Madame Guizot

Decoration

Madame d'Aubonne beheld her daughter Eudoxia, who had attained the age of thirteen, increase every day in judgment, talent, and good dispositions of all kinds. It was with a feeling of intense happiness, that she discovered in her the germ and hope of every virtue. Nothing was wanting to Eudoxia, but the consciousness that virtues were given to us for our own practice, and not for the purpose of judging the conduct of others. Her own earnest love of all that was good, and her constant endeavour to do what she considered best, disposed her to blame others with severity, and to exact from them a rectitude, equal to that which she herself displayed in all her actions.

Though Eudoxia was too reserved, and even too timid to express her opinions to any one but her mother, to whom she confided everything, and who, on her part, had the most entire confidence in her daughter, nevertheless Madame d'Aubonne carefully opposed this tendency; for she knew that it was not sufficient to watch over words only, but that we must also regulate our thoughts; and those of Eudoxia appeared to her, in this respect, neither just nor reasonable. However, she had rarely occasion to reprimand her on this account, for with the exception of her cousin Constance, who was much younger than herself, and to whom, as she was very fond of her, she was, consequently, more indulgent, she saw scarcely any but older persons, and such as she would never have presumed to censure.

Madame d'Aubonne had resided many years in the country, attending to her invalid father; having had the misfortune to lose him, she returned, to Paris, which she again left, for the purpose of passing a couple of months at Romecourt, with Madame de Rivry, an old friend, who resided there with her daughter Julia, whom Eudoxia scarcely knew, not having seen her for six years.

Madame d'Aubonne found at Romecourt her aunt, Madame de Croissy, who was to spend there the same time as herself. Madame de Croissy was educating her two granddaughters, AdÈle and Honorine, with whom Eudoxia was as little acquainted as with Julia, although they were her cousins. Her timidity, therefore, made her look with much terror on this new society, especially as the other three girls, though much about her own age, were very far from being as reasonable as herself.

Julia, though at heart a very good-dispositioned child, was very much spoiled by her mother, and sometimes answered her with a degree of impertinence which made every one present shrug their shoulders. AdÈle regarded an untruth as the simplest thing in the world; she told falsehoods in sport; she told them in earnest; she even told them at the very moment in which she might have been convicted of the fallacy of her assertions.

As to Honorine, she was a perfect wild colt, without discipline, without reflection; never for a moment dreaming that her fancies could meet with the slightest opposition, nor that those things which gave her pleasure could be attended with any inconvenience. Madame de Croissy troubled herself very little about their education; provided they made no noise, and did not attempt to join in conversation, she always considered girls to be quite sufficiently well brought up; therefore she habitually left them with the servants, and felt annoyed, that at Romecourt they were almost always kept in the drawing-room, because Eudoxia and Julia were very little away from their mothers.

This plan was equally disagreeable to the two girls, but little accustomed to the society of their grandmamma, who, when at home, never concerned herself about them, any further than to tell them to hold themselves upright whenever she thought of it, or to be silent whenever their voices were heard above a whisper. They would have been much better pleased if left with their grandmother's servants, with whom they were accustomed to associate, provided, however, that they could have had Julia with them; for as to Eudoxia, they cared very little for her.

It is true that she had not been very amiable towards them, for she was quite horrified at their giddy manners, their want of obedience, and their tone of mockery, to which she was not accustomed. Astonished beyond measure, at their ignorance of almost every principle which, from her childhood, she had been taught to respect, she blushed to the eyes when she beheld Honorine reading without scruple a letter which she found open, playing tricks with the gardener's son, or standing at the park railing, in front of the high road, chatting with all the little boys and girls of the village. She trembled when she saw AdÈle, even at her grandmamma's side, and under her very spectacles, cut the needleful with which she was embroidering, in order to shorten it, and be able to say that her task was finished. Nor, in fine, could she recover from her surprise, when she saw that the very moment in which Julia received an order from her mother to do anything, was precisely that which she selected for doing the opposite. At these times she imagined herself transported into a new world, where all was strange and incomprehensible to her: she avoided conversing with her companions, as she had nothing to say which would be agreeable to their tastes; and, besides, she would scarcely have known how to reply to them, had they spoken to her. She therefore left them as soon as she was able, and took refuge with her mother.

