Hlllllllll 00022245358 ) ■I / Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/victororparisproOOhold Paul reading the Scriptures. See page 56 V I C T R ; OK, PARIS TROUBLES AND PROVENCE ROSES. By Mrs. L. A. HOLDICH. The children of thy servants shall continue, and their seed shall be established before thee.— Psalm cii, 28. TWO ILLUSTRATIONS. iNnu Ijork : PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 8TJNDAY-8CIIOOL UNION, 200 MFLBEREY-STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by CARLTON & PORTER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Sovithern District of New York. CONTENTS. PAGH I. Philippe 7 n. Victor and his Friends 14 III. Les Prairies 33 IY. Good People and Bad 43 V. Paris 58 VI. SUSANNE TO VII. Trouble 89 VTEI. True Friends 96 IX. A Journey Home 109 X. Provence Roses 11*7 ^ i > ■ ^ Illustrations. Paul reading the Scriptures 2 Jerome recounting his Exploits to Victor ... 66 Y I C T E. -^♦♦♦^- CHAPTER I. PHILIPPE. "Papa will get well when Aunt Justine comes," said little Victor, looking up in his father's face. " No, papa will never be well here. But he will be well when the good God takes him up into the blue sky," replied the boy's father. " Who said so to papa ?" " The book that papa reads to little Victor." "Will dear papa read it to little Victor now?" 8 VICTOR. Then Philippe Desait opened the Bible with a trembling hand, and read, in a feeble but most touching voice : " There shall be no death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain ;" and then he added, "You know papa often has pain now; but up there he'll have none." "Victor must go with papa," said the child. "Victor can't go with papa; but, if he is good, God will send for him some day." The clear brown eyes of the child filled with tears. "Don't leave me, papa. Ask the good God to let you take your little boy with you."* Philippe was too weak to contend with the child. He motioned the servant, who stood weeping in the corner of the room, to take him away. PHILIPPE. 9 The cottage, in Provence, by the window of which .Philippe sat, was as sweet a spot as one would wish to see. Though extremely rustic in its architecture, it was made beautiful by the roses, that hid all its inequali- ties and defects. They climbed up to the eaves, twisted round the chim- ney, and threw their long sprays over the lowly roof. A hedge of blush-roses also inclosed a garden, full of tuberoses, jasmin, violets, and other of those odorous flowers from which the distillers of Grasse extract their celebrated perfumes. In that mild climate birds all the year round live in their sheltered nests in the hedges and under the eaves; and now they flitted hither and thither, while bees went from flower to flower securing their honey- ed treasure. But sickness and death had come 10 VICTOE. to that little cottage, so rich in beauty and in bloom. Its master was sum- moned, after, at different times, bury- ing from it father, mother, and wife. But there was to him no terror in the thought of death, for he met it with a Christian's trust. Though his heart clung fondly to his only child, he placed him confidently in the hands of Him who says, " Leave thy father- less children to me." When he looked around and asked himself to it whom he could safely commit his boy he was at a loss ; there was dan- ger everywhere. So he took him to his Saviour and said, "Suffer my Victor to come unto thee ;" and then he was consoled. He sat by the window with his sister, who had come from Geneva to see him, a few days after the previous scene with his child. Her eyes were red with weeping, but his were clear PHILIPPE. II and bright. Little Victor was playing among the birds and flowers, his late sorrow all forgotten. Then Philippe spoke : "Justine, beloved sister, I leave you a sacred charge. You know my faith, and I also know yours. Truly must I say that it is because I know no one else to whom I can commit my boy that I now give him up to you." "My brother, can you doubt my love, my care ?" u Never, Justine ; but that love and care may do him a great injury. You are a Romanist, and Victor must not be connected with that Church. In love and tenderness I say this, though to you it may seem harsh. Were your faith other than it is, there is no one in whose hands I would so gladly leave him. I know your Joying and gentle nature; one 12 VICTOR. only thing have you ever denied me." " I could not help that, Philippe. What else would I not have given up for you ?" "I know it all, my dear and good Justine; and now I will only pray that we may meet in our Father's house above, through the blessed Saviour in whom we both believe. And now I ask one thing of you that you must not refuse. Promise me that you will not hinder my beloved Victor from being a Protestant. That he will be one I confidently believe ; I feel that this my last prayer for him will be answered. My faith will be his when I am beyond his sight. Give him this book, which has been my comfort in life, and is now my solace in death." " I promise ! I promise !" said Jus- tine, weeping bitterly. PHILIPPE. 18 It had been indeed a struggle for Philippe to give up his child into his sister's hands. He had wavered long between her and an old uncle in Paris, who had asked for Victor and who he knew would be kind to him. The question was between one with a defective faith and one whom he had reason to believe was without any. He decided on the former, the more readily that he knew Victor would be far more likely to be thrown into the company of Protestants and Christian people in Geneva than in Paris. When all was over Justine was glad to take charge of her nephew, though, owing to his long illness and other causes, Philippe left but a small portion for him. 14 VICTOR. CHAPTER II. VICTOR AKD HIS FRIEKDS. After the lapse of ten years we shall transport our readers from the flowery land of Provence to one of the narrow and crooked streets of Geneva. In a small room a break- fast-table is waiting; but the wine, which is deemed indispensable there, is lacking. A large, fine-looking man, in a blue blouse, stamps impa- tiently up and down the room. Now he goes to the door and looks at the passers-by, then he knits his brow and gazes upward at the narrow strip of sky that is seen between the jagged and uneven roofs that nod to each other across the street, and then he returns to pace the floor again. A young woman, whom we recog- VICTOE AND HIS FKIENDS. 15 nize as our former acquaintance, Jus- tine, sits sewing by the window. Time has changed her but little ; she still looks fair and young. The man steps before her and impatiently stamps his foot. " Will he never come ?" "O Louis, there are so many cus- tomers at this hour !" " If there were a hundred, five hundred, a thousand, they might have been served before this." " O not quite ! Have patience, dear Louis ; he'll soon be here." " So you've said for an hour. 'Tis nine o'clock; my friends wait for me." "Can't you do something to be- guile the time ? You see I work." " Bah ! your woman's work ! what does it amount to ?" " I think you find it amounts to something at the end of the year." 16 VICTOR. No answer. Another rush to the door. " He comes at length, and running as if he expected to make up for his tardiness." " Then you'll excuse him, surely." " My throat is quite parched. I'll not excuse him." A young boy, flushed and breath- less, stands before the door. Only those full, brown eyes speak of our little Victor, the child of sunny Prov- ence. He has grown bold, brave, and strong. "Where's the wine? where's the jug?" asked Louis. " I'm so sorry, but Jean Leroy trip- ped my foot, and the jug was shat- tered." Now Jean Leroy was one whom Louis particularly disliked. He grew pale with anger. His nostrils dilated, and his lips quivered like those of a VICTOR AND HIS FRIENDS. 