But his joy was strangely diminished by an unexpected incident. They were discussing the affair one evening in the salon. “Excuse me, father,” said Eugénie, “for meddling with what does not concern me, but you know I always was the advocate of a bad cause.”
Every one looked up at this unexpected interruption. Eugénie was not a woman to be intimidated when she foresaw opposition: rather, the contrary. She continued, without being troubled in the least: “I find a great many are disposed to attack M. Louis, but no one thinks of defending him. It were to be wished some one would be his defender, though I do not say his conduct is irreproachable.”
“Very far from that,” said Mr. Smithson.
“But if he is not innocent, is he as culpable as he may have appeared? What is he accused of? He has been absent several days from the mill. This adds greatly to your labors, my dear father, but his absence is justifiable to a certain degree. Do you know M. Louis’ history?”
“As well as you, I suppose, child.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Has he related it to you?”
“No; Fanny took pains to do that. Fanny is at once curious and a gossip.”
“My cousin is very severe towards so devoted a servant. Is she indulgent only to the culpable?”
This ill-timed interruption gave Eugénie a glimpse of light. “There is an understanding between them,” she said to herself, “and that explains many things.” She continued, addressing her father: “M. Louis made an attempt at his own life. He was drowning, when a brave man and an invalid—M. Barnier—at the risk of his own life, threw himself into the river, and saved him. This was the origin of their friendship, which does honor to M. Louis and to the person so devoted to him. This M. Barnier is dying to-day.”