Moral Tales

by Madame Guizot

  EUDOXIA;

  OR LEGITIMATE PRIDE.

  Madame d'Aubonne beheld her daughter Eudoxia, who had attainedthe age of thirteen, increase every day in judgment, talent, andgood dispositions of all kinds. It was with a feeling of intensehappiness, that she discovered in her the germ and hope of everyvirtue. Nothing was wanting to Eudoxia, but the consciousness thatvirtues were given to us for our own practice, and not for thepurpose of judging the conduct of others. Her own earnest love of allthat was good, and her constant endeavour to do what she consideredbest, disposed her to blame others with severity, and to exact fromthem a rectitude, equal to that which she herself displayed in allher actions.

  Though Eudoxia was too reserved, and even too timid to express heropinions 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; forshe knew that it was not sufficient to watch over words only,but that we must also regulate our thoughts; and those of Eudoxiaappeared 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 youngerthan 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, attendingto her invalid father; having had the misfortune to lose him, shereturned, to Paris, which she again left, for the purpose of passinga couple of months at Romecourt, with Madame de Rivry, an old friend,who resided there with her daughter Julia, whom Eudoxia scarcelyknew, 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 Croissywas educating her two granddaughters, Ad?le and Honorine, with whomEudoxia was as little acquainted as with Julia, although they wereher cousins. Her timidity, therefore, made her look with much terroron this new society, especially as the other three girls, though muchabout her own age, were very far from being as reasonable as herself.

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

  As to Honorine, she was a perfect wild colt, without discipline,without reflection; never for a moment dreaming that her fanciescould meet with the slightest opposition, nor that those things whichgave her pleasure could be attended with any inconvenience. Madame deCroissy troubled herself very little about their education; providedthey made no noise, and did not attempt to join in conversation,she always considered girls to be quite sufficiently well broughtup; therefore she habitually left them with the servants, and feltannoyed, that at Romecourt they were almost always kept in thedrawing-room, because Eudoxia and Julia were very little away fromtheir mothers.

  This plan was equally disagreeable to the two girls, but littleaccustomed to the society of their grandmamma, who, when at home,never concerned herself about them, any further than to tell them tohold themselves upright whenever she thought of it, or to be silentwhenever their voices were heard above a whisper. They would havebeen much better pleased if left with their grandmother's servants,with whom they were accustomed to associate, provided, however, thatthey could have had Julia with them; for as to Eudoxia, they caredvery 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 wantof obedience, and their tone of mockery, to which she was notaccustomed. Astonished beyond measure, at their ignorance of almostevery principle which, from her childhood, she had been taught torespect, she blushed to the eyes when she beheld Honorine readingwithout scruple a letter which she found open, playing tricks withthe gardener's son, or standing at the park railing, in front ofthe high road, chatting with all the little boys and girls of thevillage. She trembled when she saw Ad?le, even at her grandmamma'sside, and under her very spectacles, cut the needleful with whichshe was embroidering, in order to shorten it, and be able to saythat her task was finished. Nor, in fine, could she recover from hersurprise, when she saw that the very moment in which Julia receivedan order from her mother to do anything, was precisely that whichshe selected for doing the opposite. At these times she imaginedherself transported into a new world, where all was strange andincomprehensible 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, hadthey 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 tothem, she did not approve of their conduct; they were, therefore,very ill at ease in her society, and in no way pleased when Madamed'Aubonne, who was anxious that Eudoxia should accustom herself tolive with others, adapt herself to their habits, and tolerate theirdefects, sent her to share in their amusements and conversation.