1Y frightened horse. He sprang toward the boy, but his wife drew him back. " Let me go, Justine, let me go. I'll chastise him. It's all a lie." The boy stood his ground firmly. His eye never quailed as he looked steadily at the angry man, now trem- bling and throbbing with passion. Without raising his voice he an- swered : " It's truth ; a lie I'd never utter." "O Louis, he never would! I know he's careless sometimes, but the truth he always tells. Here, my child, take another jug, and run back to the wine-shop. He'll soon return. Do compose yourself, Louis," said poor Justine. But the dark, stern, passionate man never was composed ; he was a fit image of the troubled sea. Victor was glad to get out of the way, and as soon as he was gone 18 "VICTOR. Louis said: "That boy's the plague of my life." " You make him so by your bitter dislike." " No love's wasted between us." " Ah, Louis ! Victor is affectionate ; but you force him from you. If you'd try to love him !" " Bah, Justine ! he'll never have my love. You give him enough for both." Victor soon came in with a new jug, bought and filled by Jean. Jus- tine said : " Now come to breakfast, Victor." "Excuse me, aunt; a liar must not eat with good people," said the boy. " O Victor, don't be foolish ! Your uncle meant nothing. Dear Louis, tell him so." But Louis would not speak a word. VICTOE AND HIS FEIENDS. 19 " Aunt, I don't want breakfast. I'll go and sit with Eugene." " Obstinate ! go then !" muttered Louis, and Justine said no more. Louis had always felt that Victor was an intruder into his family, al- though at the time of his father's death he gave a reluctant consent to his coming. He was avaricious and jealous, and fancied that Justine loved Victor better than himself. The house into which Victor went for a little comfort was an ancient building next door. The wide stair- case and carved ornaments proved it to have been a very grand affair in its day, and broken and defaced as it was, it still looked down with a kind of scorn upon its next door neighbor. Yet Louis's small house had once been joined to the larger one, and was scarcely separated from it now. Victor passed by several signs that 2 20 VICTOE. were nailed against the wall to point out the residence and occupation of the different tenants, and went into a large room on the fourth floor without knocking. A different spirit pervaded that room from the one he had just left. You saw it in the countenance of every member of the family. An aged couple sat side by side in high backed chairs. On the lap of old Adrien lay a folio Bible, which he read aloud to his family as they worked. He was dressed in a flat Bernais cap, and long silvery hair floated over his shoulders. His wife also wore the Bernais costume. The book which he read was the law of the household. He had followed the precept which commands us to teach it to our children at all times and in all places, and the Lord had rewarded him for his faithfulness. He had two children, a son and a daughter. Eu- VICTOR AND HIS FRIENDS. 21 gene, who, though much older than Victor, was his particular friend, had learned the trade of a watchmaker, so common in Geneva. His sister Henriette assisted him ; and the most delicate part of the mechanism was trusted to her plastic fingers. Adrien looked up from the Bible to Victor. " Good morning, little friend. It's unusual to see you at this hour." " Yes, Father Adrien ; it's a saint's day, and though my uncle cares not for that, he chose for some reason or other to shut up his shop. I thought I'd walk out in the country and gather wild-flowers with my aunt, but alas ! as usual, all's spoiled." Henriette looked up from her work. "Another scene with Louis?" she asked. "Yes, he sent me for wine and the 22 VICTOR. jug was broken. Then lie called me liar." " Liar !" spoke all the family at once. " Ah, that you'd never be." " What a pity for your aunt's sake," said Eugene, " that you and Louis can't get on better together ! Are you as gentle and forbearing as you should be, Victor V he asked. " I don't know ; perhaps not ; some- times I'm desperate ; yet I do try to be patient, but I can't bear it much longer. I'll run away !" he added passionately. "A meek and quiet spirit is of great price in the sight of the Lord, Victor," said Father Adrien, " and young folks must try to put up with the caprice of their elders." Victor spent the morning with these good people, and felt better for his visit. Eugene told him that toward evening he would take a walk VICTOR AND HIS IRIENDS. 23 in the country with him. When he saw Louis go out he went back to his aunt. She was sewing as usual, but sat outside the door. Her morning cap with a wide fluted border had been changed for a brown net drawn by crimson ribbon. She looked pleased to see Victor. They loved and understood each other. She put out her hand, and they went into the house together. " My poor Victor ! My precious boy !" she said, smoothing his hair. " Dear, precious aunt !" replied Victor. The tone in which these words were spoken, said, "I pity you," to each other. It was into a small but pleasant room they went. Though narrow, it ran back to a yard in which they saw some trees and a grass-plot, little bits of nature that often did poor 24 VICTOR. Justine's heart good. She had been a child of the country till her mar- riage, and the murmur of water and the song of birds often sounded in her ear. Her taste and delicacy had given expression to the little sitting room, otherwise so plain. You saw the woman in the pot of English ivy shading the front window, in the vase of dried grasses from the meadow, in the sweet, though unex- pensive bouquet, and in the pretty time-piece standing on the mantel. The only evidence of bad taste about the room were the tawdry Madonnas and woeful looking saints that hung upon the wall. "My head aches terribly, aunt," said Victor, laying her hand on his forehead. " See how hot it is P " It is hot, let me bathe it," and she brought out some eau de co- logne. VICTOE AND HIS FEIENDS. 25 " O aunt !" burst forth Victor, " to be called a liar !" "Don't think of it; Louis was hasty. Try to forget it." " I can't, aunt ; hear rne : I must speak now. You know how I've been thwarted in every way. I gave up my wish to be a saifor and was then put to a business that I detest. Yet I bore it, though Eugene would have taken me without a premium and been a brother to me. But my uncle hates me and makes me wretch- ed. Is there no home for me but under his roof?" Justine shook her head and said : "We have so few relations. Our old Uncle Pierre loved your father, and always expresses great interest in you. I've sometimes wished you were with him. B at Paris is so far off !" "I'd like to go thither! I'd like to see Paris !" said Victor eagerly. 26 VICTOR. " Don't think of leaving us yet, my darling, I should be lonely without you. Go back to your business to- morrow and try to be contented, and forgiving also," she added. "In the mean time take this, and may it bring you the peace which it has never given me. .Aias ! I fear I have too little faith." She untied a medal from her neck, which her priest had told her pos- sessed wonderful virtue, and fastened it around Victor's. He did not know what a sacrifice she made in parting with it, and received it with an in- difference that pained her. "Will you not say the beautiful prayer upon it daily, Victor ?" "Aunt, I think it's no better than the Pater Noster. That I never omit." Did Justine think of the promise to the dying father when she asked VICTOR AND HIS FRIENDS. 