"By the way, madame, Monsieur Blemont is a lawyer; he knows all about the laws, and what rights people have. My husband isn't very well posted in such matters; his forte is marriages. Consult Monsieur Blemont about your business; he will tell you whether you are in the right or not."

"I should not dare to annoy monsieur," replied the mother, "or presume to take his time."

I eagerly offered my services and asked what the business was; but she could not explain it to me at the theatre; it was necessary for me to look over doc.u.ments and t.i.tle deeds. That was just what I hoped. Madame Dumeillan gave me her address, and, while renewing her apologies for the trouble I was about to take, thanked me in advance for calling upon her some morning. She thanked me for something which I would eagerly have asked as a favor! How happy I was! But I succeeded in concealing my delight. I did not again put my hand near Mademoiselle Dumeillan's; it was especially essential then that I should be careful not to act like a man in love. A novice throws himself at people's heads, but a clever man knows how to husband his privileges.

Acting upon this principle, when Giraud arrived I paid my respects to the ladies and left the theatre. Had I remained I should have seemed to be looking for an opportunity to escort them home.

VI

I GO TO THE HOUSE

The next day arrived and I hesitated about calling upon the two ladies.

Would it not be showing too much eagerness? No, it would be no more than polite; since they chose to have confidence in my talent, I ought not to keep them waiting.

I waited until the clock struck two; then I went to Madame Dumeillan's.

The condition of affairs there was not the same as at Giraud's. The maid had finished sweeping the rooms. The one who admitted me ushered me into a room decorated without display, but with taste; there was a good fire and I found the young lady of the house practising upon the piano.

Mademoiselle Eugenie left her music to inform her mother of my arrival; I dared not tell her that it was on her account alone that I had come; that would have been going too fast. What a pity it is that one cannot go straight to one's goal. How much time we waste!

The mother appeared. After the first salutations she explained her business to me and showed me her papers. Eugenie left the salon while her mother was talking to me; and it was well that she did, for I was listening distractedly, and I think that I answered incoherently. After she had gone I was all attention. The mother's business concerned a small farm which had descended to her husband, and her possession of which was disputed by his brother-in-law. Her right seemed to me incontestable; but I could not read all the papers at once. She thought it quite natural for me to take them away in order to study them at home.

Eugenie returned and we talked of less serious things. The mother was very agreeable; Eugenie was bright and well informed, and although I had not yet become intimate with them, I was already on very good terms with them. After an hour's visit, I took my leave; I did not need to ask permission to call again, for I had a foothold in the house.

I did not go to Madame Dumeillan's again for two days. I am a peculiar man; I was determined to conceal my sentiments, and I should have been distressed to have Mademoiselle Eugenie suspect the impression that she had produced upon me. At last I made my second call. I had made a thorough study of the case in which the widow was threatened with a suit. I was persuaded that she was in the right; I so a.s.sured her and I offered my services to look after the matter, which I considered as already won. Madame Dumeillan was overjoyed; she thanked me and accepted my offer. I was no longer a stranger in the house; they seemed to look upon me as a friend.

The mother and daughter received much company; but they had one special reception day during the week. On that day there were cards and music and sometimes dancing. Their guests were more select than those one met at Giraud's; they were an entirely different set. And yet there were some whom I should have been glad not to see there; they were the young men, very attractive young men, who were attentive and devoted to Eugenie. How absurd I was! I had no objection to young women coming there, but as to men, I would have liked to have none but bewigged heads. Those I found extremely agreeable.

For my own part, I think that I was not often agreeable. No one ever is when he is really in love. I liked to see the ladies in private; then I was much happier. If Eugenie played, there was no young man leaning over the piano, ready to turn the leaves for her. If I talked with her, we were not interrupted by some dandy coming to pay her a compliment; and yet I realized that they could not receive me and no one else.

I did not neglect the business that was entrusted to me; the prospect of winning the suit was doubly agreeable to me: I should oblige the ladies and I should give them a favorable opinion of my ability. It did not require much eloquence to succeed; madame triumphed over an adversary who had sued her because he had a mania for litigation. Only two months from the time of my first call, I had the pleasure of bringing the affair to a successful termination.

Although the property at stake was of no great value, Madame Dumeillan thanked me effusively; mothers think a great deal of money. Eugenie thanked me courteously, but that was all. As a general rule our relations were rather cool. Why did she not treat me as she did other men? Had she noticed that I was annoyed when men paid court to her, that I moved away when others approached? Did she not like my disposition? In truth she must have found me far from amiable. I was much less so than any of the other men who visited her mother. I never made any flattering remarks to her, I made no pretence of being devoted or gallant to her.

Was that the way for me to succeed in making myself agreeable to her?