The others easily perceived, that though Eudoxia said nothing to them, she did not approve of their conduct; they were, therefore, very ill at ease in her society, and in no way pleased when Madame d'Aubonne, who was anxious that Eudoxia should accustom herself to live with others, adapt herself to their habits, and tolerate their defects, sent her to share in their amusements and conversation.

Neither was Eudoxia at all agreeable to Madame de Croissy, whose principles of education had so little affinity with those of Madame d'Aubonne, and whose grandchildren bore no resemblance to her daughter. As Madame de Croissy was the sister of Madame d'Aubonne's father, she had paid him a visit a short time before his death, but unaccompanied by her grandchildren. On that occasion she had seen Eudoxia, whose good qualities and happy dispositions were extolled by every one in the neighbourhood in which the family resided. As Madame de Croissy had never heard her grandchildren so praised, she felt annoyed; and, besides, she considered that Madame d'Aubonne conversed a great deal too much with her daughter, reasoned with her too much, and altogether occupied herself too much about her, though this was never at the expense of others. She therefore told every one, and was herself firmly persuaded that Madame d'Aubonne "would never make anything of this little prodigy but a little pedant."

Her annoyance had been redoubled since she had been in the country, by the striking contrast which the conduct of Eudoxia presented to that of her cousins; therefore, in her quality of grand-aunt, she perpetually contradicted her, either directly or by indirect allusions. Her looks were turned to her at every moment, as if she were watching her, and ready to seize instantly upon the slightest fault which might escape her. Nor did she ever call her anything but Mademoiselle Eudoxia. Eudoxia would, therefore, have found but very little enjoyment in the country, had it not been for the happiness she felt in conversing with her mother, who spoke to her as a reasonable person, and who, even when reprimanding her, concealed nothing of her affection, nor even, we may add, of her respect; for with the exception of this want of toleration, which marred a little her good qualities, Eudoxia merited all the respect that a child of her years could merit.

One morning the four girls were at work in the drawing-room. Eudoxia, at her mother's side, occupied herself diligently with what she was engaged upon; the other three, collected in a corner, talked, laughed in an under tone, dropped their work, forgot to pick it up, and never did three stitches successively; and even when told to go on, they did so for a moment only, and with every indication of languor and ennui. Eudoxia, from time to time, looked at them, and then at her mother, with an expression which sufficiently explained her sentiments. Madame de Croissy caught one of these glances, and was led to notice her granddaughters.

"Have the kindness to continue your work, young ladies," she said to them, very harshly. "Do you not see how much you shock Mademoiselle Eudoxia?"

AdÈle and Honorine pretended to go on with their work, and Eudoxia, greatly confused, cast down her eyes, and did not dare to raise them again during the time they remained in the drawing-room. When they had retired to their own apartment, Madame d'Aubonne observed,

"You were very much occupied with those young ladies."

"Oh! mamma, they were so foolish."

"And do you derive pleasure from foolish things or persons?"

"Quite the reverse, mamma, I assure you."

"Think again, my child; it cannot be quite the reverse; for they made you raise your eyes from your work more than twenty times, and yet I know that your work interested you."

"Nevertheless, I assure you, mamma, it was not pleasure that I felt."

"It was at least a great interest; and did not this interest arise from the satisfaction you experienced at seeing them more unreasonable than yourself?"

"Oh, mamma!"

"Come, my dear Eudoxia, it is in the examination of our evil emotions that courage is required, the good ones are easily discovered. Ask your conscience what it thinks of the matter."

"Mamma," said Eudoxia, somewhat confused, "I assure you that I did not at first think it was that."

"I believe you, my child; it is a feeling which steals upon us unperceived. Many persons experience it as well as you, and imagine that the bad actions of others increase the merit of their own. But tell me, my dear Eudoxia, would there not be still greater pleasure in being superior to such persons, than in merely being superior to your companions in industry and attention?"

Eudoxia assented to this, and promised to attend to it. She was always happy when any duty was pointed out to her, so great was the pleasure she felt in endeavouring to accomplish it. Having gone down to fetch something from an apartment adjoining the drawing-room, the door of which was open, she heard Madame de Croissy observe to Madame de Rivry,—

"I have always said that Mademoiselle Eudoxia would never be anything but a little pedant."