27 him to say that prayer to the Vir- gin? " But now go, my darling. Drive that black cloud from your brow. Seek out Jean Leroy, he's always so merry." " No, aunt, I go with Eugene, and here he is now. But you must not stay at home." " Will not madame walk with us \ ' said Eugene, taking off his gray cap with the usual politeness of a French- man. "Thanks, monsieur, but I go to Les Prairies ; not quite yet, how- ever." " My love to the kind young ladies and to dear old Paul should you see him," said Victor. The young friends walked rapidly through the crooked and uneven streets of the old city till they found themselves among rural scenes. They 28 VICTOR. always enjoyed these rambles to- gether ; Victor with the fresh unsated nature of the boy, and Eugene with eyes that saw the expression of a Fa- ther's love in every object round him. They reached the beautiful lake, so celebrated, so often described by travelers, and Victor's late trouble was forgotten as in his boyish way he stood " making ducks and drakes" upon its surface. But this did not last long. Eugene's attention was drawn from the fine Alpine view in the distance, by hearing Victor say passionately, " I can't forget it. I should be another boy if I were away from Louis. If it were not for my aunt I'd run away directly. O Eugene, what shall I do ?" "We'll go and see Paul at pres- ent," said Eugene. "His company always does me good." They went to old Paul's pretty VIOTOE AND HIS FKIEISTDS. 29 lodge. It stood back from the large mansion at Les Prairies, nearer the lake. Paul had been principal gar- dener, but was now too old and infirm to do much. But he was well pro- vided for by the family in which he had lived from his youth. They loved him for his goodness, and re- spected him for his sterling honesty. They had given him the charge of the poultry and the bees, more for the old man's amusement than from any profit they cared to derive from it. They found Paul in the poultry yard among his feathered friends. Every grade and variety of fowl was there, from peacocks with golden eyes to the gentle dove. They fol- lowed him in troops to pick up the yellow maize, which he scattered pro- fusely, while some flew upon his shoulders and pecked his face caress- ingly. He took them into his gar- 30 VICTOE. den to see flowers of rare beauty, and rows of beehives with beds of laven- der and other fragrant herbs for the accommodation of the bees beside them. An innocent and happy life the old man led among his bees and flowers and fowls. "You have a lovely home here, Father Paul," said Eugene. "Yes, thank the good God for it. I shall soon step out of it, monsieur, but what does it matter ? Doesn't he say, ' In my Father's house are many mansions?' Think you then that when he fitted up pleasant rooms for his dear children above, he forgot to make one ready for old Paul ? No, no, monsieur, it waits for me, and when he calls I've nothing to do but reach out my hand and be led into it." " Victor, if you and I felt like Fa- ther Paul our little trials would not be hard to bear." VICTOE AND HIS FKIEKDS. 31 "Hard to bear, monsieur? O his grace makes burdens very light! He sends sickness, but a dark room gives inward light. He takes away friends. What then ? We see them walking in green meadows over the river, and the sight of them makes us willing to cross it. That makes me think of the dear old-fashioned hymn you often sing for me, monsieur, about 4 the gardens and the goodly walks. 7 Will you sing it for me now ?" Then, with the blue calm lake glimmering in the sunshine before them, and the soft wind among the trees as an accompaniment, Eugene in a deep manly voice sang : "Thy gardens and thy goodly walks, Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen," with the remaining verses of that quaint and beautiful hymn. 32 VICTOR. " How different the religion of Paul and of my poor aunt, Eugene !" said Victor as they left the house, "Her's is all gloom, and his all glory." LES PEAIEIES. 33 CHAPTER III. LES PEAIEIES. Though still so firm a Romanist, Justine had lived several years with a Protestant family of high Christian character. Madame la Roche had found her a delicate orphan in sunny Provence, and taken her home to be maid and playfellow to her own little daughters. When their mother died the young ladies still retained their interest in her. They loved her as a sister, and never treated her as an in- ferior. To them she always went in every perplexity; and to tell them her trouble, as well as to bring home some work she had been doing for them, she came this afternoon. She found the young ladies sitting ir the library with their books and 34 VICTOE. work around them. Every thing in the room was familiar to her. Often had she sat there and worked with Madame la Roche, often played with the young ladies, then children like herself. It was a lofty room with dark oaken panels and crimson fur- niture. The long arched windows opened on the lawn, and high book- cases stood between them. Through the windows on one side were seen mountains in the distance; on the other side the blue lake glimmered in the sunshine, and the broad green meadows were seen that gave their name to the place. "Ah, Justine," said Mademoiselle Ernestine, " 'tis long since we've seen you ! Sit down ; you look pale ; are you not well ?" " Not very strong, dear mademoi- selle, yet not ill." "You work too constantly, Justine," LES PEAIEIES. 35 said Mademoiselle Constance, as Jus- tine opened a basket trimmed with bows of blue ribbon and took some work from it. " This should not have been done yet; why sew so con- tinually when Louis has a good trade and only you to support ?" "And Victor." "Yes, Victor; and how is he and Louis ?" "They are well, thank mademoi- selle ; Victor sends his love to both the young ladies." " Thanks ! and does Louis love him better ?" " ~No better, mademoiselle." And then poor Justine, in her longing for sympathy, told all her troubles. " He's crossed in every thing," she said, " even in his trade. Since he can't be a sailor he'd like to be a watchmaker with Eugene, for he can't 36 VICTOR. bear to sew cushions and stuff sofas." "He ought to be with Eugene. Victor could have no better example ; all speak of him as a noble young man," said mademoiselle. Justine was silent ; she was often as jealous of Eugene as Louis was of her. " Say, Justine, don't you like Eu- gene V continued Mademoiselle Con- stance. " On some accounts, yes ; on others, no. One must like him as a man ; but, excuse me, dear mademoiselle, he obtrudes his religion too much." 11 He's not obtrusive, though very firm. What kind of religion is it that never shows itself? Papa says that Eugene Lenoir is the most ad- mirable young person he knows." Justine shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, Justine, his faith doesn't LES PEAIEIES. 