clack, keeping time with the brush; she, "Madame," he bows profoundly, "do not disturb yourself, I beg. My business is with you absolutely, and not with the mill. I have no sister, madame, no female relative; so it is necessary that I speak for myself. Madame," he bows again, “I ask your permission to pay my court to your daughter, Mademoiselle Eugénie Rousset." Madame Rousset's eyelids have winked so rapidly during this precisely spoken proposal that she has shaken some of the flour from her light eyelashes into her eyes. This sets them smarting, and she rubs them with her pink knuckles. This demonstration puzzles the suitor. He has risen and removed his hat, and now he stands with it in his hand, half sheepish, half angered. "But indeed, monsieur, a thousand pardons, but monsieur does not understand. I could not intend to make any reflection on the suitability of monsieur as a husband for my little girl; it is only that Eugénie is so young and so much of a child that she is hardly suited to be a companion for monsieur, and Monsieur seats himself again and waves his hand with dignity. "I am the best judge on this point, madame. Then I may suppose that you are willing for this alliance, and that I am at liberty to make the business arrangements with your respectable husband? I believe," he smiles, "it is the mamma who really decides these questions." A look of doubt comes into madame's eyes; but they are still full of flour, so their expression is not noticeable, as they blink every instant and are swimming with water, but Madame Rousset is desirous to maintain her prerogative in the eyes of her daughter's suitor. 66 Yes, yes, monsieur is quite right," she says quickly, "the mamma decides." Then Monsieur Furet offers his thanks, settles next day for a formal presentation to his future wife, and after a little more talk takes his leave and departs. III. Two hours pass by, and then comes the grate-grate of cart wheels on the stony road. father or Eugénie? and how am I to tell them what I have promised? It is possible they may not consent, and then what shall I do?” Madame Rousset looks at him and she "Sainte Vierge!" The miller's wife smiles. runs to an upper window which com"He! but monsieur must pardon themands a view of the road. "Is this the flour, for it is in my eyes at this moment. Monsieur must not think I am insensible to the great honour he wishes to confer on our daughter, only," she puts her head on one side and screws up the suffering eyes, "I ask myself if monsieur knows how young is our Eugénie. She is but seventeen, monsieur." "Madame," monsieur says coldly, "if you object I withdraw my pretensions. I am willing to make your daughter the richest woman in Villequier and to join my interests with those of Monsieur Rousset in his building schemes. I make no objection to your daughter's youth, and your husband, who is a sensible man, will make none either. I am not young, but I am hale and hearty, and I have never had a day's illness." Monsieur Furet puts on his hat and looks sternly at the little bundle of a woman; his profession has taught him how to deal with Madame Rousset. She comes down to meet her husband with a very scared face. The miller is a broad-cheeked jolly Norman, with a half-shut corner to each of his blue eyes. He looks genial and good-tempered, but he also looks capable of making an excellent bargain. His face is more serious than usual as he comes up the steps, and his wife sees this and feels yet more nervous. He does not come into the house; he stands lounging against the door-post. There is discontent on his face. His wife looks at him anxiously. She waits till he has lit his pipe. "What is it then, Jacques?" "Ah, what is it, Jeanneton ? It is always the same want. I have seen to-day at Bolbec an improvement on our méca nique. Monsieur le Baron de Derville has just procured it from England. Ah! but it is an improvement that I must have at any price. In a year's time I would count my sacks by sixties where I now count twenties, if I could find the money to obtain it for the mill." Madame Rousset could not have said why she had felt anxious that Monsieur Furet's suit should find favour with her husband. Certainly it would be pleasant to hear her daughter called “the richest woman in Villequier," but this is only a new and temporary idea; for she worships Eugénie, and shrinks from the thought of losing her. Why then does her weak nature leap up in joy at hearing her husband's words? "It could not have come at a better time," she thinks, with prodigious relief. "Monsieur Furet will lend him the money, no doubt, if Jacques consents to the marriage." "I have had a visitor," she says shyly. Jacques feels aggrieved. He is accustomed to sympathy from the foolish little woman. He gives a twist with his shoulders, turns away sulkily, and goes on smoking. "Yes indeed, a suitor for our Eugénie, who wishes to see thee on business, and to join his interests with thine. What dost thou think of Monsieur Furet?" Jacques takes his pipe out of his mouth and looks at his wife to see if her wits are straying. "Yes, Monsieur Furet; Madame Rousset bridles, and smooths down her apron