Madame de Rivry, although she liked Eudoxia, agreed that she busied herself much more in finding fault with her companions, than in making herself agreeable to them.

"That would be compromising her dignity," replied Madame de Croissy.

From that moment Eudoxia endeavoured to overcome her dislike and timidity. She mingled more frequently in the amusements of her companions, and at last took pleasure in them. But being now more at her ease with her playfellows, she told them more freely what she thought, and when she could not make them listen to reason, she would leave them with emotions of impatience, which she was unable to control.

"But why do you get impatient?" said her mother to her one day; "do they fail in their duty towards you, by not being as reasonable as you are?"

"No, mamma, but they fail in their duty to themselves, when they are so unreasonable, and it is that which irritates me."

"Listen, Eudoxia," continued her mother, "do you remember how irritable you used to be with your cousin Constance, because she paid so little attention to what she did, and broke everything that came in her way? One day you happened, by a carelessness of the same kind, to upset the table on which my writing-desk was placed; and I remember that from that time you have never been impatient with her."

"Oh! no, mamma, I assure you."

"Did you consider the fault of less importance because you happened to commit it yourself?"

"Quite the reverse, mamma, but that showed me that it was more difficult to avoid it than I had at first imagined."

"This is what experience teaches us every day, my child, with regard to faults which we have not as yet committed. Thus," she added, laughing, "I do not despair of seeing you indulgent towards these young ladies, if one day you discover by the same means, that it is difficult not to be an arguer, like Julia; a story-teller, like AdÈle; and a lover of mischief, like Honorine."

"As to that mamma," replied Eudoxia, warmly, "that is what I shall never learn."

"Are you quite sure, my child?"—"Oh! quite sure."

"Are you then so differently constituted, as to be able to persuade yourself, that what appears to them so easy, would be impossible to you?"

"It must be so," said Eudoxia, really piqued.

"How then, in that case," said her mother, smiling, "can you expect them to do the same things as yourself? You do not expect Julia, who is much smaller than you are, to reach as high as you do; you only expect this from Honorine, who is as tall as yourself."

"But, mamma," replied Eudoxia, after reflecting for a moment, "perhaps, then, as they are less reasonable, they are not obliged to do as much as other people."

"It would be very wrong for them to think so, my child, for every one ought to do as much good as lies in his power; but every one is likewise enjoined to inquire into his own duties, and not into those of others; therefore attend only to your own. Do you consider it just and reasonable to enjoy the pleasure of feeling that you are better than they are, and at the same time to get impatient with them, because they are not as good as yourself?"

"Mamma, are we then permitted to consider ourselves better than other people?"

"Yes, my child; for to think ourselves better than others is simply to feel that we possess more strength, more reason, more means of doing good, and consequently to consider ourselves bound to do more than them."

This conversation gave Eudoxia a feeling of satisfaction which rendered her more indulgent, and more patient with her companions; but in this indulgence there might perhaps be discovered a slight degree of pride; it had something of the kindness of a superior being always thinking of keeping herself sufficiently above others to avoid being hurt by their not acting with as much propriety as herself.

Eudoxia insensibly acquired the habit of considering her companions as children, and almost of treating them as such. One day when the four girls were working together, they compared their various performances, and Honorine's, which was like Eudoxia's, happened to be much worse done.

"That is a very difficult stitch," said she, with the same air as if she were making an excuse for a child of six years old.

It did not occur to her that the remark was equally applicable to herself. The others burst out laughing.

"Be quiet," said Honorine, "do you not see that Eudoxia has the kindness to protect me?"

Eudoxia felt so much hurt that the tears started to her eyes. She was satisfied with herself, and believed she had a right to be so, and yet she met with nothing but injustice and mockery. She again began to withdraw herself from her companions.

Her mother perceived this, and inquired the reason. Eudoxia felt some difficulty in confessing it, though she considered herself in the right. The ridicule that had been cast upon her had given rise to a species of shame. At last, however, she stated the cause.