37 please you. Do you remember how hard you used to try to turn me from the religion of my dear Huguenot ancestors when you dressed my hair?" " I was so young then, Mademoi- selle Constance ; but I don't talk about it now ; my cure says I had better not speak of my belief to others." " Dear Justine, how I wish that cure of yours would direct your faith to the true source ; indeed, indeed, there's no safety out of Christ." " We of our Church surely believe in Christ, mademoiselle." "In some sort, but it never ap- peared to me to be a belief that brings the least peace or joy with it. It don't teach you to go to Christ confidently, expecting him to hear and answer your prayers." " We dare not go to Christ himself, 38 VICTOR. because we are so sinful. But the blessed saints and the holy Virgin pray for us." " Why not go to the only mediator between God and man, who so plainly says, 4 Come unto me V " "Ah, mademoiselle, you are saying Bible words though the book isn't open by you. Eather Gautier says I mustn't hear them. He says you Protestants idolize the Bible, and have a cunning way of bringing in its words everywhere." " No doubt Father Gautier fears the Bible, for 'tis a mighty weapon even in an infant's hands. But you and I mustn't quarrel, Justine, though we may have a little tilt together sometimes. No, we must always love each other. You know you were as a daughter to dear mamma while she lived." " Yes," said Justine, wiping • her LES PEAIRIES. 39 eyes, " Madame never was a mistress, but always a kind mother to me, from the time she took me, a young orphan, till—" "That naughty Louis coaxed you away from us," said the younger sister with a smile. "But I've always wanted to see the region from whence she brought you. The very name of Provence smells of roses and orange flowers. The vale of Cash mire with its forests of roses can't equal it." " No, mademoiselle, I suppose not ; they say that no odor in the world is equal to that made by the bee when he mixes the pollen of the orange flower with that of the rose." Mademoiselle Constance here went out of the room and returned with a small ebony and gold casket, which she opened, and taking from thence a tiny box, showed a vial of liliputian 40 VICTOK. dimensions, which she said contained a few drops of the essence that Jus- tine spoke of. It was rare, and fab- ulously dear. But she allowed Jus- tine one breath of the precious per- fume. • "Thanks, many thanks, dear mad- emoiselle ! It has the true Provencal odor." When the cabinet was put up the conversation again turned to Victor, and the elder sister told Justine that she worked too hard, and must not kill herself for him. " Indeed, mademoiselle, he more than makes up to me all I do for him. Never child loved a mother better than he loves me. He's the sun of my life." " But I still think he would do better away from Louis." "No doubt; but then Louis says if he leaves his house he must also LES PRAIRIES. 41 leave the town. So there's hut one other place for the clear boy; our Uncle Pierre's in Paris." Both the young ladies protested against Paris, and nothing was de- cided. Mademoiselle Constance paid Justine liberally for her work, but her sympathy and kindness was more to her than the money. Father Gautier was just going into Justine's door as she reached it. He seemed to divine that she had money, and at once reminded her of a small sum due to him for some ecclesiasti- cal service. The father was a crafty man, with a keen eye to his own in- terest. Louis was angry at him for his influence over Justine. "I hate to have him come stealing in here like a cat," he would say. " I hate those black soataines* and every * Soutaine is the long black coat buttoned to the throat worn by Romish priests. 42 VICTOE. thing connected with them;" and he only became more violent if his wife defended her spiritual guide and con- fessor. Louis was a hard, stern man, who cared for neither Protestant nor Ro- manist. Truly the dove was mated with the lion when Justine married him. GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 43 CHAPTEE IV. GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD* Eugene Lenoip, as Mademoiselle Constance had said, was truly an admirable person, and Providence seemed in him to have given Victor exactly the friend that he needed. Though his superior in age, education, and, indeed, in everything else, he always treated Victor as an equal, and made him at ease in his society. The whole Lenoir family would have made a quaint but interesting picture. The two young people worked be- fore an antique window, high and deep; a heavy walnut cabinet richly carved stood near them, and also an old time clock of curious workman- ship. In two high-backed chairs the venerable father and mother sat, both 44 VICTOR. wearing the costume of their native Canton. Lolotte's was a blue tight- fitting jacket over a vest of crimson cloth, and a wide flapped cap with a dark Benais hood. Adrien's beauti- ful white hair, tall form, and benevo- lent face would have made his a noble portrait independent of his dress. Their son, though only a simple mechanic, who supported his parents by the labor of his hands, was yet a gentleman and a scholar. He had fitted up an apartment, which opened out of the family sitting room, with shelves, on which he placed his library. There he hung some small, but really good pictures ; and a few plaister casts stood on a walnut table colored by himself. There were scientific instruments that he knew how to use, and botanical specimens that showed the nature of his pur- suits. Here Victor had the privilege GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 45 of spending many evenings with his friend, who allowed him to look over his books and see him practice his chemical experiments. In the company of the Lenoirs the words of the Lord often fell upon Victor's ear if they did not touch his heart. But the violet buried under the leaves of winter again revives and bears its expected flower ; and so it is often with that word which God has said shall not return unto him void. One day Victor slipped in, and looking over Eugene's shoulder, said : "Yours is truly man's work; it's only my uncle's whim that keeps me from it." "And is it not woman's also? What would Eugene do without my fingers V said Henriette. " However that may be, it requires mind as well as fingers for your work. 46 VICTOR. But for mine ! O this perpetual sort- ing of satins and shading of fringes, this hanging of draperies, and making of cushions, 'tis absolutely hateful. That should be woman's work, Hen- riette." "Should I hammer nails and mount a step-ladder ?" asked Hen- riette, smiling. " Ah, my dear," said her mother, " the poor country women of France do harder things than these. I have seen them in the fields harnessed to the plow beside a donkey." " The life of a poor French woman is a hard one, be it in the city or country," said Adrien. "I believe you are right, Father Adrien," said Victor. " Look at my aunt, who though so slight and deli- cate yet works early and late." " Yet her lot is comparatively an easy one," said Eugene. GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 47 " O she wants to be loved ! to be treated gently and kindly," said Victor. " Make her path smooth by your gentleness and forbearance, Victor," said good Father Adrien. "We cannot accommodate the events of this life to ourselves ; we must then accommodate ourselves to them. Above all, we must try to get the spirit of Him who was meek and lowly of heart. Then we can bear provocations. Then, though reviled we shall not want to revile again. O why are we not more like Him whose beautiful example is so clearly set before us in this blessed book I" at the same time laying his hand upon the volume by his side. A few days after this, as Victor in the cool of the morning was opening his uncle's shop, he was greeted by his young acquaintance Jean Leroy. 