Edward told her, that when he was going to dress, he had found his coat so much torn, that he was obliged to resolve on remaining at home.
"That," said Eugenia, "is what happens to me every day."
"Well, Eugenia," he replied, "if that can console you, it will henceforward also happen to me every day." With these words, he went out of the room. Eugenia saw that she had grieved him, and, for the first time in her life, she thought she might be in the wrong. It was, also, the first time she had seen Edward sad and unhappy, and this circumstance so occupied her mind, that she was prevented from thinking so much of herself. Nevertheless, she was not very sorry that he was obliged to remain in the house. When she returned to her room, she heard Catherine, who was very cross with him, crying out, that Madame did not understand having so many candles burnt, that there were none in the house, and that she would not give him any. Until that time, both Edward and Eugenia had bought candles for themselves, in order to avoid Catherine's ill temper; but now Edward had no money left. Whilst Catherine went away grumbling, Edward remained leaning against the wall, with his arms folded, and his head bent down. He was pale from the effort he had made to prevent himself from answering Catherine. Although it was beginning to get dark, Eugenia was so struck with the pallid and melancholy expression of his usually animated countenance, that at that moment she would have given the world to prevent his wanting anything. She timidly proposed to him to come and sit in her room, as she had still some candle left. He took his book, and commenced reading. Eugenia was careful not to interrupt him; it seemed as if she were afraid, that by hearing him speak, she should discover the extent of his melancholy; and, besides, what she most wished at this time, was to have Edward to do as he pleased. Two notes of invitation were brought to him, one to a concert, which was to take place the following day, and to which he had a great wish to go, the other to a ball, where he was to have danced with Fanny. He threw them into the fire. "All that is past;" he said, "I must think no more of it."
Oh, how these words pierced the heart of Eugenia! How she reproached herself for what she had said, and for the joy she had at first experienced. Edward went to bed early. As for herself, she could not sleep all night; she thought how wrong she had been in neglecting Edward's wardrobe, and she remembered that he had never even reproached her. She determined not to lose a moment in putting it in order. If she could also mend his coat! If he could go to the concert! She waited with great impatience until it was daylight, and until Edward had gone out in his morning wrapper. She then ran and took his coat, sought among her wools for one to match it, found one, and full of zeal, began her work; but the hole was so large, that she tried in vain to cover it. A dozen times she unpicked what she had done, and did it over again; but this kind of work upon a worn-out material only increased the evil. Greatly excited, all flushed and heated, the more she tried to get on, the less she advanced. At length, when she had almost lost all hope of success, she heard Edward return. She began to cry, and when he entered, he saw her with the coat upon her knees, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Here," said she, "I had hoped you might have been able to go to the concert, and I have only made the hole larger." Edward embraced her tenderly; he was delighted to find her attentive, and occupied about him; he called her his dear, his good Eugenia, but all these marks of affection only increased her tears. She could not reconcile herself to the thought of Edward's passing the whole winter without going out.
"I shall be like you then, my dear Eugenia," said Edward.
"Oh, don't think about me."
This was the first time she had made use of such an expression. It was the first time such a sentiment had entered her heart; but she had at length discovered that the griefs of those we love are much more distressing than our own.
As soon as Edward had left her room, she ran to her drawers, gathered together her few trinkets, and a louis that still remained of the money that Edward had given her, and wrote to Mademoiselle Benoît, telling her that she wanted most urgently to see her. Mademoiselle Benoît came that very evening. Eugenia told her everything, and said that with her trinkets and this money she must buy a coat for Edward; but the trinkets were of too little value to answer the purpose. Eugenia was in despair. Mademoiselle Benoît proposed a plan to her.
"I have taught you to make flowers," she said; "buy some materials, and I will lend you some instruments, and also assist you. The winter is coming on, ornaments will be required, we shall sell cheap, and shall have as many customers as we desire."