LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 167, 18 December 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A DREAM STORY. By the Author op ' Patty.' Chapter 11. (Continued.) She claps both hands together to free them of flour, thereby enveloping her visitor in a. fresh white cloud, runs up the steps, and is again beside him with a huge brush, before he has time to get out a word. ' Ah, madame, I thank you a thousand times, but it is enough. I will not give you this trouble.' ' C'est ca, e'est ca.' This in accompaniment to the vigorous brushings, under which Monsieur Furet's shoulders shrink not a little. ' Monsieur is quite another thing now.' Monsieur bows, but for some moments her tongue goes on click-clack, keeping time with the brush ; she gives him no chance of getting a word in. And now she seats herself, brush in hand, with a long gasp of fatigue. Her visitor gladly follows her example. 'lt is possible that monsieur will not care to mount to see the viccaniqvc up above, as I have had the maladresse so to incommode him, and there is no denying that the stair-ladder is floury. Still, if monsieur has the slightest desire to g 0 U p—the view from the top is wonderful, all the way, all the way to Le Trait. 1 She makes a movement to rise from her chair; but at this, his first opportunity, monsieur lays his hand on her arm and clears his throat.

'Madame,' ho bows profoundly, ' do not disturb yourself, I beg. My business ia 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 Eugenie 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. Madame Rousset looks at him and she smiles.

' He ! but monsieur must pardon the flour, for it is in my eyes at this moment. Monsieur must not think I am insensible to the great honor he wishes to confer on my 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 Eugenie. She is but seventeen, monsieur. '

• Madame,'monsieur says coldly, ' if you object 1 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. 1 make no objection to your daughter's youth, and your husband, who is a sensible man, will make none.

either. lam not young, but I am hale and hearty, and I have never had a day's illMonsieur 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. ' 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 Eugenie is so young and so much of a child that she is hardly suited to be a companion formonsieur, and'——

Monsieur seats himself again and waives 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 auitor. 'Yes, yes, monsieur is quite right, she says quickly, ' the mamma decides.' Then Monsieur Furet offers his thanks, nettles next day for a formal presentation to his future wife, and after a little more talk takes his leave and departs. Chapter 111. Two hours pass by, and then comes the grate-grate of cart wheels on the stony road. ' Sainte Vierge.' The miller's wife runs to an upper window which commands a view of the road. 'ls this the father or Eugenie : and how am I to tell them what I have promised ? It is possible they may not consent, and then what shall I do ?' 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-tem-pered, 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 mccanique. Monsieur le Baron de Derville has just procured it from Engiand. Ah! but it is an improvement that f must have at any price. In a year's time I would count my sacks by Bixties 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 Eugenie, and shrinks from the thought of losing her. Why then does her. weak nature leap 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 Eugenie, 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 Eugenie 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 Eugenie is too young, but Monsieur Furet said she was old enough ; he bade me ask thee when he could talk to thee about business.'

The agent who brought the machinery 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. 'Ahaf he says, aloud, 'the miller of Caudebec will learn to laugh the other side of his mouth when he sees my sacks everyg where. Why, I shall be king of the countryBide!'

l Eh bien, Jacques, mon Iwmme, when?' 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. Eugenie is much taller than her 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 Geraud'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 Eugenie 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 Eugenie 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 hie life,

He seats himself in a broadbacked easy chair, and beckons to Eugenie as soon as she appears. ' Ticns, la petite.' He winks at her pleasantly with his sly eyes. ' What dost thou say to a husband ? ticns' and he goes off into a suppressed laugh. ' But Madame Rousset's sense of fitness is outraged. ' Tais-toi done, maladroit.' She frowns her dusty eyebrows at the miller, and sidles up to Eugenie. ' Ah, but it is no wonder the dear child blushes and looks frightened—just a husband. Hon dim. He might be any vavrien. Look up, then, my lily, and listen: thy father should have said that a gentleman, a distinguished gentleman'—her Eugenie raises her drooping head, and looks interested 'the best parti in Villequier.' Madame smooths down her apron and simpers, ' so admires our Eugenie, that he will not be happy till she consents to become the richest woman in the neighborhood.' Eugenie's face clouds. 4 The richest ?' she thinks. ' Ah, it is only the old who are rich.' Aloud, she says saucily, ' My mother is telling fairy tales. Who is this wonderful suitor ?'

Jacques opens his mouth, but his wife claps her hand over it. ' It is the owner of the beautiful garden, Monsieur Furet. Aha, my Eugenie ! thou wilt always wear silk and eat white bread, and drink wine instead of cider. Mon JJicul what good fortune !' She runs on as fast as she can, for her daughter's pale face frightens her. Eugenie turns her back on her mother and puts her hand on the miller's shoulder. ' My father,' she says, simply, ' Monsieur Furet is an old man, and—l do not want to marry.' ' Go away, Jeanneton,' pays the miller, angrily, and in his heart he mutters, 'lt is that chattering fool who has done the mischief,' Madame in frightened silence, and then Jacques Rousset puts his arm round his daughter's waist. 'My little one '—there is a wonderful tenderness in the rough man's voice, a tenderness which no one but Eugenie knows of —' Monsieur Furet is of middle age-but he is a hale strong mar., 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.' Eugenie 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 wishest to see me well married? There is another reason, is it not so?' Jacques Rousset is keen and skilful at a bargain, but lie 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 everything,' Eugenie says coaxingly; and she kisses each of the broad cheeks. ' Well, my little one, I do not want to force thy inclination, but it seems to me that thou dost not care for any of our bachelors, even for Sylvestre or Victor"—Eugenie shakes her head, a little curve of disdain on her pretty lip—'and Monsieur Furet is excellent in every way—and—and—well, my child, thou hast guessed it,' for Eugenie is smiling slyly into his eyes, ' some of Furet's spare cash would enable me to buy the new meoanUpie, and that would make my fortune. ' To be continued.