with both hands; "and he proposes to make our Eugénie the richest woman in Villequier, if she will be his wife." She gives a quick glance in her husband's face and sees a shrinking there. "I said Eugénie is too young, but Monsieur Furet said she was old enough; he bade me ask thee when he could talk to thee about business." ma "The agent who brought the chinery goes back to England next week," says Rousset to himself; the struggle of dislike that came at the thought of his lovely little daughter and Monsieur Furet yields as he pictures to himself the results to his mill. “Aha!" he says, aloud, "the miller of Caudebec will learn to laugh the other side of his mouth when he sees my sacks everywhere. Why, I shall be king of the country-side!" "Eh bien, Jacques, mon homme, when?" LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 376 Jacques turns and slaps her gaily on the shoulder: "When, my girl? Why, there's no time like the present. I'm going to see Monsieur Furet now." He turns away to go down the steps and stops suddenly. At the foot of the steps is a young girl, blue-eyed and fair-haired like her parents, but with the liquid softness in her eyes and the exquisite bloom on her skin of sweet seventeen. Eugénie is much taller than her mother, and has a well-shaped well-rounded figure; she wears a sprigged cambric gown, a black jacket, and a white muslin full-bordered cap tied under her chin. Thou art home first, my father," she says merrily. "Well, I was so tired of Madame Giraud's cart, that I slipped out and came across the fields. Pierrot will bring my marketing. Why," she goes off into a ringing laugh, "mother, what hast thou done to our father? He looks as if he saw a ghost!" Madame Rousset slips past her husband, comes down the steps, and kisses Eugénie on both cheeks and then on her forehead, to give Jacques time to recover himself. He stands with his mouth still open; but by the time his wife has ended her kisses he stuffs both hands, pipe and all, under his blouse into the pockets of his trowsers, and clears his throat. "Allons, Jeanneton," he says, "I am going into the kitchen, and thou canst bring Eugénie there. The child must not be kept in the dark." It is an effort to say this, for the new machinery draws him like a magnet; but spite of his love of money-making, Jacques Rousset loves his little girl better than any other part of his life. He seats himself in a broad-backed easy-chair, and beckons to Eugénie as soon as she appears. a gentleman, a distinguished gentleman "everything," Eugénie says coaxingly; here Eugénie raises her drooping head, and she kisses each of the broad cheeks. and looks interested-"the best parti in "Well, my little one, I do not want to Villequier" madame smooths down her force thy inclination, but it seems to me apron and simpers, so admires our Eu- that thou dost not care for any of our génie, that he will not be happy till she bachelors, even for Sylvestre or Victor" consents to become the richest woman in-Eugénie shakes her head, a little the neighbourhood." curve of disdain on her pretty lip" and Monsieur Furet is excellent in every way "The richest?" she thinks. "Ah, it — and — and — well, my child, thou hast is only the old who are rich." Aloud, guessed it," for Eugénie is smiling slyly she says saucily, "My mother is tell-into his eyes, "some of Furet's spare ing fairy tales. Who is this wonderful cash would enable me to buy the new suitor?" mécanique, and that would make my fortune." Eugénie's face clouds. Jacques opens his mouth, but his wife claps her hand over it. "Would it make thee happier?" she "It is the owner of the beautiful gar-laughs mischievously. She is too full of den, Monsieur Furet. Aha, my Eugé-youth and brightness to realize that she nie! thou wilt always wear silk and eat is jesting about her life's destiny. white bread, and drink wine instead of cider. Mon Dieu! what good fortune!" She runs on as fast as she can, for her daughter's pale face frightens her. "But yes, Eugénie." Jacques stands erect, holding his head rather higher than usual. "The man at the top of the ladder and the man at the bottom are equally content; but the man who has got halfway looks down and sees what he has done, and looks up and sees what is yet to do: there is no happiness until he reaches the top; and I am half-way up my ladder, my little girl." But still Jacques feels in a false position, and makes no attempt to caress his daughter. Eugénie stands thinking. Madame retreats in frightened silence, "It is all new and sudden, my father," and then Jacques Rousset puts his arm she says. "I cannot say at once that I round his daughter's waist. will marry Monsieur Furet. I cannot "My little one there is a wonder-even say," she goes on quickly, for an ful tenderness in the rough man's voice, a tenderness which no one but Eugénie knows of "Monsieur Furet is of middle age but he is a hale strong man, and he is kind and good also. See how near his house is to our mill; it will hardly be like leaving home. He can do more for thee, my beloved, than thy father can." Eugénie has been looking earnestly at the miller, and she sees that he avoids her direct