48 VICTOR. He was a good-natured youth, full of fun and merriment, and always ready with his joke. " Good morning, my friend ; the young seamstress over the way has beaten you, early as you thought yourself. I saw her feed her canary as I came down the street, and now she is sitting at her work." "And the canary is paying her by that merry song, I'm sure," said Vic- tor. " Yes, how well they keep time together, listen!" and they both listened to hear how well the seamstress and the bird sang in concert. Then Jean said, as he moved off, " How is the good Justine ? and how also is the war-horse this morn- ing ?" " Thanks ; my aunt is quite well, and the war-horse has been tamer GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 49 than usual for a few clays/' answered Victor with a bright smile. He had scarcely said the words when Louis turned a corner, and Victor felt sure that he had heard him. It was truly so ; when he began his work Louis said to him, with that dark look which he well understood, " Go to Madame Bonnet and ask what color she wishes the hangings of her salon." " I went last night, as you bade me, and she told me green." " Go to her again ; I know 'twasn't green." " I'm sure that it's green ; to be certain I asked for a bit of silk of the right color, and she gave me this," showing a small piece of green rib- bon. Louis seemed baffled for a moment, but soon said, 50 VICTOR. "I thought 'twas green from the first, but when you came back before you said 'twas blue. You're a blun- derhead !" " I always said 'twas green," said Victor sullenly. " I'll not be contradicted by an insolent boy. Go to her that ruins you and tell her to keep you from my sight." This allusion to his aunt softened Victor at once. " But, uncle, what have I done ? I simply told the truth." " You were insolent, disrespectful." " I beg your pardon, uncle ; if I have spoken disrespectfully, I did not mean it ; I think you misunderstood me." "Did I misunderstand you when you and that monkey, Jean Leroy, made me your sport ? Begone from my shop, and soon from my house GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 51 also. Not even for madame's sake will I keep you. You shall go hence, and at once." Justine and Victor wept together when he went home. Louis came home in a miserable humor, and it was fortunate for Victor that he had a friend in Eugene, who was willing to share his chamber with him. Vic- tor felt that he was remembered by him when he knelt by his bed before lying down to rest and offered up his silent prayer. After the last scene Justine again went to consult her friends at Les Prairies. They said : " The child's disposition, which is naturally so sweet and good, will be ruined by such a course of treatment. Justine, you must make up your mind to part with him." "01 know it ! but he's so young !" "If young he's also healthy and 52 yiCTOE. intelligent, and anything is preferable to living in such strife. Perhaps papa can find a place for him." u Louis would not suffer that. He says Victor shall leave Geneva. He's going, to write to Uncle Pierre about him. And that's so far !" said Justine, crying very much. " Paris isn't the place for him," said Constance. " I should prefer almost any other." But Louis would hear of no other place, and Uncle Pierre returned a cordial answer. He said he had loved poor Philippe, the boy's father. He was a good youth, and he would treat his son well for the father's sake. So it was settled that Victor should go to Paris. Eugene urged that he should stay with him till he was ready to go ; but Mademoiselle Constance wished him to stay at the lodge with Paul, and Victor knew GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 53 that they had no more room than was needed at Adrien's. So he went over to the lodge, but was with Jus- tine and Adrien's family every day. When Victor told old Paul that he was going to Paris, he said : " Why, dear little friend, will they turn you adrift, and leave you to make your way all alone over the wide sea? No danger, however, if you have Jesus for a pilot. Keep your eye on him and don't throw your compass overboard." Victor understood Paul's figure, and said : " Everybody gives me good advice, Paul ; you and Father Adrien send me to Jesus, and my aunt to the saints." To this Paul murmured softly : " Call now if there be any to an- swer thee, and to which of the saints wilt thou turn ?" but Victor did 54 VICTOR. not understand what his quotation meant. Louis went briskly to work to get Victor's livret made out and properly indorsed by the mayor and his as- sistants. This livret is a little book with a full description of the person who carries it, his name, age, birth place, and occupation ; in short, with every particular concerning him. A traveler without his li/vret would be liable to be taken up for a vagabond. Justine wept aud sewed for Victor while he yet remained with her. She lamented that everybody was so generous and kind to her boy that they left her nothing but stitch- es to give him. Indeed, he was a general favorite, and received keepsakes from the ladies at Les Prairies down to good old Paul. When Victor saw how very miserable the thought of his departure made GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 55 his poor aunt, he could not but re- proach himself for not feeling . more sorry. But how could a boy of four- teen with the prospect of going up to the " great fair of the world " fir* the first time be expected to feel otherwise than glad ? Yet he dearly loved his aunt, and now could refuse her nothing. So at her request he went with her the day before he left Geneva to ask Father Gautier's bless- ing. This was readily given. " Did he ask you anything for it, aunt ?" said Victor. Justine blushed and said, " I chose to give him something." "And he took it ?" " Of course, he'd not refuse." Paul was a slow reader and had very poor sight. The night before Victor left him he half spelt, half read by the dim light of his iron lamp the words, " Whosoever drink- 56 VICTOR. eth of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst ; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." He did not know that Victor heard him, because he lay in bed apparently asleep. But the words, from the slow manner in which he pronounced them, were impressed upon the boy's memory ever after. The old man had a way of talking to himself, and as Victor watched him with half-shut eyes, he heard him say :* " Sweet blessed words from my Saviour's own lips. They make me think of what is said in another place. Yes, I must find them ; they always do me more good than a draught of wine. Ah, here they are !" Then as slowly as before he read : " If any man thirst let him come unto * See Frontispiece. GOOD PEOPLE AND BAD. 57 me and drink." Laden with the scent of mignionette and honey-suc- kle, the evening breeze came into the window and played with the gray hair of the good old man and rustled the leaves of his Bible. Victor saw him close his eyes for a moment, and then, looking up with a fixed gaze, he raised his thin and wrinkled hands and. said : " My Saviour, I thirst for thee ; give me that living water that I may never thirst for forbidden things, nor go to earthly wells to draw." When Victor in after days saw the reflection of this picture it was under far different circumstances. 58 VICTOR. CHAPTER V. PARIS. The warm bright summer was changing fast into the no less beauti- ful autumn, when Victor, with his knapsack on his back and his staff in his hand, bade farewell to the scenes of his youth. All before him was fair and luminous, and the present was dressed in magical tints of beauty. His journey was made alternately on foot and in chance conveyances. He had money to travel otherwise, but he wished to become acquainted with the people and the country. Besides, there was a greater sense of freedom and inde- pendence in taking his " views afoot," like several of our own coun- trymen. The journey was altogether PAEIS. 