"You hear Leonore, young ladies," cried Clarisse; "would it still be wicked to find this abuse of jasmine monotonous?"
Louise de Mirefont had started several times, for she was the unknown artist whose filial devotion created the bouquets and wreaths which Eve had not ceased to buy.
For the second time in her life Louise penetrated into the drawing-room of the Countess de Peyrolles, where she had been presented the [{372}] preceding winter by Mlle. de Rouvray, an old friend of her mother, and companion to the Countess. At the reiterated requests of Mlle. de Rouvray, Louise's parents consented that their daughter should go among the society in which her birth and education called her to live, had not her entire want of fortune kept her away.
At the time of that single party, which occupied a large place in the young girl's memory, she had remarked one of her masterpieces over the brow of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam. She had blushed, not without an innocent joy.
How different was her feeling now! Every mocking shaft of Clarisse wounded her, the smiles of the other girls put her to torture; and when Leonore, in her indulgent observations, which had consoled her a little, innocently pronounced the word charity, she grew pale and felt humbled. Pride brought to her eyes two tears, which vexation dried on her eyelashes.
"Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam has done me an act of charity," she thought with a sort of wrath. "We have a disguised alms, and M. Gaston du Castellet has failed in all his promises."
Such were, we are obliged to avow it, Louise de Mirefont's first thoughts; pride rendered her unjust and ungrateful. Alas! as we have been told many times, first thoughts in our weak nature are not always the best. An angry suspicion, moreover, augmented the girl's indignation.
The nephew of Eve's governess, Gaston du Castellet, introduced into the family of Mirefont by Mlle. de Rouvray, had he, in an excess of zeal, revealed the secret of a distress courageously concealed for more than four years? Gaston was, himself, in a position of fortune more than mediocre, he lived honorably, but in a very modest office. He had been received with a noble simplicity; his tact, his delicacy, rendered him worthy of such a reception, and he had also conquered the good graces of M. and Mme, de Mirefont.
Louise, during her long is hours of work, often surprised herself thinking of the amiable qualities, the distinction, the benevolence, of Gaston du Castellet. While with a light hand she cut out or adjusted the green leaves or white flowers on their stem, she could not forbid herself to dream of the prudent attentions which Gaston showed her. Together with her fairy fingers, her imagination, or rather her heart, built a frail edifice of green leaves, hope, and white flowers, like the innocence of her love. A word, a glance, a smile of Gaston's, some mark of solicitude for her venerable parents, a generous word pronounced with feeling, received with eagerness, plunged her in long and sweet reveries. Her floral task was generally finished before her dream.
"He wished to associate his efforts with mine to comfort my parents' old age! With what eagerness he assisted my mother!" thought Louise, trembling with emotion. "'Why can I not always replace you thus?' said he. 'My presence will permit you to continue your pious work.' I succeeded in finishing that evening the crown of jasmine for which my employer waited so impatiently. And on Sunday, what could be greater than Gaston's sincere goodness toward my father while my mother and I had gone to pray for him? When we returned our prayers seemed to have been heard: he suffered less, and attributed the amelioration of his state to Gaston's cares, cordial gaiety, and conversation. Heavens! what were they talking of in our absence?"