LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 170, 22 December 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A DREAM STORY. By the Author of ' Patty.' Concluded. Chapter VI. Eugenie wakes with a start and looks round with frightened eyes. Yes, there are the Avhitewashed walls of her own bedroom, and there fis the window just opposite her little bed, and through this the sun is shining and the sky looks bright and blue. ' Has it been all a dream ? ' says the girl sleepily, and she rubs her eyes hard. ' When I waked before it was night, and since then all this has happened, and they say a morning dream always happens truly." She dresses herself, and then she looks out. It must very early, for not even Martin the cowherd is stirring. There is a soft mist on the river which runs at the foot of the hill. The cocks are crowing loudly, but everything else is asleep. Eugenie sits down on her bed, and thinks over her dream. Her

cheeks are dyed with warm blushes, a new sensation, a new life, stirs in her heart. She loves. Yes, it must be love, this ardent longing to. see the stranger in reality who lias been speaking to her so sweetly as she slept. Ah! how plainly she_ sees his face now as she closes her eyes again and calls up the whole scene!

She is out of doors, where, she does not picture, for all her sight is concentrated on her companion. He is tall, and his face is dark, but the large hat he wears shadows it; he is quite unlike any one she has ever seen; he looks more like an inhabitant of a city than a countryman, and his speech is_ like music; there is no Norman harshness in it. She feels the stranger's arm steal softly round her waist, and his eyes seem to stir every pulse in her body.

Eugenie could sit all day dreaming out her dream; it frightens her, and yet there is a delight mingled with her fear ; but a stir in the house below rouses her; she goes again to the window and looks out.

She sees the grey spire, and with this comes a sudden thought of the garden it overlooks, and of Monsieur Furet. Eugenie turns away with sick loathing, and then she remembers her prayer last night at the altar. ' I prayed to be shown whafr was right to do, for it seemed like self-will to disobey; and now I know—oh! I know what to do. I must not marry that old man.'

For she feels in that glimpse of vision love how impossible it would be to marry without it, and her repulsion for Monsieur Furet tells her also it never can come for him. She goes downstairs, and she sees her father coming into breakfast.

' Ticns ! tliou are late, my little one. Why, thy cheeks are red as a rose, my Eugenie !' And indeed Eugenie has grown crimson. The dream, which in her own room was so real and vivid, seems to dwindle into childishness at the sight of her father, but she resolves to speak. • Father, do not be angry, but I cannot marry Monsieur Furet. I prayed last night to our Lady for help and guidance. I went on praying, father, till the sacristan came to lock the church ; and this morning my answer has come. I cannot marry a man unless I love him, and I feel I could never love Monsieur Furet.'

The shrinkling dislike in her face is more powerful than her words. Jacques sighs, remonstrates a little, and finally gives in ; and when an hour afterwards he finds his wife in full tide of reproach, ho imposes silence angrily, and tells her that Eugenie is to be let alone, and that he shall give Monsieur Furet his conge. Chapter VII. A year has passed away, and has brought changes with it. Twice since his first refusal by Eugenie Monsieur Furet has again proposed himself as her husband, and each time Eugenie has been conscious that the refusal she perseveres ,in giving irritates her mother and disappoints her father's hopes. Madame had a severe fall down the ladderstaircase about six months ago, and since that time she has been a somewhat restless prisoner, so that Jacques takes her place on this bright autumn afternoon, and goes with Eugenie to the fete at La Mailleraye. It is a gay scene. From Caudebec itself, from Vatteville and Villequier, and all the neighbouring villages, the prettiest girls and the most likely-looking youths have assembled. The elders sit on long benches under the shade of the elm trees, but the young folks are waltzing away on the green close by to the music of a fiddle, two cornets, and a flute.

The couples seem all well matched except Eugenie and her partner. She has fallen to the lot of Monsieur Alphonse Poiret, the rich jeweller of Caudebec ; and although he has a handsome Jewish face, and is gorgeous in a scarlet scarf, with a pin in which shines a real diamond, yet he cannot dance ; he only flounders like a playful elephant, while Eugenie flits round him like a fairy. But she does not look quite happy. It is not pleasant to have so poor a partner, when she has the reputation of being the best dancer in Villequier, and Caudedec besides, nor is it pleasant to see Rosine Leroux sniggering with Victor Delpierre every time she whirls past; and now, as she stands panting for breath, and longing to be rid of her awkward partner, she hears Francine, the baker s daughter, say to Jules Barriere, ' Do you see Beauty and the Beast ? I would rather sit still all day than make such an exhibition of myself.' Francine smiles while she speaks, but the biting sarcasm in her tone brings tears into Eugenie's eyes.

' I am tired, monsieur" she says to Alphonse Poiret. 'lf you will excuse me I will sit down and rest.'

