Chapter XXI

CALUMNY.

The next morning, before any one was up, Albert went in search of Fanny, with whom he had the following conversation:

“You have caused me a useless journey,” said he. “Eugénie loves the engineer.”

“I do not believe it,” replied the servant, either because she did not, or because she wished to console Albert.

“It is of no use to contradict me. I have kept my eyes open, and drawn my own conclusions. I have a better opportunity than you for observation. I tell you she loves him! If you cannot devise some scheme for driving him from her mind, I shall set out to-morrow for the capital.”

“Here is what I call hitting the nail on the head.... I thought of something yesterday exactly to the point.”

It was Albert’s turn to be incredulous. He shrugged his shoulders as a sign of doubt.

“I tell you I can satisfy your demand,” repeated Fanny slowly. “Listen! In a manufactory, everything is talked about. The engineer has for some time frequented a house apparently through charity, but it is my opinion another motive takes him there. There is a young girl in the house—the prettiest, handsomest girl to be seen, they say, for ten leagues around. Besides, she is well behaved, intelligent, and even pious; only, she is pitifully poor.”

“Tell me how he became acquainted with the family.”

“The father is a drunkard; the mother an idle, malicious creature who is employed here. The engineer looks after her. This woman was probably the cause of his going to the house. They are extremely destitute.”

“And the girl: what does she do?”

“She has been very well brought up at an aunt’s in town. The aunt died recently, and so suddenly that she was unable to make her will, as she intended, in favor of her niece. The latter has therefore returned home, to find nothing but wretchedness. I must confess, however, that she has behaved admirably.... All these details are correct, I assure you.... What is no less true, Mlle. Eugénie knows all the poor families that the engineer visits except this one. It is my conviction that he loves this girl, and intends marrying her some day.... There is no need of making people out worse than they are. There are some good things in this M. Louis. All his family are very wealthy. He will not be poor long, and is at liberty to marry a woman who has nothing, if he pleases.”

“Well,” said Albert, “I will reflect on what you have told me. It seems to me, with this information, I can greatly modify my fair cousin’s feelings towards her protégé.”

Before another hour, Albert had gathered full particulars with regard to the subject, and matured his plans. That very afternoon, he asked Eugénie to allow him to accompany her in her rounds among the poor.

“Willingly,” said she. “I have not been to see them for some time. I was just thinking I ought to go to-day.”

They set out together. The day was delightful. Eugénie, lively and witty as usual, took most of the conversation upon herself. Albert had on a dignified air of offence which he wished his cousin to perceive; but she did not notice it, or pretended not. Twenty times he was on the point of alluding to what had taken place the evening before, and as often refrained. Conceited as he was, Albert could not help it—he was not at his ease in Eugénie’s society. Her unvarying frankness, her intelligence, and the vivacity that never forsook her, all these rare qualities rendered him continually diffident in her presence.

At some distance from the manufactory, the road divided. One part turned towards the highway that led to the village; the other followed a gentle declivity to the river half hidden among the willows, rushes, and flowers that make that part of the bank so delightful.

“What a charming view!” said Albert. “Let us go down this way a short distance. We can afterwards return to the highway.”

Eugénie allowed herself to be guided by his wish. When within a hundred steps from the shore, they came to a hut by the wayside, between two large trees, picturesque in appearance, but indicative of poverty. It looked like a forsaken nest in a thicket.

Albert had made particular inquiries, and knew the hut was inhabited by the Vinceneau family—the one, it will be recollected, that Louis took charge of unknown to Eugénie.

“Are there not some of your poor people here whom you ought to visit?” asked Albert, in the most innocent manner.

“No; I have no idea who lives in this cottage.”

“I saw M. Louis coming out of it the other day.”

“He probably came here on business. I know all the families he visits; none of them lives here.”

While thus talking, Albert approached the hut, and, before Eugénie could prevent him, entered. She followed.

Mère Vinceneau was at home that day, in one of her fits of idleness and ill-humor. She at once recognized Eugénie, whom she did not like. She had, as I have already remarked, a general antipathy against the rich.

“What have you come here for?” said she.

“We do not wish to disturb you in the least,” said Eugénie, whose curiosity was now roused. “My cousin and I merely wish to rest ourselves. Perhaps you could give us some milk.”

“I have none.”

Mère Vinceneau was a tall, spare woman, with a forbidding countenance, and covered with rags. Had it not been for her crabbed face, she would certainly have excited compassion. However, Eugénie’s sympathies were awakened at the sight of her wretched condition.

“You seem very destitute, my good woman,” said she. “Can I be of any service to you?”

La Vinceneau softened a little at this gracious offer. “Thank you,” she said. “It is true we are badly off, while some people have too much.... Nevertheless, I ought not to complain. We have one friend.... You know him well—M. Louis, the engineer of your mill. What a kind heart he has! There is one who loves the poor! If the rich only resembled him!...”

“Do you live here alone?”

“No; I have a husband employed at the tile-works, and a daughter who goes out as a seamstress in the village. She is coming now.”

A slight cloud came over Eugénie’s face. It became still darker when Madeleine Vinceneau entered. Madeleine was not merely beautiful: she was dazzling. Poorly but neatly clad, she came forward with a dignity and grace that inspired astonishment as well as respect. Her large black eyes, her pale, refined face, her smiling lips, and her whole appearance, had an air of aristocratic distinction.

“What a lovely creature!” was Eugénie’s first thought. Then another presented itself: “Perhaps Louis loves her.” She shuddered. A feeling of displeasure and sadness came over her: “I must be in love with him myself without being aware of it, to be so jealous,” she said to herself. This doubt was natural. Eugénie determined to solve it. Such is our nature. We can never see so clearly what is passing in the depths of our hearts as in a tempest.

Eugénie began to question the girl discreetly. She wished to ascertain if her nature was as angelic as her exterior. She was soon satisfied on this point. Madeleine was innocence itself, and as good as she was innocent. She confirmed all her mother had said, and in her turn praised Louis with an ingenuousness that assured Eugénie she did not love him. “But he—is he as indifferent to her?...” was Eugénie’s thought as she left the house. She could not get rid of the painful suspicion, consequently she was in rather a gloomy mood. Albert noticed it, but refrained from saying anything. One unguarded word would have counteracted the happy effect of his perfidious scheme. But he was triumphant when he returned to his room. “I have dealt my rival a severe blow,” said he to himself—“a blow he can hardly recover from; for he will not suspect its source, and Eugénie will never mention it to him. Even if she wished to, how could they have any explanation? They never meet except in the presence of others. Before such an explanation takes place, I must find other means of completing his ruin.... I have begun well, and must bring things to a crisis....”

All this occurred the day before Louis came to see us. Mère Vinceneau told him of the visit a short time after. He suspected there was some scheme of Albert’s at the bottom of it, and dwelt on the means he should use to defeat his calculations. Meanwhile, his enemy was contriving a new plot destined to cause him still greater embarrassment.

TO BE CONTINUED.