glance. She is simple and sweet, but she has inherited some of her father's shrewdness; besides, she is Norman born, and she recalls the scared look with which he greeted her. "Father, is it only because thou wish est to see me well married? There is another reason, is it not so?" Jacques Rousset is keen and skilful at a bargain, but he is very inferior to his wife in the art of equivocation. A flush mounts to his forehead, and he looks troubled. "Tell me everything, I ought to know eager hope shoots into her father's eyes, "that I will ever marry him; but I will try and think of it; and thou knowest, my father, I would do very much to please thee." The sweet blue eyes are so tender as she says these words that Jacques turns away suddenly, and draws the sleeve of his blouse across his eyes. IV. IT is Sunday. Madame Rousset and Eugénie have been already once down and up the steep green hill when they went to mass this morning; and now they are going to vespers, and after that to pay a visit to Monsieur Furet's garden. Eugénie has often looked with longing eyes over the low stone wall at the lovely flowers, and she consented readily to accept the invitation which her father brought back from Monsieur Furet. Jacques Rousset stands and watches mother and daughter as they walk side by side down the slope. "What a bundle the old woman grows! | trance is plain and dull. A narrow path Will my trim sprightly little girl ever leads from the little gate, between two grow like that? Well, the wheel goes closely-clipped hedges. As Marguerite round with us as with the machines. Ah! does not appear, monsieur takes a key the machines-dame! but I did not out of his pocket and opens the door. think old Furet would have been so wide-awake. He is not so much in love as our Jeanneton thinks he is." He ends with a growl. Yesterday, when he saw Monsieur Furet, he suggested as delicately as possible that his daughter was not anxious to marry, but that he, Jacques Rousset, was exceedingly rejoiced at the prospect of such a son-in-law. Monsieur bowed his thanks in reply, and then Monsieur Rousset changed the subject of conversation, and ended by introducing, as he thought, in an altogether casual way, the new machinery he had seen at Bolbec, and the immense advantages that would accrue to him as a miller if he could afford to purchase the like. "The old fox!" Jacques stuffs his hands into his pockets and stamps. It was too exasperating to see him rub his smooth old hands together and say, "I wish you all success, monsieur. Then I am to understand that, although you cannot promise me your daughter, you permit me to try to win her favour?" He shrugs his shoulders impatiently, and paces down the slope as far as the shed. It is deserted to-day, and he seats himself on the rough wooden bench on which they chop fagots. "Bah! bah! bah! After all the old fellow has tact and sense, and I can manage anything but a fool. No one can do that. It shows he knows something about women, that he should ask to introduce Eugénie to his house and garden when he introduced himself to her. He will make an easy-going, doating husband, no fear. The only thing I should like out of the arrangement is that square-faced, blackeyed ménagère. I believe she had been listening at the door." He comes out of the shed and looks down the hill. The women are out of sight. The long, dark, flagged passage entrance looks cold and cheerless. Eugénie steps down into it and she shivers; it feels damp; and as Monsieur Furet closes the door behind her the house seems like a prison. Monsieur is surprised at the absence of his housekeeper; but he keeps a smiling countenance and throws open the door of his study. Eugénie has heard about the avocat's treasures, and she follows her mother into the quaint little room with a pretty flushed eagerness. It is quite a little museum; there is tapestry on the walls, and each of the chairs is an antique curiosity. Monsieur Furet speaks for the first time to Eugénie. "I have not the happiness of being acquainted with the taste of mademoiselle, so I hardly know what to show her. If mademoiselle affects real antiquities — and these, I confess, for me have the greatest charm-I have there" - he points to a row of shelves opposite the freplace- "Roman amphora and Phonician tiles, discovered at Lillebonne ; those are Celtic remains from Evreux; and that " he pointed to a bit of stone was brought from Ireland. But" he gets so eager that his eyes brighten visibly "it is possible that mademoiselle prefers these?" 