"You were, then, very much hurt, were you not?" asked Madame d'Aubonne, "because Honorine appeared to think that you affected to protect her? It seems that you would have considered such a thing very ridiculous."

"Oh! mamma, it is not necessary that a thing should be ridiculous for them to laugh at it."

"But tell me, Eudoxia, if by chance they had ridiculed you because you love me, because you listen to me, because you do all that I desire, would that have given you pain?"

"No, indeed, mamma, I should have laughed at them then, in my turn."

"And why did you not pursue the same course when they laughed at the manner you assumed towards Honorine? If you thought that this patronizing manner was the most suitable, what did it matter to you that they should think otherwise? Are you not more reasonable than they are, consequently better able to judge of what is right?"

"Mamma," said Eudoxia, after a moment's silence, "I now think I was wrong in manifesting towards Honorine a manner which displeased her, but I only wished to show indulgence for the faults she had made in her work."

"My dear child, we ought to be indulgent towards the faults of every one, but we ought not to let this indulgence be manifest to those whose conduct does not concern us, unless they wish us to do so; for otherwise, as it is not our business to reprimand them, so neither is it to pardon them. This is an office which we have no right to assume without their permission."

"But what then is to be done, mamma, when they commit faults?"

"Try not to see them, if possible, and instead of pardoning, try to diminish them; endeavour to discover in Honorine's work all that is good, so that what is bad may be forgotten; but to do this you must not be very glad that your work has been found better than hers; your whole pride should consist in being superior to these trifling advantages."

Eudoxia profited by her mother's advice, and became every day more gentle and sociable. Madame de Croissy had scarcely anything to say against her, and her companions began to take pleasure in her society. She was completely in their confidence, at least as much as she desired to be; and when she saw the fears and vexations to which their inconsiderate conduct often exposed them, when she saw them blush at the least word that could have any reference to a fault which they had concealed, and even found them manifest towards herself a species of deference which they no longer refused to her good sense, when it was not exercised at their expense, she felt daily more and more, how great is the pleasure of self-respect.

"And yet," said her mother, "you are still very far from knowing its full value; this you will not ascertain until you have paid its price, until you have purchased it by painful sacrifices."

Eudoxia could not conceive that any sacrifices could be difficult which conferred such an advantage.

Madame de Rivry, who was extremely kind, and who took great interest in the amusements of young people, proposed to visit a very beautiful park, situated about four leagues from Romecourt; they were to spend the day there, and return home in the evening.

Eudoxia and her companions were delighted at the thought of this party; but on the evening before it was to take place, when they were thinking of the arrangement of the carriages, they found that Madame de Rivry's calÈche would only hold four persons, therefore as it was necessary that she herself should be one of the four, the whole of the girls could not be with her; one of them must necessarily go in Madame de Croissy's carriage, with that lady and Madame d'Aubonne. This made a great difference in the pleasure of the journey.

Madame de Rivry, obliged to do the honours of her house, decided that it must be Julia who was to go in the carriage. Julia exclaimed loudly against this, and declared she would much prefer not going at all. She answered her mother in the disrespectful manner which she always assumed when anything displeased her, and said that it was very convenient for her mother, who was going in the calÈche, to put her to be wearied to death in the carriage.

Madame de Rivry endeavoured in vain to induce her daughter to listen to reason; but as her indulgence did not extend so far as to make her forget what she owed to others, she resisted all her complaints.

Madame de Croissy offered to take one of her grandchildren with her, but this offer was not made with any emphasis, as she was desirous of seeing justice done, and would have been very sorry if, on this occasion, Madame de Rivry had yielded to her daughter. Madame d'Aubonne said nothing, for she saw that it would have been quite useless.

Julia sulked, and even cried, the whole afternoon. She was so much accustomed to have her own way, that the slightest contradiction was a violent grief to her. During their walk she was constantly wiping her eyes, while Madame de Rivry tried to console her, but to no purpose. This distressed Eudoxia so much, that she whispered to her mother, "If I dared, I would beg Madame de Rivry to give my place to Julia."

"It would do no good," said her mother; "but if you like, as you have a slight cold, I will say to-morrow that I should prefer your not going in the calÈche, I think that will be better."