Yes, I preferred that she should love me as I was! I wanted her to prove to me that she had read my heart, and I did my utmost to conceal from her what was taking place in it! Love sometimes makes us very eccentric.

Sometimes I promised myself to change my manner toward Eugenie; I tried to do as the other young men did who came to her house: to be agreeable and gallant, to laugh and joke when others were about her; but I did not play my part well, my gayety was forced; Eugenie seemed to notice it, and that made me still more awkward.

The young men who were received at Madame Dumeillan's were all men of breeding; there was nothing in their attentions to Mademoiselle Eugenie which could offend the greatest stickler for propriety. Why then should I take offense? Because I could not be agreeable to her, was it any reason that others should not be? I realized that I was wrong; but I was determined to study and become thoroughly acquainted with Eugenie's character. I thought her a little inclined to flirt. In a girl of her age, and so pretty, that is very excusable; and besides, are not all women flirts? Yes, all, a little more or a little less; but it is a failing inherent in their nature. But is it a failing? Innocent coquetry is nothing more than a desire to please; that desire leads them to take more care with their dress, with the arrangement of their hair, with their whole personal appearance. What should we say of a woman who neglected all such things? We should blame her, or we should think that she had no taste. Why then should we call that a failing which is done to charm and fascinate us? By their education, by the place they fill in society, women are debarred from occupations in which they would be more successful perhaps than we are; from important negotiations, which they would untangle more quickly than many diplomatists; and from political discussions, in which so many men do not know what they are saying. We have left to women the simple and less arduous occupations of the household; but those occupations, even if they suffice to employ the time, can not furnish sufficient occupation for the mind and the imagination, to prevent them from seeking other employment. Some men think that a needle, an embroidery frame, or a piano ought to be enough to keep a woman busy. I do not think, like Cato, that wisdom and common sense are incompatible with the female mind; I believe that their intellects, their imaginations require other resources than a needle and a piano. They are forced to become coquettes because the desire to please is an employment which occupies the mind and gives it food for dreams; they would be much less coquettish if they were employed upon the same tasks that we are. And then there are so many degrees in coquetry! The sort of which I speak is perfectly natural, and perfectly legitimate for women. Eugenie had no other. She was fond of amus.e.m.e.nt, that was natural; and yet she never showed any disappointment when her mother declined an invitation to a ball. I was sure that she had an affectionate heart; her eyes sometimes had such a tender expression, and I had seen her shed tears at the performance of a sad play. But that was not sufficient proof that she would ever love pa.s.sionately.

I was inclined to believe that she took no interest at all in me; she was most cold and reserved with me. She noticed doubtless that I followed her with my eyes, that I constantly watched her. I did not see the sense of going to a house to be dismal when others are merry, and perhaps to make oneself ridiculous. That thought made me blush for my weakness; self-esteem has so much influence on our hearts! I determined to think no more of Eugenie, and in order to forget her more quickly I determined not to call at her mother's for a fortnight.

It was very hard for me to adhere to that resolution, for I had never pa.s.sed more than two days without seeing her! However, a week pa.s.sed, and I had kept my word; on the ninth day I reflected that Madame Dumeillan, who always was very friendly to me and always seemed to be very glad to see me, would think it strange that I had allowed so long a time to pa.s.s without calling. After all, if her daughter was cool to me, it was not that excellent lady's fault, and it should not make me discourteous to her. On the tenth day I decided to call there in the evening.

I did not select a reception day; however, I found some old acquaintances of Madame Dumeillan there who had come to play boston; two ladies and an old gentleman were playing with the mother, and Eugenie was alone, in a corner of the salon, embroidering.

Madame Dumeillan inquired with interest for my health; she had been afraid that I was ill and was intending to send to my apartment the next day. I thanked her, and apologized on the plea of a press of business; then I left the mother to her game and took a seat beside Eugenie.

She bowed coldly to me; she did not raise her eyes and addressed to me only the most trivial remarks; she was not even so polite as to reproach me for having allowed a long time to pa.s.s without calling. It seemed to me then that that young woman was as odious to me as she had been fascinating; if I had dared, I would have taken my hat and left the room instantly; but that would have been discourteous.

Ah! if we had loved each other, how much we should have found to say at that moment, when we were practically alone in the salon, for no one paid any heed to us! But we must needs confine ourselves to exchanging a few meaningless words! Sometimes we were several minutes without speaking; she would not raise her eyes from her work. Ah! how I should have delighted to destroy that embroidery, which seemed to engross her so completely!

