CHAPTER XV.
A QUESTION.
Eugenie, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint.
“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis?”
“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him.”
“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.”
“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here for well-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for.”
“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.”
“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace.”
“But not to me.”
“What can you see in him so remarkable?”
“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and constancy of purpose that are striking.”
“Why, my dear, you make me laugh. Really, if all the gentlemen you see would only adapt themselves a little to your humor, there is not one you could not turn into a hero of romance.”
“Not at all. The proof is that I have hitherto only seen men unworthy of any serious consideration. When did I ever acknowledge I had found a man of character such as I would like to see?...”
“And you think M. Louis this white blackbird?”
“I really do.”
“Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him.”
“Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not fancy him—understand that—in the least. I do not even believe I ever could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young men of his age. But is he better or worse?—that is the question—a serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought him worse.”
“It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons.”
“It is not a question of his sins.”
“What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to another this evening.”
“It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be—that is, one who has forsaken his errors, acknowledges he has gone astray, repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant, and reclaiming those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. But if he is not the man I think—if these fine projects are only a lure, an artful means....”
“A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewildered with your fancies. Do you imagine he wishes to revolutionize the establishment, and supplant your father?...”
“Let us not exaggerate things, I beg, mother. What I wished you to understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Indeed!... I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, and affect all these airs of disinterested benevolence, to bring about a secret project?”
“What one, I ask you again? When you go to dreaming impossibilities, you know I can never follow you. Explain yourself clearly.”
“Well, since I am forced to call things by their right names, is he not aiming at my hand?”
“What a droll idea!... Why, he has not a sou left! Everybody knows that. He spent his property in six or seven years, and has nothing more to expect for a long time. So you believe he resolved to become religious, thinking that would be sufficient capital, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to obtain his daughter? I think he has too much sense to imagine anything so absurd; especially to give it a serious thought.”
“But if he hoped to please me by this means?... to win my esteem, my good will, my affection?...”
“All romance that, my dear.”
“But not impossible.”
“I prefer to think, for my own peace of mind and your father’s, that things will turn out differently. We have never intended you to marry a man without property. The idea of your having a husband who, instead of being wealthy, has squandered all he had, and might spend what you brought him!...”
“Ah! I understand you: you do not think him sincere.”
“I do not say that! He may be changed for the present, but who can be sure his conversion will be lasting?”
“It will if it is sincere; I am sure of that, for I have studied him. He possesses one quality which I either admire or detest, according to the use made of it: he has a strong will. He has been here a month, and, having nothing better to do, I have observed him, and have not discovered a single inconsistency in his conduct. He has always shown, exteriorly at least, the same love of labor, the same desire of doing all the good he can, and the same unassuming deportment. Either he is a man of rare excellence, or is uncommonly artful. I wish I knew exactly what my father thinks of him.”
“And why this persistency in discovering a mystery of so little importance?”
“Because I do not wish to despise M. Louis if he is worthy of esteem, and it would be wrong not to encourage him in well-doing if he has entered on that path with a sincere heart. Besides, I regard what he has undertaken and all he wishes to do as admirable as it is useful. I had been wishing for such an attempt to be made here, and could not be better pleased than to see my idea so speedily realized. M. Louis is, in my eyes, either a saint or a hypocrite. I have no fancy for loving either the one or the other; but, if he is a saint, I should feel like aiding him to a certain degree. After all, mother, is there anything in the world more desirable than to do good to those around us, especially when we are so situated as to make it a duty? Have you not often said so yourself?”
“You are right, my dear Eugénie. I feel what you say, and approve of it. As I advance in years, I feel a constantly increasing desire of laboring for Almighty God, for whom I have hitherto done so little. You need not fear; neither your father nor I have any doubts as to M. Louis. Nothing we have observed or have been told leads us to think him a hypocrite. As you desire it so strongly, I will tell you your father’s secret opinion, but do not betray me. He only dislikes one thing in M. Louis: he is too devoted a Catholic. It is all in vain: we cannot induce your father to like our religion. Catholics are too ardent every way, too superstitious, he says. He distrusts the engineer because he thinks him overzealous, that is all....”
When Eugénie went to her chamber, she selected the books she wished to contribute to Louis’ library, and then retired to rest, thinking of all the good that would now be done by him, as well as herself, in a place where want and every evil passion were to be found. Her noble, ardent soul had at length found its sphere. Hitherto she had dreamed of many ways of giving a useful direction to her activity, each one more impracticable than the rest. The right way was now open. Louis had pointed it out. Eugénie longed to become the benefactress of St. M——. Her imagination and her heart were pleased. It seemed to her as if she had become another being. She prayed that night with a fervor she had not felt for a long time. Then she fell into a reverie. In spite of herself, Louis’ image continually recurred to her mind. Before she fell asleep, she murmured a prayer for poor Françoise. Her name recalled the last words of that excellent woman: “In heaven, I shall pray for him and for you!” And circumstances were tending that same day to link them together as the dying woman had joined their names in prayer. There was something singular about this that struck Eugénie’s imagination. “Can her words be prophetic?” she said to herself. “So many strange things happen!... But this would be too much. He pleases me in no way except....” And she reviewed his good qualities, then blushed for attaching so much importance to the thought....
The next morning, she went with the books she had selected the night before. Fanny accompanied her. Louis received her with the exquisite politeness he never laid aside but with a cold reserve he had resolved to maintain towards her. Their interview only lasted a few minutes. Fanny, who had been easy for some time, was greatly astonished when asked to accompany her mistress to the engineer’s office. Their conversation showed they had recently seen each other, but under what circumstances she could not make out. All this redoubled her suspicions. On her way home with Eugénie, she remarked:
“That M. Louis is a charming young man; more so than I had supposed. What respect he showed mademoiselle! I am sure mademoiselle judges him with less severity than she did several weeks ago.”
“I have never judged him with severity,” replied Eugénie, with that lofty coolness which made those who did not know her accuse her of pride. “Why should I judge M. Beauvais? that is my father’s business.”
Fanny returned to the assault: “That is a queer notion of his to wish to instruct all those ignorant people. Much good will it do them! The more they know, the more dangerous they will be!...”
“Fanny, you should address such observations to M. Louis or my father. It is they who have founded the library and school, and they intend doing many other things without consulting you, I imagine.”
“Common people sometimes give good advice.”
“But they should give it to those who need it. All this does not concern me, I tell you again.”
“O the deceitful girl!” said Fanny to herself when alone in her chamber that night. “I always said she would deceive me. Where could she have seen him?... Is she already in love with him?... She is capable of it! But I will watch her narrowly, and, if it is not too late, will counteract her projects! I have a good deal to contend with, however. This M. Louis is an artful fellow. And on the other hand, it is no easy matter to lead Mlle. Eugénie.... I only hope she is not yet in love with him!... If she were to marry him instead of her cousin, I should go distracted.... Poor Albert! if he knew what is going on here. Fortunately, I am on the spot to watch over his interests. And there is more reason than ever to be on the lookout.”