  Neither was Eudoxia at all agreeable to Madame de Croissy, whoseprinciples of education had so little affinity with those of Madamed'Aubonne, and whose grandchildren bore no resemblance to herdaughter. As Madame de Croissy was the sister of Madame d'Aubonne'sfather, she had paid him a visit a short time before his death, butunaccompanied by her grandchildren. On that occasion she had seenEudoxia, whose good qualities and happy dispositions were extolled byevery one in the neighbourhood in which the family resided. As Madamede Croissy had never heard her grandchildren so praised, she feltannoyed; and, besides, she considered that Madame d'Aubonne converseda great deal too much with her daughter, reasoned with her too much,and altogether occupied herself too much about her, though this wasnever at the expense of others. She therefore told every one, andwas herself firmly persuaded that Madame d'Aubonne "would never makeanything 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 presentedto that of her cousins; therefore, in her quality of grand-aunt,she perpetually contradicted her, either directly or by indirectallusions. Her looks were turned to her at every moment, as if shewere watching her, and ready to seize instantly upon the slightestfault which might escape her. Nor did she ever call her anythingbut _Mademoiselle_ Eudoxia. Eudoxia would, therefore, have foundbut very little enjoyment in the country, had it not been for thehappiness she felt in conversing with her mother, who spoke to her asa reasonable person, and who, even when reprimanding her, concealednothing of her affection, nor even, we may add, of her respect; forwith the exception of this want of toleration, which marred a littleher good qualities, Eudoxia merited all the respect that a child ofher 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 wasengaged upon; the other three, collected in a corner, talked, laughedin an under tone, dropped their work, forgot to pick it up, andnever did three stitches successively; and even when told to go on,they did so for a moment only, and with every indication of languorand _ennui_. Eudoxia, from time to time, looked at them, and thenat her mother, with an expression which sufficiently explained hersentiments. Madame de Croissy caught one of these glances, and wasled to notice her granddaughters.

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

  Ad?le and Honorine pretended to go on with their work, and Eudoxia,greatly confused, cast down her eyes, and did not dare to raise themagain during the time they remained in the drawing-room. When theyhad retired to their own apartme
nt, 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 theymade you raise your eyes from your work more than twenty times, andyet 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 interestarise from the satisfaction you experienced at seeing them moreunreasonable than yourself?"

  "Oh, mamma!"

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

  "Mamma," said Eudoxia, somewhat confused, "I assure you that I didnot at first think it was that."

  "I believe you, my child; it is a feeling which steals upon usunperceived. Many persons experience it as well as you, and imaginethat the bad actions of others increase the merit of their own. Buttell me, my dear Eudoxia, would there not be still greater pleasurein being superior to such persons, than in merely being superior toyour companions in industry and attention?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Listen, Eudoxia," continued her mother, "do you remember howirritable you used to be with your cousin Constance, because shepaid so little attention to what she did, and broke everything thatcame in her way? One day you happened, by a carelessness of the samekind, to upset the table on which my writing-desk was placed; and Iremember 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 happenedto commit it yourself?"

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

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

  "As to that mamma," replied Eudoxia, warmly, "that is what I shallnever learn."

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

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

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

  "How then, in that case," said her mother, smiling, "can you expectthem to do the same things as yourself? You do not expect Julia, whois much smaller than you are, to reach as high as you do; you onlyexpect 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 todo as much as other people."

  "It would be very wrong for them to think so, my child, for everyone ought to do as much good as lies in his power; but every one islikewise enjoined to inquire into his own duties, and not into thoseof others; therefore attend only to your own. Do you consider it justand reasonable to enjoy the pleasure of feeling that you are betterthan 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 otherpeople?"

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

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

  Eudoxia insensibly acquired the habit of considering her companionsas children, and almost of treating them as such. One day whenthe four girls were working together, they compared their variousperformances, and Honorine's, which was like Eudoxia's, happened tobe much worse done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "But tell me, Eudoxia, if by chance they had ridiculed you becauseyou love me, because you listen to me, because you do all that Idesire, 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 atthe manner you assumed towards Honorine? If you thought that thispatronizing manner was the most suitable, what did it matter to youthat they should think otherwise? Are you not more reasonable thanthey are, consequently better able to judge of what is right?"

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

  "My dear child, we ought to be indulgent towards the faults of everyone, but we ought not to let this indulgence be manifest to thosewhose conduct does not concern us, unless they wish us to do so; forotherwise, as it is not our business to reprimand them, so neither isit to pardon them. This is an office which we have no right to assumewithout their permission."