"Oh no, mamma," said Eudoxia quickly, "I assure you the calÈche will not do my cold any harm."

"I agree with you, my child, that the inconvenience is not of sufficient importance to deprive you of this pleasure, neither should I have proposed it to you, had I not thought that you wished to give up your place to Julia."

"And I do wish to do so, mamma, but...."

"You would like perhaps to propose it in such a way that her mother would refuse it?"

"Oh! no, mamma, I do assure you."

"Or else you wish it to be known that it is you who give it up to her?"

"But, mamma, is it not natural to wish Julia to know that it is I who would give her this pleasure, and not any one else?"

"And even if that were possible, do you think that this mode of affording Julia pleasure would be agreeable to her? Suppose, for instance, that you had behaved in as childish a manner as she has done, and that any one of your age had offered to yield her place to you, and thus shown how very good she was, and how much the reverse you were, would you not have felt greatly humiliated by this kindness?"

"Oh! yes, mamma, that is very true."

"Nevertheless this is the humiliation you wish to impose on Julia, as the price of the pleasure you would afford her."

"I assure you, mamma, I have no wish whatever to humble her."

"No, but you wish to prove to her, as well as to every one else, that you are better than she is; for it does not seem to be sufficient for you to know this yourself."

"But, mamma, is it only allowable to be a little satisfied with ourselves, when we conceal from others what we do for them?"

"When the result of what we do for them is to cause ourselves to be esteemed much more than them, and at their expense, we only barter one advantage for another, and we have no reason to be very proud of ourselves, for we have made no great sacrifices for them."

"Mamma," said Eudoxia, after a moment's reflection, "if you like, you can tell Madame de Rivry that I have a cold."

"Just as you please, my child," and they said no more about the matter.

The following day the weather was superb, and Eudoxia beheld the calÈche waiting in the yard, the horses pawing the ground, impatient to be off.

"My cold is almost gone," she said.

"I think, indeed," said Madame d'Aubonne, "that the calÈche will do you no great harm."

"You know, mamma," said Eudoxia, with a sigh, "that it is not I who am going in it."

"You can still do as you like, my child, for I have not spoken on the subject to Madame de Rivry; you are not obliged, therefore, to make this sacrifice, if it be painful to you."

"But, mamma, I think it would be right to make it," said Eudoxia, with sadness.

"My dear child, when once the idea of performing a generous action has occurred to us, if we do not perform it we run the risk of having to reproach ourselves afterwards. It is possible that when you are in the calÈche, the thought that Julia is moping in the carriage may greatly interfere with your pleasure: that is all; for I again repeat, that there is no duty which obliges you to yield your place to her."

"Unless it be, mamma, that I think I have more courage than she has to bear this contradiction."

"I agree with you, as we have before observed, that there are particular duties imposed upon those who feel themselves possessed of more strength and reason than others."

"Mamma, I will go in the carriage."

"Are you quite sure that you really wish to do so, my child?"

"I am quite sure, mamma, that I wish Julia to go in the calÈche."

Madame d'Aubonne tenderly embraced her daughter, for she was extremely pleased with her conduct. They entered the drawing-room, and she expressed her desire of keeping Eudoxia in the carriage; the request was granted without difficulty.

The good-natured Madame de Rivry was very glad to be able to spare her daughter any annoyance, without being wanting in attention to her friends. Eudoxia said nothing, but this occasioned no surprise, as all were accustomed to her obedience. Julia, though delighted, nevertheless blushed a little, for it is very humiliating to find that one has had the weakness to grieve over a misfortune, which after all does not happen; but no one, however, was discontented with the arrangement except Madame de Croissy, who lost the pleasure of seeing a spoiled child contradicted at least once in her life.

"I should have imagined," said she, ironically, "that the education of Mademoiselle Eudoxia would have made her less afraid of catching cold."

Madame d'Aubonne looked at her daughter with a smile, and this smile prevented Eudoxia from being irritated by the remark.

When in the carriage, Madame de Croissy, feeling too warm, wished to put down one of the windows, "provided," she again said, "that it will not give Mademoiselle Eudoxia cold." Madame d'Aubonne and her daughter again glanced at each other, with a scarcely perceptible smile, and Eudoxia found that there is a great pleasure in feeling, in our own conscience, that we are better than others take us to be.

