Chapter M: Le Chevalier 142 (4)

A thought suddenly struck Euphemia: they might perchance give her work too. She rushed into the yard, regardless of the horses that were crossing it, and stood before the lady, who was just entering the house; but once in her presence, she stopped, cast down her eyes, and was afraid to speak. Madame de Béville, such was the lady's name, seeing before her a young girl neatly dressed and in tears, asked her kindly what she wanted. Euphemia hesitated, stammered, but at length the thought that her mother was waiting for her, and perhaps uneasy, forced her to make an effort, and with clasped hands, and downcast eyes, for she dared not look at Madame de Béville, she said in a low voice, "Let me have some work too."

"Some work, my child? certainly I will, but how--what sort of work?"

Euphemia could not reply; the little girl then approached her, and said in the most encouraging tone, "Come, speak to mamma."

Euphemia took courage, and addressing Madame de Béville in her former manner, said, "But I want to be paid in advance, immediately; and then," she added, raising her head, and in a tone of great earnestness, "then, I will work for you as long and as much as you please."

She stopped, trembling. Madame de Béville questioned her with great kindness, and Euphemia related her troubles; but while speaking, the louis d'or, which she held in her hand, fell to the ground. The little girl picked it up, and returned it to her, blushing, grieved at the thought that Euphemia had been trying to deceive them.

"My child," said Madame de Béville, in a reproachful tone, "why did you tell me that you had no money?"

"It is not ours," replied Euphemia with simplicity, "it has been intrusted to us for another, and therefore we cannot touch it."

The young girl, much moved, looked at Madame de Béville, who kissed Euphemia, and asked to be conducted to the place where she had left her mother. At this moment, Madame de Livonne entered the yard, supported by M. de Béville, who had recognised her from having often seen her in Paris, and who begged his wife to join him in persuading her to pass a few days with them, in order to regain her strength. Madame de Béville, deeply affected by Euphemia's narrative, pressed the hand of Madame de Livonne, entreating her, in the kindest manner, to accompany them. Madame de Livonne turned to Euphemia, who smiled at her with a look of entreaty; the little girl had already taken her by the arm to lead her away. Madame de Livonne could no longer hesitate, and they entered the carriage of Madame de Béville, whose horses had arrived to conduct them to the château, which was only a few leagues distant. Euphemia could not contain her joy when she saw her mother seated in that comfortable carriage, and surrounded by persons who took care of her; and her pleasure was enhanced by the thought of the delightful time they should pass at Béville. The following day the louis was sent to Mathurine by a confidential person.

Madame de Livonne only required rest, and was soon perfectly restored. M. and Madame de Béville, greatly pleased with the principles she had impressed upon the mind of her daughter, and knowing besides that she was well educated, and very talented, told her that, as they could not obtain in the country, where they lived the greater part of the year, such masters as they wished for their daughter, they would be delighted if she would remain with them, and assist them in her education. Madame de Livonne, although for herself she would have preferred her independence, nevertheless accepted a proposition, which insured to Euphemia a happier existence, and probably, also, a valuable protection.

As to Euphemia, she was delighted beyond measure at the thought of having to live with Mademoiselle de Béville, with whom she had already formed a most intimate friendship; and while rejoicing with her mother at this good fortune, she remarked that it would not have happened to them, if they had been so weak as to change Mathurine's louis d'or.

"We have done our duty," she added, "and God has rewarded us."

"My child," said her mother, "our present situation is a blessing bestowed on us by God, but not a reward."

"And why so, mamma?"

"Because this is not the kind of recompense he assigns to the fulfilment of duty. Do you remember the lines I made you read to me the other day from an English book?--

'What! then is the reward of virtue bread?'[A]

[A] Pope. "Essay on Man."

"It is not by giving to the virtuous the means of living, that God rewards them, but by giving them the satisfaction of having done their duty, and obeyed his will. This, sometimes, is their only reward in the present world; sometimes, even, they are unhappy during the whole of their lives: do you suppose from this that God is unjust to them?"

"No, mamma."

"And do you not think that among these virtuous yet afflicted people, there must have been many who have had much more difficult duties to fulfil than ours, and who have fulfilled them without obtaining those things which you look upon as a reward?"

"Oh, certainly, mamma."

"It is not, then, probable, that God has wished to reward us, in preference to others, who have better merited a recompense."

"But, mamma, nevertheless, it is because we have done our duty, that we are now so happy."