  "But what then is to be done, mamma, when they commit faults?"
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br />   "Try not to see them, if possible, and instead of pardoning, try todiminish them; endeavour to discover in Honorine's work all that isgood, so that what is bad may be forgotten; but to do this you mustnot be very glad that your work has been found better than hers;your whole pride should consist in being superior to these triflingadvantages."

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

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

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

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

  Eudoxia and her companions were delighted at the thought of thisparty; but on the evening before it was to take place, when they werethinking of the arrangement of the carriages, they found that Madamede Rivry's cal?che would only hold four persons, therefore as it wasnecessary that she herself should be one of the four, the whole ofthe girls could not be with her; one of them must necessarily go inMadame 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, decidedthat it must be Julia who was to go in the carriage. Julia exclaimedloudly against this, and declared she would much prefer not going atall. She answered her mother in the disrespectful manner which shealways assumed when anything displeased her, and said that it wasvery convenient for her mother, who was going in the cal?che, to puther to be wearied to death in the carriage.

  Madame de Rivry endeavoured in vain to induce her daughter to listento reason; but as her indulgence did not extend so far as to make herforget 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 desirousof seeing justice done, and would have been very sorry if, on thisoccasion, Madame de Rivry had yielded to her daughter. Madamed'Aubonne said nothing, for she saw that it would have been quiteuseless.

  Julia sulked, and even cried, the whole afternoon. She was so muchaccustomed to have her own way, that the slightest contradiction wasa violent grief to her. During their walk she was constantly wipingher eyes, while Madame de Rivry tried to console her, but to nopurpose. This distressed Eudoxia so much, that she whispered to hermother, "If I dared, I would beg Madame de Rivry to give my place toJulia."

  "It would do no good," said her mother; "but if you like, as you havea slight cold, I will say to-morrow that I should prefer your notgoing in the cal?che, I think that will be better."

  "Oh no, mamma," said Eudoxia quickly, "I assure you the cal?che willnot do my cold any harm."

  "I agree with you, my child, that the inconvenience is not ofsufficient importance to deprive you of this pleasure, neithershould I have proposed it to you, had I not thought that you wishedto 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 motherwould 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 toher?"

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

  "And even if that were possible, do you think that this mode ofaffording Julia pleasure would be agreeable to her? Suppose, forinstance, that you had behaved in as childish a manner as she hasdone, and that any one of your age had offered to yield her placeto you, and thus shown how very good she was, and how much thereverse you were, would you not have felt greatly humiliated by thiskindness?"

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

  "Nevertheless this is the humiliation you wish to impose on Julia, asthe 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, thatyou are better than she is; for it does not seem to be sufficient foryou to know this yourself."

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

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

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

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

  The following day the weather was superb, and Eudoxia beheld thecal?che waiting in the yard, the horses pawing the ground, impatientto be off.

  "My cold is almost gone," she said.

  "I think, indeed," said Madame d'Aubonne, "that the cal?che will doyou no great harm."

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

  "You can still do as you like, my child, for I have not spoken on thesubject to Madame de Rivry; you are not obliged, therefore, to makethis 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 actionhas occurred to us, if we do not perform it we run the risk of havingto reproach ourselves afterwards. It is possible that when you arein the cal?che, the thought that Julia is moping in the carriagemay greatly interfere with your pleasure: that is all; for I againrepeat, that there is no duty which obliges you to yield your placeto her."

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

  "I agree with you, as we have before observed, that there areparticular duties imposed upon those who feel themselves possessed ofmore 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 cal?che."

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

  The good-natured Madame de Rivry was very glad to be able to spareher daughter any annoyance, without being wanting in attention toher 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 findthat one has had the weakness to grieve over a misfortune, whichafter all does not happen; but no one, however, was discontented withthe arrangement except Madame de Croissy, who lost the pleasure ofseeing a spoiled child contradicted at least once in her life.

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

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

  When in the carriage, Madame de Croissy, feeling too warm, wished toput down one of the windows, "provided," she again said, "that itwill not give Mademoiselle Eudoxia cold." Madame d'Aubonne and herdaughter again glanced at each other, with a scarcely perceptiblesmile, 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 feltsome regret at losing the drive home in the cal?che, on a beautifulmoonlight night; but at last she retired to rest, pleased withthe day's amusement, pleased with herself, and pleased with thesatisfaction she had given her mother, who, during the whole day,was more than usually attentive to her, calling her whenever she sawanything pretty, and experiencing no pleasure unless shared by her.

