CHAPTER XXII.
THE ENEMY ON EITHER HAND.
What I 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 seeking an 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 wished to 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 ablest talker 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 being deprived 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 you must 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 the curé. Adams pretended the curé intimidated 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 the curé” 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 an immediate 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, his shameful 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.