59 a pleasant one, and he reached Paris safely. It was not then the elegant city which it has since become, but around it was the same clear atmosphere and in it the same air of gayety and life as now. Victor felt as if he was entering fairy-land when he first saw the towers and domes of the public buildings standing out against the clear blue sky, and he was filled with wonder and delight at the splendid equipages and the gay and motley crowd that thronged the busy streets. After passing through several streets lined with superb shops, he reached the more retired one to which he had been directed. He found his uncle, and was most cordially received by him. He was a hale old gentleman, with thick gray hair, and bright black eyes that twinkled with life and good- humor. His shop was on the lower 60 VICTOR. floor, but his apartments in the fourth story. After calling him a handsome boy, and kissing him on both cheeks in true French fashion, he led him up into a room with a waxed floor, several mirrors, a few chairs, and a table. "Here we eat," he said. "You share my chamber ; not but what I have two, but our good Jerome must not be incommoded." " And who is Jerome, uncle ?" " A shattered fortress with a strong citadel; a wounded soldier with a heart as young as your own. We were youthful companions, but took different paths in life. He chose a stormy, I a peaceful one. I was drawn for a conscript; he was my substitute. He has fought for his country, given her his youth, his strength, and a limb, and she has given him no reward." PAEIS. 61 From this speech Victor concluded justly that the old soldier was a de- pendent on his uncle's bounty. Pierre spoke frankly of his cir- cumstances. He liked to talk and was glad of a new listener. He said: " You may think my place gloomy, nephew, for neither I nor my street are the fashion now. Pachouli and a hundred other vile scents compete with the rich Provencal odor which only I sell. But nevertheless I live, and well too, and have something handsome put aside. To all I have you are welcome, not excepting the lit de scmgle* which is waiting in my chamber for you. I live without domestics," he continued. "I cannot bear to have women about me. Etienne, my shop boy, brings our * Lit de sangle is a cot which can be folded and set against the wall. 62 VICT0K. meals from the restaurant when we do not go there to get them ourselves^ and Francois, a man of all work, cleans our rooms for us thoroughly once a week. It is then our part to keep them in order." The street in which Pierre Desait's shop then stood has since been pulled down, and entirely rebuilt. It had been a good situation for business, but, as he told Victor, it was now no longer so. People went elsewhere for their perfumes, although his character for honesty and fair dealing still secured him valuable customers. His uncle did not keep Victor with- out refreshment while he said all these things, for he was full of hos- pitable care for him in every respect. "When he left Victor to change his clothes and brush off the dust of the journey, he told him that they would go to a cafe to dine when the shop PARIS. 63 was closed. As Victor dressed he heard a cracked voice singing the Marsellaise with great vivacity in the adjoining chamber. The musician proved to be the old soldier, who met and saluted him on the stairs. He was, indeed, a shattered fortress, for his face was scarred and he had lost a leg. Yet his eyes were full of fire, and his upright form and martial air, with his gray moustache, and a ribbon of some order in his button- hole, made him still a distinguished looking person. His frankness and gayety attracted Victor at once. He was soon at home in his new situation, and but for thoughts of those he had left would have been perfectly happy. As it was he en- joyed himself much, being neither of an age nor disposition for care to prey upon. He had employment enough to occupy without fatiguing him, 64 VICTOK. and met with no frowns nor unkind speeches. Pierre called him a bon gargo7i 1 (good boy,) dismissed Etienne, his assistant in the shop, put Victor in his place, and trusted him fully. He led a merry life with his old friends. They were as mirthful as children, and disposed to enjoy every- thing within their reach. His uncle often took Victor to see the sights "of the grand city, its pictures, its gar- dens, its brilliant streets, and also the pleasant country outside. I am sorry to say that Sunday was the season generally set aside for these recrea- tions. Eugene wrote to Victor in an- swer to a letter in which he described a rural fete he had attended. " Pleasant as your situation is, dear Victor, I see that it is full of danger. One wants strong principles, a clear judgment, and much self-control to be good in Paris. You will not do well i ■ ._ Jerome recounting his Exploits to Victor. PAEIS. 67 if you do not study God's word, pray much, and keep holy the Sabbath-day, and who have you to encourage you to do so V Eugene knew how attractive evil is made in Paris, how sin is glossed over by beauty, and he trembled and prayed for his young friend. Victor became as great a favorite of Jerome as of his uncle. He brought new joy into the old house. Jerome was flattered by the boy's in- terest in his old-time stories, and in the eagerness with which he listened to his details of military life. He was delighted to see his eyes glow and his color deepen, as he told him of feats of bravery done at Austerlitz and Marengo. At first Pierre enjoyed this, because it so pleased his dear old friend.. But he was rather startled one evening when, after the old vet- eran had literally — j V Vr 68 VICTOR. "Shouldered his crutch to show how fields were won." Victor suddenly asked, "Uncle Jerome, how old must a boy be before be can enter the army V " He must be two years older than you are now, my boy, ,; said the soldier, smiling. " But," becoming grave, he added mysteriously, " who knows ? Much may occur in less than two years. Sometimes one may live on a volcano and not know it." Pierre look displeased: " Hush, my friend, your hints are dangerous." Jerome's words and looks dwelt in Victor's mind. But whenever the subject was approached afterward Pierre changed the conversation, Vic- tor sometimes thought in an uneasy manner. Once Victor asked him what Jerome meant, and he said, PAKIS. 69 "His head is always full of fight- ing. He's not broken and mauled enough, yet. He would like to give up his other leg and his two arms also." "-"Will there be fighting, uncle? shall we have war ?" " No, my boy, I trust not ; I'm not fond of war ; I remember Waterloo, and all the ruin that preceded and followed it." 5 70 VICTOR. CHAPTER VI. StJSAIfNE. There lived in the attic of Pierre's house a poor woman named Susanne ; Mother Susanne she was called by everybody. There was something about her which made people give her that title. She had few pleasures, she was so very poor. Perhaps the greatest enjoyment of her life was to feed a few sparrows with the crumbs which she every day saved from her own meager breakfast. She thanked God that she had something to give to those little creatures of his. They would have loved her even better than they did, had they known that she went more hungry for the little she gave to them. But their enjoy- ment repaid her for the sacrifice. SUSANNE. 