"Yes, my child; and things like this should often happen, for a very simple reason. God, who has willed that the accomplishment of our duties should be rewarded by peace of mind, has also permitted that happiness should usually be the portion of those who take the most pains to attain it. Now, it is certain, that he who feels no hesitation in neglecting his duty, will not, in a case of emergency, trouble himself with the search of any more difficult resource than this."

"That is quite clear."

"Whereas, he who is anxious not to fail in his duty, will exert all the energies of his mind, in order to discover some other means of success; and as the Gospel says, '_Seek, and ye shall find_.' Thus it may often happen, that the efforts we make to avoid a breach of duty, enable us to discover many important resources, which would not otherwise have occurred to us."

"Yes, mamma, just as with the pound of gooseberries. And if, also, when I saw you so ill, I had considered myself justified in making use of Mathurine's louis, I should not have thought of addressing myself to Madame de Béville, which has been so much more advantageous to us."

At this moment, the poor woman whom they had met upon the road presented herself. Her child was quite restored, and she herself, though still very thin, appeared happy. The Curé had at first relieved her, and afterwards sent her to a manufactory, where she obtained employment. Assured of a subsistence, she had come to announce her happiness to those who had been the means of procuring it, and to bring her child for Mademoiselle Euphemia to kiss, _now that he had become handsome again_.

"Mamma! mamma," said Euphemia, overwhelming it with caresses, "it is still because you would not change Mathurine's louis, that you sent them to the Curé. Oh! how much good this louis has done us!"

* * * * *

Here M. de Cideville paused.

"Is that all?" asked Ernestine.

"Yes," replied her father, "I think that is the whole history of the louis d'or; and that from old Mathurine it has come to me, without any adventures."

"And now, papa," said Ernestine, "you forbade me to question you until the end of the story; but is it not true, that you do not know whether all the adventures you have related, have really happened to the louis d'or you showed me?"

M. de Cideville smiled, and said, "It is true that I do not exactly know whether these adventures have really happened; but you must allow that they are possible." Ernestine assented.

"You must also allow, that if some of them are rather romantic, some at least are probable, and may have occurred without any very extraordinary combination of accidents." She again assented.

"Well, then, my child," replied M. de Cideville, "it is partly for want of knowing the truth, and partly for want of sufficient imagination to supply its place, that I have not related many other histories, all more simple and more interesting than my own, in which you might have seen a louis d'or, or even a much smaller sum, prevent the greatest misfortunes. Picture to yourself a family which had eaten nothing for three days: can you imagine the delight with which they would receive a louis d'or, which would afford them time to await, without dying, such other assistance as might save them entirely? And again, the unhappy wretch whose reason has been so far disturbed by excess of misery, that he is led to attempt his own life, can you doubt that a louis d'or, by delaying the moment, would often give him time to return to calmer feelings, and seek some better resource than an act of crime? I give you only two examples, but I repeat, that there are thousands remaining, of which it would be impossible to think, without losing every wish to spend such a sum in a frivolous manner."

"But, papa," said Ernestine, "is it then never allowable to spend a louis on pleasure?"

"My child," said M. de Cideville, "if we impose upon ourselves restrictions too severe, on one point, we run the risk of failing in others. There are duties proportioned to every situation in life. It is proper that those who enjoy a certain degree of affluence, should occupy in the world a position suitable to their means, and also that they should mix in society, which they cannot do without some expense; for it is highly important that society should be kept up, since it binds men together, and gives them opportunities of mutually instructing each other. It is also good for the poor, because the expenses of the rich give them the means of exerting their industry, and maintaining their families. It is necessary, too, that those employed in important labours, as I am every morning in my study, should be able sometimes to repose the mind by occupations of a less serious nature, as otherwise they would end by losing the means of fulfilling the duties of their station. It is for reasons of this kind that many expenses which do not appear directly useful, are nevertheless proper and necessary. But a mind accustomed to judge of the real value of things, will easily draw a distinction between money spent in this manner, and that which is _thrown into the sea_, as the saying is; and while such a person will never feel tempted to indulge in expenses of the latter kind, he will permit himself to enjoy the others without remorse. I know very well, my dear Ernestine, that you may easily deceive yourself in regard to your pleasures: at your age, every pleasure appears of great importance; but I am anxious that you should at least understand the value of what you bestow upon it; therefore, I promise to give you this louis as soon as you have found a really useful means of employing it."

Ernestine, quite enchanted, promised to seek one; we shall see whether she succeeded in her search.