  The following morning, a painter, with whom Madame de Rivry wasacquainted, called _en passant_ at Romecourt; he was on his way backto Paris, and had only half an hour to spend at the ch?teau.

  Whilst the breakfast was preparing, he expressed a wish to see thedrawings of the young ladies, and Ad?le was ordered to show them.Eudoxia and herself had undertaken to copy from the antique abeautiful head of a vestal, and Ad?le, 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, andMadame de Croissy, who never looked at her work, made no furtherinquiries 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 bestthing Eudoxia had ever done. While he was still examining it,Madame de Croissy called Ad?le into the garden, and with her usualthoughtlessness she ran off without putting away the drawing; duringthis time Madame d'Aubonne and Eudoxia entered by another door.

  "Here is a beautiful head drawn by Mademoiselle Ad?le!" said thepainter.

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

  "I do not think it can be Ad?le'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 Ad?le wasstanding on the step, talking to her grandmamma, he said to her, "Isnot the drawing you have just shown me your work, mademoiselle?"

  "Yes, sir," said Ad?le, scarcely turning her head, for fear hergrandmamma should notice it, and ask to see the drawing.

  The painter then resumed his praise of it. Eudoxia waited for hermamma 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 shehad nothing to show; but perceiving a portfolio, inscribed with hername, he drew from it an old study, with which Eudoxia was not at allsatisfied, and which she had brought into the country to correct. Hepointed out its defects, coldly praised the talent it indicated, andagain reverted to the head of the vestal.

  "I do not think it can be Ad?le's," said Madame d'Aubonne.--P. 176.]

  Eudoxia's heart was bursting, and she looked at her mother as if toentreat her to speak; but the breakfast was announced. The painterbeing asked what he thought of the drawings, spoke courteouslyrelative to the talents of the other three young ladies, but assertedthat Ad?le 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 thevestal which Mademoiselle Ad?le showed me, displays the very highestpromise."

  Ad?le's face became alternately pale and crimson, and she did notdare to raise her head.

  "I assure you, nevertheless," said Madame de Croissy, in the sametone, "that if you had heard Mademoiselle Eudoxia, and the advice shegives, you could not doubt that she was the most skilful young ladyof her age."

  The painter looked at Eudoxia with astonishment. She felt indignant,but her mother, who was seated near her, pressed her hand beneath thetable, in order to calm her. She could not eat, and immediately afterbreakfast, 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 hertenderly in her arms.

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

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

  "But the painter will believe it. Indeed I should have said nothingbefore her; but why must he think that my drawing was done by Ad?le?Mamma, you have encouraged Ad?le's falsehood," she added, in a toneof reproach.

  "I have nothing to do with the education of Ad?le," replied Madamed'Aubonne, "whereas I am responsible for yours; it is my duty tofoster your virtues as I would my own, and to point out to you yourduty, without thinking of that of other people."

  "It was not my duty," replied Eudoxia, more mildly, "to allow it tobe thought that my drawing was Ad?le's."

  "It was certainly not the duty of one who aspires to nothing morethan to be able to draw well, but it was the duty of one who wishesto possess more strength and virtue than another, not to sacrificethe reputation of a companion to her own self-love. Tell me, mychild, if in order to save yourself the slight vexation of beingconsidered less clever than Ad?le, you had in the presence of thisartist 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 havehad the courage to make a trifling sacrifice, in order to save herfrom a great humiliation."

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

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

  Although softened by this conversation with her mother, Eudoxia,nevertheless, could not help feeling some degree of bitternessagainst Ad?le, and during a part of the day she avoided speaking toher. But she saw Ad?le so ashamed when in her company, so occupiedin 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 havinga serious fault to reproach ourselves with; and also that it isimpossible to preserve any resentment against one who was sufferingunder so great an evil. She therefore spoke to Ad?le as usual, and assoon as her irritation vanished, her grief also ceased.