66 Eugénie has looked with much disappointment at the rows of grey and red pots and tiles and broken bits he has indicated, only enlivened here and there by a small dark porphyry figure, or one in lapis lazuli. She sees much more to admire on the table full of old blue and white faience he now shows her. "But, monsieur," she says timidly, "why do you prize this more than the lovely porcelain they have in the shops at Rouen?" "Ma foi, mademoiselle! but that is of He would have been still more troubled | our day; it has no speciality. It is the if he had seen the dark eyes peering out age and the rarity which makes this valuof a little slit of a window of Monsieur able." Furet's house when the congregation straggles out of church. Monsieur Furet has been to vespers, and he stands in the porch waiting for his visitors. He only makes Eugénie a profound bow, but he tucks Madame Rousset's hand under his arm, and leads her in triumph to his house. The en "I could never like old things so well as new ones," says Eugénie saucily, as she turns away, perfectly unconscious of Monsieur Furet's confusion. "Do not mind her," whispers Madame Rousset; "she is young and giddy. Take us to your garden; my child has a passion for flowers." Monsieur bows, and leads the way into Monsieur Furet is in fresh delight. the garden. Here is a new proof of Eugénie's goodHere it is so bright and full of sun-ness, and the "we" pleases him. shine, and the flowers are so full of lovely "I will, life and colour, that Eugénie feels at her ease again, and she smiles and looks happy. "Wait a moment," he says; with mademoiselle's permission, call my housekeeper, Margot, so that Madame Rousset may be no longer alone, and I will return and conduct mademoiselle to my cow." He bows and leaves her. "I shall not wait," says Eugénie. "I think exploring a strange place alone is great fun. I am only afraid of a dog, and monsieur would have told me if there had been a dog." She goes quickly through the trees; they are planted so closely that the path garden is on the right, but this does not interest her. She passes on through a swing-gate which ends the path, and finds herself suddenly in the field beside the stagnant pool. The trees throw long branches across the water, and choke it with fallen leaves; here and there a gnarled, twisted, writhing limb has fallen in, and over all the scum and the waterweeds cling close in foul embrace. Monsieur Furet gathers her a bunch of China roses, and she thanks him gratefully. He feels younger already in the light of those sweet soft glances, and his first embarrassment passes away. He talks to Eugénie about the flowers, and banters her so playfully about her mistakes for she is very ignorant respecting them that the girl forgets the dismal tomb-like house and the lonely study, full of "old things," and thinks how is damp and moss-grown. The kitchen charming it would be to have this garden for her own. Eugénie has a reverence for learning. Her father's only fault, in her eyes, is that he never looks at a book or a newspaper; and as she listens to Monsieur Furet's gentle talk now of the special properties of a plant, now of the singular circumstance which led to its discovery, now narrating some old Norman legend time goes by, and still Eugénie paces up and down the garden beside her host, and listens with interest to his talk. She has not only to listen. He sets himself to draw her out, and grows fascinated by her fresh simplicity. She has quite lost her shyness. Her mother got tired some time ago, and sat down on a huge green Chinese seat, just outside the kitchen window. Monsieur has forgotten everything but Eugénie, or he would surely summon Margot to entertain Madame Rousset; he would wonder, too, what has become of the ménagère, generally all too forward in the presence of visitors. But he is in love, with all "Bonjour, mademoiselle." Marthe fond foolishness of love at fifty-five; guerite's face relaxes into a sudden smile. he cannot lose a glance of those sweet She has changed her tactics. Something blue eyes, a curve of those red smiling in the girl's face tells her that insolence lips, and his homage is so earnest, yet so is not a safe weapon. gentle and respectful, that it fascinates" Tiens! but why then has madeEugénie. It is wonderful, she thinks, moiselle left the pretty flowers, to look at that a gentleman and a scholar like Mon- this dark pond?" Marguerite gives a sieur Furet should take so much kind little shiver of fear, and turns away. trouble to amuse her. Monsieur Furet pauses in front of the rocher and the grove of sycamores. "I have a potager behind," he says, "and beyond that are two fields, so that I have room for a cow and a pony. Will you like to see my cow?" "If you please, monsieur." And then Eugénie feels a pang of conscience. "But my mother will be tired," she says; "we have left her so long alone." Something in the dull choked water makes Eugénie pause; then she shudders and turns back to the swing-gate. A woman is opening it, and as she advances quickly towards her Eugénie recognizes the housekeeper. She has never spoken to Marguerite, but she knows her by sight: she has often seen the broad red face in the doorway of Monsieur Furet. The housekeeper is as pale now as nature will permit her to be. She nods familiarly to Eugénie, and looks at her till the girl's eyes drop beneath the fixed gaze. Eugénie looks again at the water, and again the same weird horror chills her. "Why, then," she speaks aloud, but as much to herself as to the housekeeper, "does Monsieur Furet keep this black, unwholesome water so near his house? It would be better filled up." For an instant Margot's eyes are fiendish. "She is mistress already, is she?" she says to herself. "It cannot be filled up, mademoiselle ; |