"The Abbé Martigni, who was the duke's private chaplain, and who is cognizant of all the facts connected with his position, would, I doubt not, take charge of his education, if you were willing," replied Eugene; "but how would you be able to bear the separation necessary in that case?"
"I should fix my abode near, and find some occupation for myself," said the mother. "God forbid my selfish affection should stand between my child and his vocation."
Ellen might have said that her occupation was already found, for wherever there was an act of kindness to do, there Ellen found work. Had she admitted Eugene to the inner room of her own cottage, he might have found an old paralytic woman, who, deserted by all her friends, was taken care of by this good Samaritan and tended with the affection of a daughter. The duke's legacy to her was now employed entirely in acts of mercy and of charity, offered up for the repose of his soul. Not one penny was appropriated to her own use, for she still lived on the product of her pencil. On the return of the bishop the Abbé Martigni was appointed to a mission, and Henry Daubrey resided with him as his pupil, preparatory to his being sent to the seminary, aiding his tutor in that semi-concealed fulfilment of his high duties which was then the characteristic mode of English Catholicity, induced by English semi-toleration of Catholic religious rites. The mother lived close by, and it was not long ere her house was known as a house of mercy, a refuge for the poor, a hospital for the sick, a haven of spiritual consolation to any who needed the kind offices practised beneath its roof. Penitents, lovingly attracted by her angelic sweetness, often came, as it were, by stealth to inquire of her the way to God, and by her were led back into the fold whence they had strayed while inquirers, touched by her life of self-denial, found the prejudices in which they had been brought up melt away, and many were led to embrace the saving truths which bind the children of the church together in the one fold of Christ, at the feet of one Lord, who gave us one faith, one baptism.
CHAPTER XVI.
FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND LIBERTY OF ACTION.
When Eugene had fulfilled the commission of the late duke, and had made the arrangement for Henry Daubrey with the Abbé Martigni, spoken of in the last chapter, he bethought him of his own position. Whither should he bend his own steps? As long as he had been busied in Ellen's affairs, the excitement had in some measure kept him up, and prevented his realizing what it is to be homeless, to have relatives who wish your absence, loved ones to whom your presence causes annoyance, positive annoyance. To be alone in this wide world of sin, without the sanction of family ties; to be disowned, voted an encumbrance, or, worse, an absolute incubus, crushing vitality and joyousness in the home circle! what a feeling it produces! It requires a strong courage, a courage that is the child of faith, that is sustained by grace, to enable one to bear it bravely, working hard the while. Eugene did bear it bravely, though he felted most acutely. He determined to seek M. Bertolot, to take counsel respecting the future. His way lay past his sister Adelaide's present residents. The duchess was now settled in the jointure-house. Decidedly, had Eugene thought she was alone, or with those who to him were strangers, he would have passed quietly on his way; but Euphrasie, did not Euphrasie live with the duchess? At least he supposed so; and though with an effort he conquered his reluctance and announced himself at his sister's mansion.
The duchess received him coldly, almost haughtily. Still the young man waited, in the hope of seeing her for whom the visit was intended. A long two hours passed in painful and constrained conversation. Still neither Madame de Meglior nor her daughter appeared.
Eugene rose to take his leave; then, as if by a sudden impulse, exclaimed: "But, my aunt, Adelaide, and Mademoiselle de Meglior, I most not go without paying my respects to them. Will you not let one of your people tell them that I am here and wish to see them?"
"Neither the countess nor Mademoiselle Euphrasie are with me," replied the duchess.