Eugenie opened the letter with trembling fingers. A cheque on the house of "Madame des Grassins and Coret, of Saumur," fluttered down.
Nanon picked it up.
My dear Cousin,--"No longer 'Eugenie,'" she thought, and her heart quailed.
You--"He once said 'thou.'" She folded her arms and dared not read another word; great tears gathered in her eyes.
"Is he dead?" asked Nanon.
"If he were, he could not write," said Eugenie.
She then read the whole letter, which was as follows:
My dear Cousin,--You will, I am sure, hear with pleasure of the success of my enterprise. You brought me luck; I have come back rich, and I have followed the advice of my uncle, whose death, together with that of my aunt, I have just learned from Monsieur des Grassins. The death of parents is in the course of nature, and we must succeed them. I trust you are by this time consoled.
Nothing can resist time, as I am well aware. Yes, my dear cousin, the day of illusions is, unfortunately, gone for me. How could it be otherwise? Travelling through many lands, I have reflected upon life. I was a child when I went away,--I have come back a man.
To-day, I think of many I did not dream of then. You are free, my dear cousin, and I am free still. Nothing apparently hinders the realization of our early hopes; but my nature is too loyal to hide from you the situation in which I find myself. I have not forgotten our relations; I have always remembered, throughout my long wanderings, the little wooden seat--Eugenie rose as if she were sitting on live coals, and went away and sat down on the stone steps of the court.
--the little wooden seat where we vowed to love each other forever, the passage, the gray hall, my attic chamber, and the night when, by your delicate kindness, you made my future easier to me. Yes, these recollections sustained my courage; I said in my heart that you were thinking of me at the hour we had agreed upon.
Have you always looked at the clouds at nine o'clock? Yes, I am sure of it. I cannot betray so true a friendship,--no, I must not deceive you. An alliance has been proposed to me which satisfies all my ideas of matrimony. Love in marriage is a delusion. My present experience warns me that in marrying we are bound to obey all social laws and meet the conventional demands of the world.
Now, between you and me there are differences which might affect your future, my dear cousin, even more than they would mine. Iwill not here speak of your customs and inclinations, your education, nor yet of your habits, none of which are in keeping with Parisian life, or with the future which I have marked out for myself. My intention is to keep my household on a stately footing, to receive much company,--in short, to live in the world; and Ithink I remember that you love a quiet and tranquil life. I will be frank, and make you the judge of my situation; you have the right to understand it and to judge it.
