Eugenie, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint.
“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to ask. What do you think of M. Louis?”
“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no attention to him.”
“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.”
“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here for well-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and activity; that is all I care for.”
“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.”
“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite commonplace.”
“But not to me.”
“What can you see in him so remarkable?”
“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and constancy of purpose that are striking.”