71 They seemed to her like friends, and she felt thankful to the good God for making her the almoner of the food he sent them. She felt the love of the Saviour so penetrate her soul that it made it yearn with tenderness over every creature he has made. One day Victor saw her take her tiny cup to the milk-woman's to be filled. On her way back a wan child asked her for a trifle. " Alas ! I have no money, but drink this." The child drank it, and when Susanne did not return, Victor kuew that she had given away a part of her breakfast and had no money to buy more. Another time he met her on the stairs with a hungry boy, who thanked her for the piece of bread he held in his hand. He heard her say, 72 VICTOR. tc Poor child, it cannot satisfy j jut hunger! would that I had another piece to give you !" Victor ran into the room where they had just breakfasted, and took a roll from the table, which he carried to the boy. Susanne saw him, and said with glistening eyes : " God will reward you, my good young friend. He sees the cup of cold water handed to his little one !" From that hour Susanne and Vic- tor were friends. Her words were like those he used to hear at Les Prairies and in Adrien's room. He knew that Eugene, Paul, and Susanne were of one faith, and had one guide. Susanne always went out at the same hour in the morning, and Vic- tor managed to meet her on the stairs next day. a Can I do anything for you, moth- er V he asked. StTSANNE. 73 "You did much for me yesterday, dear child. You taught me how the good Father puts his loving spirit into other hearts. I was all day long happier for your kindness to that starving boy." " But I would like to do something for you. I spoke to my uncle yester- day, and he said I might visit you if you would allow it." Susanne's candid face expressed great satisfaction. " I could not have thought or asked it, but nothing would please me so well as a visit from monsieur in my very humble room." Victor went next day. It was a humble room, indeed, but exquisitely clean. It had a bed, a table, two chairs, and a charcoal furnace for its furniture ; but a wall-flower bloomed in the window. Susanne went with- out her breakfast one day to buy it. 74 VICTOR. She had now gone out, and Victor looked up at the sky, which seemed very near, and down at the streets that seemed far off. He heard the sparrows chirp, and they came and stood on the window ledge ; but they were shy of him till he pulled a bis- cuit from his pocket and began to feed them. Then Susanne, who had/ been called away by a sick neighbor, came in. Her little pets knew her, and chirped and fluttered with de- light. " The great God who is ' clothed with majesty' tells us that he cares for these little creatures, does he not, monsieur ?" " I suppose so. You do read the Bible, mother, don't you ?" " The Bible ? O it's my meditation through the day, and gives me songs in the night !" "I thought you read it when I SUSANNE. 75 heard you speak upon the stairs. I have dear friends at home who are very fond of it." "And you too love it, I trust, monsieur ; what better guide can a youth have V Victor was confused. Eugene had given him a Bible as a parting me- mento. But what time had he to read it in Paris i x\nother, carefully wrapped in paper and covered over with a mass of things which he would not be likely soon to want, came in the large trunk which a carrier from Geneva had brought him. It was the dying gift of his father, but his aunt had not told him of it. She feared that the book, twice hallowed by the circumstances under which it was given, would make Victor turn to the faith of those who profess to govern their lives by it. She com- promised with her conscience by 76 VICTOE. placing it in the bottom of the trunk, which he had never yet unpacked. Victor answered Susanne's question by saying : "I have a Bible, but there's so much to see that I have no time to read it. When I am not in the shop my good uncle likes me to be in the gardens." "Ah, my child, those are gardens in which the voice of God, I fear, is not often heard, especially on the holy day when they are gayest and most inviting. O that I had your eyes to read the Bible ! See here how worn mine has become, and the print is very fine. My eyes have be- come so weak with sewing that I sometimes fear I shall soon be able to read no more." " Mother, I will read to you ; my uncle will not object; he is kind, and gives me time for my own pleasure. SUSANNE. ^7 A part of it will I gladly give to you." Susanne had been sewing rapidly on some coarse work. Tears carne into her eyes now, which she wiped quietly away. Weeping impairs the sight, and the poor seamstress who sews in the gray morning, and late into the dark night, cannot afford the luxury of shedding tears. " I accept your offer," she said to Victor, "with many thanks. You will be rewarded for it. It is writ- ten, ' He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth to the Lord, and that which he hath given will he pay him again.' " In this most critical period of Vic- tor's life does it not seem as if He who has made so many promises to the seed of the righteous did most singularly interpose in giving him such a friend as Susanne ? It cer- 78 VICTOR. tainly was a great thing for him to have the book of God thus, as it were, thrust into his hands, with a new motive to induce him to read it. From that day Victor never missed reading a daily lesson to Susanne from the book that was so precious to her, and her remarks upon it made it more intelligible to him. He said to her one day, " Mother, did you always love this book so well V " O once I knew nothing of it ! Mine was a youth of vanity." " Who then taught you to love it V " One who was all the world to me when she lived, and who shines down from heaven on me now like the pure star which comes first in the evening sky. I have never spoken to you of my Agnes. Let me tell you of her now.' 1 " Like me, she once lived with no SUSANNE. T9 sense of God but what she drew from outward things ; and nature and the mere ceremonies of religion speak faintly of him. Of God's spiritual nature, of ourselves as sinners, of the blessed Saviour who came to seek and to save the lost, we knew nothing at all. How could we ? The Bible was not in our hands; we heard no preaching founded on it. We did not always live in an attic, monsieur. I was educated in a convent, and the father of my Agnes was proud of her and sent her to the best schools. But when he died we had to do as we could. I came to this place, and she went as bonne (nurse) into an English family. They asked my Agnes if she would attend family prayers. She did not object. She heard the Bible read for the first time. She heard the family sing a beautiful hymn beginning, \ 80 VICTOR. ' There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Immanuel's veins.' She did not understand the meaning of it, although she had often seen images of the crucified Saviour in our churches. She had thought it enough to bend her head and knees before it, and perhaps shed a tear for his bodily sufferings. But to have that sacrifice applied inwardly — no, she under- stood nothing of it. When the family had sung, they knelt and prayed. Though she also knelt, their manner of praying seemed strange." " How did they pray, mother V " So simply, and without using the sign of the cross." " O ! like Adrien and Paul. Why, mother, once I saw a man pray just sitting still in his chair. But please go on about your Agnes." " Though she did not understand SUSASTNE. 