"She does, and is happy in doing so. Euphrasie, my friend, is a practical Catholic; one whose delight it is to realize, to make her own, the life led by the holy family at Nazareth. I venture to say she is far happier in sweeping her mother's room and in cooking her mother's dinner than she would be in a glittering ball-room lit up with its brilliant chandeliers."
"And does she really descend to these menial offices?" asked Eugene, in a sort of stupefied amazement.
"Descend! Is it to descend when we aspire to imitate Jesus and Mary? You are a Catholic, my young friend. You must not look at these things with the eyes of the world: its false maxims are not the ones which may guide your ideas. Labor, actual manual labor, was imposed on man in penalty for sin; its acceptance is part of man's atonement for that undervaluing of grace which led to the commission of that sin: which still leads to the commission of daily sins. The avoidance of labor is a child of pride, one which has occasioned multitudinous disorders among mankind. But Jesus accepted labor—real, genuine labor: he worked many years at his father's trade, and Mary kept no servant in her house at Nazareth; she labored, for she felt that in lowly labor there is a sanctifying influence, and it is this thought that makes Euphrasie happy now."
"But she is so unused to actual toil!" said Eugene.
"Not so much as you may suppose," replied his friend. "The good nuns taught her much that was useful, and even when she was at Estcourt Hall and Durimond Castle she did much work that was unsuspected. The produce of her needle clothed the poor, fed the hungry, and many times defrayed the expense of a mission, when accident brought her in contact with poor Catholics to whom such ministrations were acceptable and profitable. All this was done so quietly that I suppose your family knew nothing about it."
"At least I never heard of it," said Eugene.
Our hero was much depressed by this interview, not merely because he could gain no clue to abode of his friends, but also because he was as yet too new to the practice of Catholic principles to acquiesce cheerfully in the idea of the refined, elegant, accomplished daughter of a French nobleman toiling for her daily bread, and performing all the menial services required in the household.
It was with right good-will that he greeted the Comte de Villeneuve on his return, in the hope through him of seeing something accomplished that would alter these circumstances. But the comte's embassy had been unsuccessful; all he had been able to effect was to leave the case with such other friends as should introduce it at a more favorable period. But he was not so reserved respecting his friends as M. Bertolot had been. He deemed that Eugene's position in his own family should plead exemption for him from the ban of exclusion, and willingly mediated to obtain an interview view for him with Madame. Euphrasie was not at home when he called; and Madame greeted him cordially, though she could not refrain from blaming him for running counter to his friends about religion.
"What a fuss about a matter of opinion," she said. "But perhaps in France, before the Revolution, a Protestant might have then as little acceptable to the aristocracy. They say, too, that this new man, this emperor, patronizes the Catholic religion also, so I shall not ask Euphrasie to become a proselyte to English notions; her faith is that of her country and of her kindred, and my brother ought to [{495}] have understood this; but why you, Eugene, should wish to adopt the French religion, I cannot divine."
"Perhaps religion is neither exclusively French nor English, aunt. There may be a faith necessary to every nation alike, if it be true that every man has a soul to save."