* Pardon, mademoiselle. There is a chair close by the bench under the trees.' The voice seems to come from just behind l..er and its tone thrills through Eugenie strangely. Where has she heard that musical utterance ? She looks round quickly, but she can only see the plump person of Madame Haulard with her tall gawky daughter on her arm. 'Leaving off dancing already, Eugenie? Madame Haulard's voice has always a slight accent of reproof in it when she addresses young people. 'I thought you never gave

Eugenia feels ready to cry. She bows to the gorgeous jeweller, and goes to look for her father. She draws a deep sigh of relief when at last she reaches a vacant chair near the bench on which the miller sits smoking. ' Mademoisells sighs; and yet dancing makes the heart gay ; is it not so ?' This time Eugenie looks up at once, and then her eyes fall again and a deep blush spreads over her face. A tall man stands beside her. His face is dark, and is shadowed by a broad felt hat ; but there can be no mistake in his likeness to the stranger of her dream. It is he himself—the idol she has secretly worshipped since her vigil before the altar.

1 1 lam a little out of breath,' she stammers ; and then she plays with her bonnetstrings. She is terribly agitated. She longs to look up again, but she has no courage ; she feels that the stranger's dark eyes are fixed on her face.

' That is not to be wondered at,' he says. How the sweet soft music of his voice steals into her soul! ' Mademoiselle has been sacrificed to an incapable partner. A good partner is the soul of dancing.' ' • After this there comes silence. Jacques rouses after a bit and look round for Eugenie.

Seeing her so near he goes and fetches her a glass of sirep, and then scanning her companion with his alert half-closed Norman eyes, he says, ' Pardon, monsieurisapparentlyastranger?'

' Yes, monsieur ; I am from Paris, and my name is Hypolite Laborde—at your service;' and then the two men take off their hats and bow as only Frenchmen can bow in similar circumstances. 'lamawriter, monsieur, and I have come into your charming country for fresh air and fresh ideas. I am enchanted with Caudebec and with its people, and I shall be sorry to leave it. I have been wishing to dance'—he looks as innocently as possible into the face of the miller—divining that he is the father of Eugenie—' but there is no chance jfor me ; all the young people seem old friends, and a new-comer is left in the lurch.'

The miller laughs. 'Do you say so. It is the first time I ever knew a Parisian modest. Why, friend, 'thegods help those who help themselves.' Here is my daughter Eugenie, without a partner—though how she comes to be sitting down I don't understand. Art thou tired, little one ?'

Eugenie's heart throbs with delight, but still she wishes the stranger to ask her himself.

' I am afraid I must not dance,' she says calmly. ■ 1 told Monsieur Poiret I was tired, and it is the same waltz.'

' But monsieur is dancing again,' the stranger speaks eagerly, . ' Now that I have the permission of monsieur her father I wait but till mademoisells has reposed herself to have the honor of claiming her hand.' Is she dreaming again, or is this reality ? and has the life that she has passed through since that delicious vision been the dream ? she asks herself as she is wafted round blissfully on the stranger's arm. Eugenie only knows that she could waltz on for ever l and then at each pause in the dance, as she stands with her partner a little apart from the rest, and listens to the words so like those she listened to in her dream—words which gradually grow more and more full of fervent meaning—it seems to her life has been empty till now, and that the joy of this afternoon is too intense to last.

Presently they are standing still near her father again, and she' hears hini ask her partner if he is staying at La Mailleraye. '.I am-not staying anywhere, monsieur. I reached Caudebec. yesterday, heard of the fete here to-day, and came over in mere idleness. ' .......

' Then you must come and see my mill tomorrow'—Jacques slaps him on the shoulder —' and our chateau. We at Villequier are visited by all travellers. There is no such mill'—he says this in a low voice—' in the north of France.' Chapter VIII. It is two months since the fete at La Mailleraye. The little village of Villequier is all astir, and a crowd of idlers isjwaiting round the church porch. Outside the crowd, just beyond Monsieur Furet's garden gate, stands Margot, looking eager and restless. Her black eyes glitter with a fierce triumphant light. She is safe; for at this moment Eugenie is being wedded to Monsieur Hypolite Laborde, and there is no fear that she will ever reign over the minage of Monsieur Furet,

' Little vain fool! She believed the tale I tqld, and so she gave up my poor besotted master. He'll hanker after her, though, to the day of his death. See him-now !' She shrugs her shoulders in disdain, and shelters herself behind a huge countryman, who is hanging on the skirts of the crowd. Monsieur Furet. has. just come out of church. He is the first of the bridal party who has appeared in the porch ; most of the others are busy signing names in the vestry. Monsieur Furet is smiling, and he holds a large bouquet in his hand. There is a buzz of voices, and the children cry *La voilal' and out comes Eugenie, veiled from head to foot and leaning on her husband's arm. <-. - <•

He is looking so fondly at the blushing face under the veil that he does not see Monsieur Furet; but the ex-avoggfb places himself in Eugenie's path. 'Madame,' he says, with much dignity, ' I wish you all happiness. . Monsieur'—he looks at Hyppolite—' you have a wife who is wise as well as lovely—yes, wiser than heads much older than her own.'.

He bows and stands aside to let them pass, offering the bouquet gallantly to Eugenie.

' There is no fool like an old fool,' says Margot. 'Peste! I should not wonder if he leaves her his money, after all!'