Eusebe, oppressed with grief, returned home a prey to a violent
fever. Notwithstanding his efforts to conceal his suffering, he was
forced to take to his bed, where he remained for a month, almost
without consciousness. When he recovered his senses, he found Paul
Buck and Gredinette at his bedside. Eusebe asked for his wife:
they told him that she had gone to attend a dying sister. Some
days afterwards, Eusebe, being convalescent, walked in the garden,
leaning on the arm of Gredinette.
“Eusebe,” said the young woman, stopping suddenly, “since you
must learn the truth sooner or later, I prefer relieving my mind
by telling you at once. Prepare yourself to hear of a great
misfortune.”
“Speak!” said Eusebe: “I could not be more unhappy than I am.”
After much hesitation and circumlocution, Gredinette informed
Eusebe that his wife had eloped with Isidore Boncain, and that the
guilty couple had carried away with them the money of the firm.
Eusebe made no response, nor did his countenance betray any inward
emotion.
“He takes it better than I thought he would,” said Gredinette, in
the evening, to Paul.
By degrees, Eusebe was restored to health. One morning he said to
his two friends,--
“I am about to bid you farewell. I am going to return to La
Capelette, which I should never have quitted. I shall say good-bye
to my father-in-law, and set out this very evening. Thanks for all
your kind friendship: I shall never forget it. If, some day, weary
of life, you should desire to taste the sweets of repose, come to
my home, and I will love you as you have loved me.”
“Do not go to see Bonnaud,” said Paul: “the distracted father
accuses you of being the cause of his daughter’s fault.”
“Accuses me!”
“Yes. He pretends that this elopement is one of the results of
your _liaison_ with Adéonne. Nor would I advise you to trouble
yourself any more about Madame de la Varade. She is absorbed in
the preaching of a missionary who is creating a sensation at
Versailles.”
“A missionary? What is that?”
“Missionaries, my friend,” replied Paul, seriously, “are men, or
rather children of God, who traverse the seas, and encounter a
thousand perils, to bear to benighted savages the word of God and
civilization. The priest of whom I speak has been crucified, and
has been six times in danger of being eaten.”
“I will go to see him,” said Eusebe; and he departed.
Father Vernier belonged to the Congregation of Lazaristes of Turin.
He was an old man, with a snowy beard and a bronzed complexion. His
black eyes were full of courage and good nature. He received Eusebe
kindly.
“What do you desire, my son?” he inquired.
“Father,” replied the young man, “I am weary of struggling with the
contradictions and troubles of life. The more I seek truth, the
more deeply do I become involved in doubt. To-day I come to you,
like the wounded bird flying for rest to the branch of an aged oak.
In the name of Heaven, tell me where to find the true, and where
the false is hidden.”
“Monsieur,” said the priest, dryly, “I have devoted my life
to the service of the Lord. I have traversed the wilderness to
teach His word to the heathen. I owe my support to the humble
and the suffering, to whom I am devoted. I have neither time nor
inclination to enter into philosophic speculations.”
The same evening, Eusebe departed for the home of his childhood.
Not finding at Limoges any vehicle to convey him to La Capelette,
he determined to perform the rest of the journey on foot. He had
proceeded scarcely half the distance, when a violent storm arose
and forced him to seek shelter in a wayside inn. While the landlady
was preparing his supper, he picked up, mechanically, a greasy
volume which was lying on the table, and read. After he had eaten,
he retired to his chamber, where he passed the night in reading
the same book. At dawn he arose and tendered a golden louis to the
landlord for the privilege of carrying away the volume in which he
was so deeply interested. When once more on the road, Eusebe said,--
“Why have I gone so far and exposed myself to so much sorrow in the
search of truth, when it was at my very door?”
The volume contained the various books of the New Testament.
“I was wrong to let the gentleman carry away the book,” said the
innkeeper to his wife.
“Bah! it cost only twelve sous,” she replied.
“And suppose it did: would he have given us twenty francs for it,
if it had not been worth more?”
On reaching the great gate of his father’s house, Eusebe knocked.
“Ah! The good Lord be praised, Monsieur Eusebe,” exclaimed Katy,
who soon appeared, “here you are at last. Hurry up to your father’s
chamber: he so wishes to see you before he dies.”
Eusebe ascended quickly to his father’s chamber.
“Do I behold you at last, my son?” said M. Martin, gasping. “Have
you attained your object? Tell me, if you can, before I die, where
is the false; where is the true?”
“_Father_,” replied Eusebe, “_the false is on earth; the true is in
heaven!_”
“You are perhaps right,” said the dying man; “and if the Abbé
Jaucourt were not dead, and there were yet time, I would invite him
to my bedside.”
“Father,” rejoined the young man, “the preachers of the word of
God never die. They have no need to marry to reproduce themselves.
Religion is a prolific mother. For one of her children who dies,
ten are born.”
“You may be right, my son,” murmured Martin, in a tone that was
scarcely audible; “but I do not wish to see the Abbé Faye: he has
such red hair!” And so he breathed his last sigh.
“Father! father!” cried Eusebe, not yet aware that his parent was
dead, “believe me, _there is nothing true but the greatness of
God_!”
“And,” cried the Abbé Faye, who at that moment thrust his red head
in at the door,
“HUMAN FOLLIES!”
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO.
PHILADELPHIA.
Transcriber’s Notes
Quotation marks missed by the printer have been restored.
Period spellings were retained.
“hand” changed to “hard” on page 166. (It is hard to die)
“renowed” changed to “renowned” on page 172. (a renowned maître
d’armes)