She enjoyed herself very much in the park. In the evening, she felt some regret at losing the drive home in the calÈche, on a beautiful moonlight night; but at last she retired to rest, pleased with the day's amusement, pleased with herself, and pleased with the satisfaction she had given her mother, who, during the whole day, was more than usually attentive to her, calling her whenever she saw anything pretty, and experiencing no pleasure unless shared by her.

The following morning, a painter, with whom Madame de Rivry was acquainted, called en passant at Romecourt; he was on his way back to Paris, and had only half an hour to spend at the chÂteau.

Whilst the breakfast was preparing, he expressed a wish to see the drawings of the young ladies, and AdÈle was ordered to show them. Eudoxia and herself had undertaken to copy from the antique a beautiful head of a vestal, and AdÈle, though according to custom, she had scarcely worked at all, yet, according to custom also, she had told her grandmamma that her drawing was finished, and Madame de Croissy, who never looked at her work, made no further inquiries about it. However, as she could not exhibit this drawing, she determined to show as her own the one which Eudoxia had done. The artist was delighted with it, and it was, indeed, the best thing Eudoxia had ever done. While he was still examining it, Madame de Croissy called AdÈle into the garden, and with her usual thoughtlessness she ran off without putting away the drawing; during this time Madame d'Aubonne and Eudoxia entered by another door.

"Here is a beautiful head drawn by Mademoiselle AdÈle!" said the painter.

"By AdÈle?" said Eudoxia, blushing, and looking at her mother.

"I do not think it can be AdÈle's," said Madame d'Aubonne.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," said the painter, "she told me so herself;" and going to the door which led into the garden, where AdÈle was standing on the step, talking to her grandmamma, he said to her, "Is not the drawing you have just shown me your work, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, sir," said AdÈle, scarcely turning her head, for fear her grandmamma should notice it, and ask to see the drawing.

The painter then resumed his praise of it. Eudoxia waited for her mamma to speak, but she said nothing, and Eudoxia finding her silent, did not dare to speak herself.

The artist wished to see some of her drawings; she said that she had nothing to show; but perceiving a portfolio, inscribed with her name, he drew from it an old study, with which Eudoxia was not at all satisfied, and which she had brought into the country to correct. He pointed out its defects, coldly praised the talent it indicated, and again reverted to the head of the vestal.

Eudoxia's heart was bursting, and she looked at her mother as if to entreat her to speak; but the breakfast was announced. The painter being asked what he thought of the drawings, spoke courteously relative to the talents of the other three young ladies, but asserted that AdÈle would be very successful.

"Ah! not so much so as Mademoiselle Eudoxia," said Madame de Croissy, casting upon Eudoxia a look of ironical satisfaction.

"I assure you, madame," said the painter, "that the head of the vestal which Mademoiselle AdÈle showed me, displays the very highest promise."

AdÈle's face became alternately pale and crimson, and she did not dare to raise her head.

"I assure you, nevertheless," said Madame de Croissy, in the same tone, "that if you had heard Mademoiselle Eudoxia, and the advice she gives, you could not doubt that she was the most skilful young lady of her age."

The painter looked at Eudoxia with astonishment. She felt indignant, but her mother, who was seated near her, pressed her hand beneath the table, in order to calm her. She could not eat, and immediately after breakfast, she went into the garden, where her mother followed her, and found her crying with vexation and impatience.

"What is the matter, my dearest Eudoxia?" said she, pressing her tenderly in her arms.

"Really, mamma," said Eudoxia, much agitated, "this is very hard, and Madame de Croissy again...."

"What does the injustice of Madame de Croissy matter to you? Which of us believes a word of what she says?"

"But the painter will believe it. Indeed I should have said nothing before her; but why must he think that my drawing was done by AdÈle? Mamma, you have encouraged AdÈle's falsehood," she added, in a tone of reproach.

"I have nothing to do with the education of AdÈle," replied Madame d'Aubonne, "whereas I am responsible for yours; it is my duty to foster your virtues as I would my own, and to point out to you your duty, without thinking of that of other people."

