousin, almost like a boy. He resolved to let her see he was a man—a thoughtful and even religious man. “To-morrow,” thought he, “I will go and beard the lion in his den. I will watch him narrowly; I will become his friend in order to thwart him. When I have convinced my uncle and aunt there are others quite as rational as this gentleman, without being fanatics like him—for he is one, according to Eugénie’s own account—when I have won the admiration of my romantic cousin, then we will think of wooing. But we must begin by driving this Jesuit away. Really, the comedy begins to interest me. A fine fortune and a pretty wife are at stake. Moreover, there is this dismal creature to cover with confusion. If I do not come off conqueror, it will be because the fates are strangely against me.”
Such were Albert’s thoughts after retiring to his chamber. Then he betook himself to a novel. He was delighted to find himself so shrewd, and had no doubt of his success.
At that same hour, Louis was also awake, but absorbed in prayer. Piety daily increased in his steadfast soul: so did love in his heart. Albert’s arrival, which he was at once informed of, produced a painful impression. “Mr. Smithson distrusts me,” he said to himself; “Eugénie does not yet love me: it will be easy for this young man to win the place I covet in her heart.” He dwelt on these sad thoughts for some time, but soon had recourse to his usual source of consolation, and confided all his cares to God. The prayer he uttered might be summed up in these few words, so full of Christian heroism: “O my God! if it is in his power to render her happier than I could, I pray thee to bestow her on him, and let me find my only consolation in thee!...” The true Christian alone can so purify his affections as to render them disinterested. When Louis fell asleep, he felt a storm was brewing in the air, but calmness was in his heart. Resignation, trust in God, and the purity of his love had restored serenity to his soul.