  But she had still to pass through a severe ordeal. Honorine, whomnothing ever restrained when once she took a fancy into her head,having one day found the park-gate open, thought it would be verypleasant to go and walk upon the high road. Eudoxia was alone withher at the time, and feeling how improper it was to act in thismanner, she entreated her to return. Perceiving some one approaching,and trembling lest Honorine should be noticed, she ventured, in orderto call her back, to pass the threshold of the gate herself, andstanding 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 Madamede Croissy, and rushed forward to hasten Honorine, who was notreturning fast enough: her dress caught in the gate, she was throwndown, while the door was drawn forward and closed, and thus theywere both outside, without any means of getting back. Eudoxia triedto 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 couldnot succeed. Greatly distressed, she wanted to call out for some oneto open it for them, determined, without throwing any blame uponHonorine, to explain what had happened to herself: but Honorine, whohad as little courage to encounter a slight reprimand, as she hadsense to avoid meriting a great
one, entreated her not to do so.She knew that her grandmamma was walking in the garden, and mighthear them, and therefore thought it would be better to return tothe ch?teau by the back entrance. To reach this, however, it wasnecessary to make a considerable circuit, and Eudoxia did not wish toleave the gate; but at last Honorine having taken her own course, shewas obliged to follow her, as by calling after her, she would haveled to a discovery of her imprudent conduct.

  She followed her with trembling steps, keeping close to the parkwalls, and walking as quickly as possible, fearful of being seen, andconstantly calling to Honorine, who, on the contrary, was much amusedat her alarm, and kept running from side to side, and even into thefields. While still at a considerable distance from the yard of thech?teau, they saw coming along the road, which crossed in front ofthem, a carriage filled with company, going to dine at Romecourt.

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

  Their fears were not groundless; they had been perceived. As soon asthe carriage arrived at Romecourt, they were sought for, togetherwith Ad?le and Julia, in order to entertain a young lady, who hadaccompanied her mother and two other ladies; but they were not to befound.

  "I think," said a gentleman, who had accompanied the carriage onhorseback, "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 itwas certainly them."

  A new search was made everywhere; Ad?le did not know where her sisterwas, neither could Madame d'Aubonne tell what had become of herdaughter. She had gone down to the drawing-room, and was beginning tofeel 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, froma distance, the assembly that awaited them. Eudoxia, though almostready to faint with fear and shame, was, nevertheless, obliged todrag Honorine, who would not advance. They had hardly reached themiddle of the yard when they heard Madame de Croissy calling outto 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 byher side, but she pressed and kissed her mother's hand, looked ather, and then at Honorine, in such a way that Madame d'Aubonne wasconvinced that her daughter had done nothing wrong.

  They reached the house at last, still accompanied by the reproofsand exclamations of Madame de Croissy, who while they were ascendingthe steps, turned towards the company and said, "I beg you at allevents to believe, that Honorine is not so ill brought up, as tohave thought of such an escapade as this, of her own accord. It wasMademoiselle Eudoxia who led her away, and almost by force too; I wasa 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 yourrequest; I see it now, but should never have imagined it. Deny it ifyou dare."

  Madame de Croissy had indeed heard, but misunderstood what Eudoxiahad said, in order to induce Honorine to return. Eudoxia did not denythe charge, but cast down her eyes, and burst into tears. Madamed'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," criedMadame de Croissy, "but I heard her with my own ears, and I hope Iam to be believed, as much as Mademoiselle Eudoxia."

  "Aunt," said Madame d'Aubonne, with firmness, "Eudoxia is notfabricating any tales; and if I am satisfied with her conduct, I begto say, with all deference, that no one else shall interfere withher."

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

  Eudoxia was no longer able to support herself; her mother led heraway, embraced and consoled her. "Mamma," she said, weeping, "withoutyou, I never should have had resolution enough."

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

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

  "Would you then let them know that Honorine had the cowardiceto allow you to bear the blame of a fault which she herself hadcommitted? Would you wish to be weak in your turn? Your not accusingHonorine was an act of simple kindness merely; many others wouldhave done as much; if you stop at this point, you have no right toconsider 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 resolutionto sacrifice every other pleasure to it."

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