This appeared exaggerated to Mr. Smithson. It excited his jealousy, already awakened. He imagined he saw proofs of an understanding between the curé and the engineer in this unfortunate remark. Their understanding had an evident aim, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to diminish his moral influence, and even suppress it. “That is the way with Catholic priests,” he said to himself. “They are ambitious, scheming, eager to rule, and knowing how to find accomplices everywhere.” The curé and Louis thenceforth became objects of suspicion, though he was careful not to show it outwardly.
Louis had begun to understand human nature, and at once realized all the imprudence of the curé’s remarks. He foresaw the bad effect they would have on the master of the house. He tried in vain, by some adroit turn in the conversation, to lessen, if not to annul, the unfortunate impression the abbé’s conversation might have produced. The curé persisted in his opinion, and only added to his previous blunder. Louis felt he should not gain anything, and stopped short with so distressed an air that it was pitiful to see him.
Mr. Smithson, led away by his prejudices, thought Louis’ depression the consequence of his accomplice’s betraying so awkwardly the secret tie between them. “The engineer is, perhaps, the more dangerous of the two,” he said to himself. “I should never have suspected their plan, had it not been for the abbé’s imprudent frankness.” Hence he concluded there would be more need than ever of keeping an eye on his subordinate.
Eugénie, though not pious, understood her religion too well, and loved it, or rather, admired it too much, to be astonished at what the curé had said. She thoroughly agreed with him, but, as the conversation became serious, she only attended to the most important points, and paid but little attention to the abbé’s imprudent remarks. The praise he bestowed on Louis did not seem to her excessive. She rather approved than condemned it. She did not, therefore, suspect the cause of Louis’ sadness, but attributed it to a want of ease naturally occasioned by the inferior position into which he had been thrown by his misfortunes. More than once she came to his aid, politely addressing the conversation to him. Seeing him still preoccupied, she ended by proposing after dinner that he should sing something to her accompaniment. Louis excused himself. “I insist upon it,” she said, in a tone of sweet authority that instantly transported him into a new world. He forgot the curé’s imprudence, its probable effect on Mr. Smithson, and his own difficult position. The first time for a long while—ten years, perhaps—he had one of those moments of cloudless happiness that rarely falls to man’s lot, and can never be forgotten. It seemed as if a mysterious, ravishing voice whispered that Eugénie was beginning to love him. At least, he no longer doubted for the moment the possibility of her loving him some day. Louis had the soul of an artist, and possessed undoubted talent, and he sang that evening as he had never sung in his life.
When the song was ended, he turned toward Eugénie, and read in her eyes sincere astonishment and admiration, but nothing else. All his doubts, all his sadness, revived. An instant before, his heart overflowed with joy: now he was so cast down that he was alarmed, and wondered what misfortune was going to happen to him. I am not exaggerating: ardent natures often pass through such alternations of extreme joy and sadness. The evening passed away without any new incident. Before midnight, the guests returned home, and were free to yield to their own thoughts. The few hours just elapsed had modified the sentiments of all who had dined together at Mr. Smithson’s.
Eugénie, without allowing it to appear outwardly, had also had one of those sudden revelations that like a flash reveal everything with unexpected clearness. For the first time, she fully realized the possibility of loving one whom she at first despised. Louis’ dignified, melancholy air, his grave, earnest manner of conversing, his remarkable musical talent, and the sympathetic tone of his voice, all produced an effect on Eugénie she had never experienced before. Not that she loved him yet, but she asked herself how long her indifference would last. First impressions are hard to efface from ardent souls. Eugénie was alarmed at the idea of loving one who had at first inspired her with so much distrust. She resolved to watch more carefully over herself, and keep an observant eye on one who might take a place in her heart she did not wish to give, unless for ever.
This was wise. One cannot take too much precaution when there is reason to fear the heart is disposed to yield. The heart is the best or the worst of counsellors, according as it is guided or abandoned by reason. Besides, Eugénie was wholly ignorant of Louis’ feelings towards her.
Poor Louis ended the evening in disheartening reflections. He began by dwelling on a painful alternative: either Eugénie did not suspect his love for her, or, if she perceived it, her only response was a coldness that was discouraging. “And yet,” thought he, “if I am mistaken!... If she already loves me in her heart!... If at least she could some day love me!” ... He smiled. Then another fear, still worse than the rest, crossed his mind. “Well, if it were so, there would be another obstacle in the way more dangerous than the indifference of Mlle. Eugénie herself—the opposition of her father. He would never consent to the marriage. His antipathy to me has always been evident. The abbé has completed my ruin. I am henceforth a dangerous man—a fanatic—in Mr. Smithson’s eyes!”
“What shall I do?” added Louis, by way of conclusion. “Shall I give up the work I have undertaken? Ought I to practise my religion secretly, in order to give no offence?... No, indeed; that would be cowardly, unworthy of a man of courage, and criminal ingratitude towards God, who has been so merciful to me.... No hateful concessions! With the divine assistance, I will do what I think is for the best. Whatever happens will be the will of God.... Whatever it may be, I shall be sure of having nothing to repent of....”