"It was not my duty," replied Eudoxia, more mildly, "to allow it to be thought that my drawing was AdÈle's."

"It was certainly not the duty of one who aspires to nothing more than to be able to draw well, but it was the duty of one who wishes to possess more strength and virtue than another, not to sacrifice the reputation of a companion to her own self-love. Tell me, my child, if in order to save yourself the slight vexation of being considered less clever than AdÈle, you had in the presence of this artist covered her with the disgrace of having told a falsehood, would you not now feel very much embarrassed in her presence?"

"I think, indeed, I should, mamma."

"And it would be natural for you to feel so, for you would not have had the courage to make a trifling sacrifice, in order to save her from a great humiliation."

"That is true, mamma; but it is sometimes necessary to do very difficult things, in order to be always satisfied with one's self."

"And if this pleasure could be attained without difficulty, do you not suppose, my child, that every one would be as anxious as yourself to secure it?"

Although softened by this conversation with her mother, Eudoxia, nevertheless, could not help feeling some degree of bitterness against AdÈle, and during a part of the day she avoided speaking to her. But she saw AdÈle so ashamed when in her company, so occupied in endeavouring to give her pleasure without daring to approach her, or address her directly, that her anger was changed into compassion. She felt that the severest trial we can experience, is the having a serious fault to reproach ourselves with; and also that it is impossible to preserve any resentment against one who was suffering under so great an evil. She therefore spoke to AdÈle as usual, and as soon as her irritation vanished, her grief also ceased.

But she had still to pass through a severe ordeal. Honorine, whom nothing ever restrained when once she took a fancy into her head, having one day found the park-gate open, thought it would be very pleasant to go and walk upon the high road. Eudoxia was alone with her at the time, and feeling how improper it was to act in this manner, she entreated her to return. Perceiving some one approaching, and trembling lest Honorine should be noticed, she ventured, in order to call her back, to pass the threshold of the gate herself, and standing quite close to the railing, she exclaimed,

"Honorine, my dear Honorine, come back! I entreat you to come back."

Just at this moment she fancied she heard the voice of Madame de Croissy, and rushed forward to hasten Honorine, who was not returning fast enough: her dress caught in the gate, she was thrown down, while the door was drawn forward and closed, and thus they were both outside, without any means of getting back. Eudoxia tried to open the gate, by passing her hand through the bars, but in vain; the lock was stiff; perhaps even it had a secret spring; she could not succeed. Greatly distressed, she wanted to call out for some one to open it for them, determined, without throwing any blame upon Honorine, to explain what had happened to herself: but Honorine, who had as little courage to encounter a slight reprimand, as she had sense to avoid meriting a great one, entreated her not to do so. She knew that her grandmamma was walking in the garden, and might hear them, and therefore thought it would be better to return to the chÂteau by the back entrance. To reach this, however, it was necessary to make a considerable circuit, and Eudoxia did not wish to leave the gate; but at last Honorine having taken her own course, she was obliged to follow her, as by calling after her, she would have led to a discovery of her imprudent conduct.

She followed her with trembling steps, keeping close to the park walls, and walking as quickly as possible, fearful of being seen, and constantly calling to Honorine, who, on the contrary, was much amused at her alarm, and kept running from side to side, and even into the fields. While still at a considerable distance from the yard of the chÂteau, they saw coming along the road, which crossed in front of them, a carriage filled with company, going to dine at Romecourt.

Eudoxia was now more than ever in despair, as she imagined that she had been recognised; she therefore redoubled her speed, while Honorine, who was beginning to be afraid, on the contrary slackened hers, in order to defer, as long as possible, the moment of danger.

Their fears were not groundless; they had been perceived. As soon as the carriage arrived at Romecourt, they were sought for, together with AdÈle and Julia, in order to entertain a young lady, who had accompanied her mother and two other ladies; but they were not to be found.

"I think," said a gentleman, who had accompanied the carriage on horseback, "that I saw them on the road."

"On the road alone!" exclaimed Madame de Croissy.

"I thought it very strange," said one of the ladies, "nevertheless it was certainly them."

A new search was made everywhere; AdÈle did not know where her sister was, neither could Madame d'Aubonne tell what had become of her daughter. She had gone down to the drawing-room, and was beginning to feel very uneasy, when a servant who observed them enter the yard, exclaimed, "Here they are!"

