old, to
their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great
passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads
and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping,
forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath.
This is love,--true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives
upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie's love after she had
read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of
the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience
of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes:
Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured
with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could
only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer
until the day of her deliverance.

"My mother was right," she said, weeping. "Suffer--and die!"

XIV

Eugenie came slowly back from the garden to the house, and avoided
passing, as was her custom, through the corridor. But the memory of her
cousin was in the gray old hall and on the chimney-piece, where stood
a certain saucer and the old Sevres sugar-bowl which she used every
morning at her breakfast.

This day was destined to be solemn throughout and full of events. Nanon
announced the cure of the parish church. He was related to the Cruchots,
and therefore in the interests of Monsieur de Bonfons. For some time
past the old abbe had urged him to speak to Mademoiselle Grandet, from
a purely religious point of view, about the duty of marriage for a woman
in her position. When she saw her pastor, Eugenie supposed he had come
for the thousand francs which she gave monthly to the poor, and she told
Nanon to go and fetch them; but the cure only smiled.

"To-day, mademoiselle," he said, "I have come to speak to you about
a poor girl in whom the whole town of Saumur takes an interest, who,
through lack of charity to herself, neglects her Christian duties."

"Monsieur le cure, you have come to me at a moment when I cannot think
of my neighbor, I am filled with thoughts of myself. I am very unhappy;
my only refuge is in the Church; her bosom is large enough to hold all
human woe, her love so full that we may draw from its depths and never
drain it dry."

"Mademoiselle, in speaking of this young girl we shall speak of you.
Listen! If you wish to insure your salvation you have onl