A half hour pa.s.sed in this way. She continued to work with the same a.s.siduity, and I was still beside her, saying little and sighing involuntarily. Suddenly the door of the salon opened; it was Monsieur Gerval, one of Eugenie's most persistent suitors, who often played and sang with her in the evening. This Gerval was a good-looking fellow and very agreeable; so that he was one of those whom I detested most heartily. I am sure that I changed color when he came in; I instantly felt an enormous weight settle down upon my chest. While Monsieur Gerval went to pay his respects to Madame Dumeillan, I walked quickly to the corner of the room where I had placed my hat; for I did not propose to stay a minute longer; I wished that I were a hundred leagues away; I was angry with myself for having come. I already had my hat in my hand and was on the point of leaving the room without a word to anyone, when a hand clasped mine, pressed it gently, and detained me; at the same moment Eugenie, for it was she, said to me in a tone which I had never before heard from her lips:

"Why are you going away? To pa.s.s a fortnight without coming and then go away like this! Really, I can't understand you. What have we done to you here, that you should stop coming?"

I stood like a statue. That soft voice, in which there was reproach and affection at the same time, that hand which still held mine, and those eyes which looked into mine with a fascinating expression--all those things startled me, but also caused me a thrill of happiness. .h.i.therto unknown to me. One must have loved truly to understand all that I felt at that moment. I squeezed her hand frantically, and it returned the pressure; then she gently withdrew it, still looking at me. All this was the affair of a moment, but that moment decided the rest of my life.

Eugenie loved me; she had read my heart, and I felt that I could not live without her, that Eugenie henceforth would be all in all to me.

I thought no more about going away. Eugenie returned to her seat and Gerval came to speak to her; but I was not jealous any more, Gerval had ceased to be offensive to me; it had required only an instant to change the whole current of my thoughts. I returned to Eugenie's side. While talking with Gerval, she succeeded in looking only at me. The young man suggested to her that they should sing together. She looked at me again, and seemed to ask me if that would be agreeable to me. I added my entreaties to Gerval's. She consented to go to the piano, but on her way there she pa.s.sed close to me and our hands met. When she sang with Gerval a duet in which two lovers sing to each other of love, her eyes addressed to me the words that she sang. Ah! when two hearts understand each other, there are a thousand ways of proving it.

After that duet, Gerval proposed another; she declined on the ground of a sore throat, and returned to her seat by my side. Gerval remained for some time; it seemed to me that he was less merry, less sparkling that evening than usual. At last he said good-night and left.

I drew nearer to Eugenie; she still held her work, but she was not working; our eyes met often; we talked in undertones; I had so many things to say to her now, and yet we exchanged only a few words; but our glances were more eloquent than our speech.

How rapidly the time pa.s.sed! I was so happy with her! The card players finished their game, and Madame Dumeillan called to her daughter to give her her purse. The others were going away, and I must needs do the same.

"I hope that it will not be so long before you come again," said Madame Dumeillan kindly. And Eugenie, as she pa.s.sed me, whispered:

"You will come to-morrow, won't you?"

My eyes alone answered, but she must have understood them; I saw a loving smile upon her lips. I went away, drunk with love and pleasure. I returned home hardly touching the ground. It seemed to me that my happiness bore me aloft and transported me to the third heaven,--that is to say, if there is a third heaven.

As I went upstairs, I thought of my young lovers on the fifth floor. I had neglected them sadly for some time! But I had been constantly depressed and jealous and in ill humor, and the picture of their love would simply have aggravated my suffering. Now I could safely go to see them. I should not be sad and gloomy with them, and they would understand my happiness.

It was only a quarter-past eleven, and I decided to see whether they had gone to bed. I went upstairs, knocked and mentioned my name; Ernest opened the door.

"Where on earth have you been?" he said, laughing; "it's a month since we've seen you."

"He has just come from his Eugenie," said little Marguerite. "Oh! how happy we look! It seems that our love-affair is progressing finely!"

"Yes, very well indeed. Ah! I am the happiest of men to-night! She loves me, I am sure of it now; she prefers me to all the men who have made love to her; and yet I was much less attentive, much less agreeable than the others."

"What difference does that make? One is always agreeable when one is in love."

I told them all that had taken place that evening between Eugenie and me. They listened with interest, they understood me, for they loved each other dearly. When I had finished my story, I sprang up and danced about the room; I could not keep still.

"Look out!" said Marguerite; "you'll smash everything. Why, don't you see how fine it is here now, monsieur?"

I had not so much as looked about the room. In fact, there was some change: the wretched bed was replaced by a low bedstead of painted wood, but very neat and clean. There were curtains and a canopy above the bed.

The chairs, which I remembered as almost all broken, had been replaced by six new ones; and a black walnut commode had replaced the little sideboard. Lastly, there was almost a good fire on the hearth.

"Do you see how fine it is?" said Marguerite; "my Ernest gave me all this. His play has succeeded. Oh, it is very pleasing indeed, his play is! When the author was called for and his name was given, I was so happy that I longed to shout: 'It was my little man who did that!'--He has a great mind, has my little man!"

"Will you hold your tongue, Marguerite?"