Every one ran out upon the step, and the two girls perceived, from a distance, the assembly that awaited them. Eudoxia, though almost ready to faint with fear and shame, was, nevertheless, obliged to drag Honorine, who would not advance. They had hardly reached the middle of the yard when they heard Madame de Croissy calling out to them, "Is it possible, young ladies! Is it to be believed!..." Madame d'Aubonne hastened to meet her daughter: "Eudoxia," said she, "what can have happened? How is it"....

Eudoxia did not dare to reply, on account of Honorine, who was by her side, but she pressed and kissed her mother's hand, looked at her, and then at Honorine, in such a way that Madame d'Aubonne was convinced that her daughter had done nothing wrong.

They reached the house at last, still accompanied by the reproofs and exclamations of Madame de Croissy, who while they were ascending the steps, turned towards the company and said, "I beg you at all events to believe, that Honorine is not so ill brought up, as to have thought of such an escapade as this, of her own accord. It was Mademoiselle Eudoxia who led her away, and almost by force too; I was a witness to this." Eudoxia was on the point of exclaiming—"Yes, Mademoiselle," continued Madame de Croissy, with an air of command, "I was walking in the shrubbery near the railings, when you said, 'Come, I entreat you.' I was not then aware of the nature of your request; I see it now, but should never have imagined it. Deny it if you dare."

Madame de Croissy had indeed heard, but misunderstood what Eudoxia had said, in order to induce Honorine to return. Eudoxia did not deny the charge, but cast down her eyes, and burst into tears. Madame d'Aubonne looked at her anxiously, and led her aside, when Eudoxia, weeping, related what had occurred.

"I do not know, my niece, what tale she may be fabricating," cried Madame de Croissy, "but I heard her with my own ears, and I hope I am to be believed, as much as Mademoiselle Eudoxia."

"Aunt," said Madame d'Aubonne, with firmness, "Eudoxia is not fabricating any tales; and if I am satisfied with her conduct, I beg to say, with all deference, that no one else shall interfere with her."

"Most assuredly, I shall not take that liberty," replied Madame de Croissy, very much irritated, "but she will have the kindness not to go near her cousins, and she may then make herself as ridiculous as she pleases; I shall trouble myself very little about it."

Eudoxia was no longer able to support herself; her mother led her away, embraced and consoled her. "Mamma," she said, weeping, "without you, I never should have had resolution enough."

"I am sure, my child, that you would. You would have borne everything rather than have exposed Honorine to the anger of her grandmamma; but we are both in the same predicament, and must mutually aid and support each other. Do you not imagine that they think me as much to blame as yourself?"

Eudoxia embraced her mother with transport; she was so happy and proud at being placed by her on the same level with herself. "But, mamma," she said, "although we say nothing to Madame de Croissy, we might at least explain the truth to the others."

"Would you then let them know that Honorine had the cowardice to allow you to bear the blame of a fault which she herself had committed? Would you wish to be weak in your turn? Your not accusing Honorine was an act of simple kindness merely; many others would have done as much; if you stop at this point, you have no right to consider yourself more generous than others."

"Mamma, this pleasure then must be very dearly purchased?"

"My child, it is only granted to those who have sufficient resolution to sacrifice every other pleasure to it."

Eudoxia, strengthened by her mother's words, returned with her resolutely to the drawing-room, where pardon had already been obtained for Honorine, whom Madame de Croissy would have sent to dine by herself in her own room. The modest but tranquil countenance of Eudoxia, and the tender but unaffected manner in which her mother treated her, imposed silence on Madame de Croissy, while the others began to suspect that she could not be so much in fault as Madame de Croissy had supposed; and Madame de Rivry, who knew her well, had already told them that the thing appeared to her quite impossible. Julia, by dint of questioning, at length extracted the truth from Honorine, and told her mother, on condition that nothing should be said to Madame de Croissy; but the company were informed of it, and from that moment treated Eudoxia with a degree of attention which proved to her that the approbation of others, although we ought not to calculate upon it, is still almost invariably accorded to those whose actions are performed solely from a sense of duty.