81 their idea of worship at first, it all came to her when the family ex- plained what spiritual worship is. They took much pains to teach her when they saw how willing she was to learn. If they told her, tenderly and gently, of her sinful state by na- ture, they also told her of the love of Jesus. They opened the Bible before her, they read it with her. She learned to love it. On every page of the New Testament she found some tender promise, some loving word of the Saviour to live and abide in the heart of his children. My Agnes be- came a happy Christian, and then she could not rest till she had made me as happy as herself. " I must leave you and the darling little ones, dear Mrs. Herbert," she said ; " another duty is before me ; I must go to my dear mother and try to teach her what I have learned of 82 VICTOK. you." Mrs. Herbert was unwilling. She was about leaving France, and would have taken Agnes with her. She told my child of her sweet En- glish home, so spacious, so pleasant ! The children cried at the thought of her leaving them, and to her they were very dear. But she gave up all for me. She came from a home of luxury to my poor room, that she might do me good. She brought all her little saviugs and placed them in my hands. She wanted nothing for herself. She only desired to save my soul. Yet I did not understand her. She took a heavy cold in helping the Herberts prepare to return to En- gland. I think this was increased by the different manner in which she had to live after she came to me. For several Sundays in con- sequence of it ste was not able to go out. SUSANNE. 83 " The fourth Sunday was a beautiful one, and Agnes was able to leave the house. I said to her : " c How charming that Sunday is so fine ! All the world will be out to- day, and we will leave our stone cages and fly away too. We'll look at the crowd in the Boulevards first, and then to the Champs Elysees. The fountains will play to-day, and beau- tiful they'll be in the sunshine. I quite long to see them and the flowers again. You must put off your, bon- nets cap to-day, my Agnes, and wear the blue ribbons that become you so well. I'm sure that in all the crowd there'll be no prettier girl than mine.' " Thus foolishly I ran on, for I had great spirits then, and I was proud of the looks of my child. While I spoke Agnes looked down, but when I stopped she said : 84 VICTOR. " f Pardon, dear mamma, but I would rather not go to the gardens to-day. I wish to attend a church to which I was in the habit of going from Mr. Herbert's, and I thought that you perhaps would accompany me.' " c Is it to the Madeleine, Agnes ? Yes, I'll call in there with you. I think it well to do so.' " I remember that she turned very red when she answered me : " ' No, dear mamma, it is not the Madeleine, but a small chapel in the Rue Royale.' " For love of my child I consented to go. But at first it did not seem to me like a church; it looked dingy and dark, and there were no altars, nor pictures, nor many ceremonies ; but one without a priestly dress stood up and spoke words that did my soul good. I learned more of my Saviour that one morning than I had ever known before. From that time I went there regularly with my darling as long as she was able to go any- where. The preaching, with the prayers and example of my child, brought me to Jesus." " And where is your Agnes now ?" asked Victor, deeply interested in Susanne's story. Susanne looked upward for one moment, and he knew then where Agnes had gone. " She brought her poor old mother to the Saviour's feet, and died." u O how did she die, mother V u By lingering consumption. She had time to grow like the angels be- fore she went up among them. She was so patient, so gentle, so full of love ! In that long illness I felt that my heart had grown fast to her, and when she went up to heaven it seemed 6 86 VICTOE. as if a part of myself were there. I could not weep for her ; I could only thank God for what he had made her. She passed from me without pain, and then I laid my hand on her fair forehead and said : ' Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.' Since then the grave has no terrors for me. Like the Marys of old, I see not a dead body there, but a living an^el." It was no wonder that Victor should wish to die such a death as Agnes died, after hearing her story. He was much interested in it, and thought of her often when in Su- sanne's room. But he was very far from being willing to give up all the fascinations around him. He would have liked to own the pearl, but he was not willing to pay the price for it. He could not make up his mind SUSANNE. 87 to sell all that lie had in order to be Christ's disciple. He sometimes went to the small chapel that Susanne had spoken of; but its appearance was uninviting, and the service was an unimposing one to a worldly fancy. Any impression that might possibly be made there was obliterated by a gay afternoon in the Tuileries, or an excursion in the country beyond. When he told his uncle and Jerome something of Susanne's history it brought out the kind feelings of their nature. Pierre had some furniture sent to her room, and after that she always had a piece of bread and a sip of milk for the poor little ones who asked them of her. She rejoiced too that she had a larger stock of crumbs for her sparrows, and was pleased to find one morning that they had built themselves a nest in an angle just outside of her window. 88 VICTOE. One could hardly imagine what hap- piness this circumstance gave her simple heart, it had so few things to love ! Then another pleasure awaited her. One day she found a box of mignonnette blooming on her window- ledge, its delicate fragrance mingling with that of the wall-flowers beside it. She knew that she was indebted to Victor for it, and with her thanks- giving to the loving Father who sends such sweet gifts to his children was mingled a prayer for her young friend. TROUBLE. 89 CHAPTER VII. TROUBLE. Victor heard frequently from Ge- neva. Justine wrote that she was glad to hear that he was happy, and that she could not be thankful enough to her good uncle for making him so. She sorely missed him, but was con- tented to have it as it was. Louis, she also wrote, was very melancholy, had a strange idea that he was be- coming poor, and talked of emigrating to a country where gold was to be had for the digging. Pierre had never liked Louis, but was fond of Justine. He would often say : "We'll go and see her some day, my child, and carry comfort to her poor heart. I know well that it longs after you. She should never 90 VICTOR. have married that Louis. Yes, we will surely go to see her, though you must still contiuue miue. I will give you up to no one, not even to my little Justine." But two years passed without Vic- tor seeing his old friends. Victor was too useful to be spared, and Pierre could not be separated from Jerome. In the mean time there was a vio- lent under-current at work in that gay capital, though all was outwardly smiling and secure. But there were private gatherings of the people, and lowering looks and muttered words anions the artisans in their work- shops. Jerome lost his gay, free manner. He was often absent, and sometimes excited. Then he .had private visitors at night, which were disagreeable to Pierre. One night Victor heard Pierre say, after some whispered conversation, TKOTTBLE. 91 "No, you shall not; he'd be ready enough for it. But how will it ter- minate ? And you ! have you not already suffered enough V " Not if I can assist in freeing my country. Besides, 'tis my trade, my passion." " Ha !" said Pierre ; " when the tiger smells blood he can't be satisfied with- out a taste." Victor could get no explanation of his uncle's meaning. He became restless and curious. His visits to Susanne were irregular, and his mind was off from the words he read to her. Jerome was often out till late in the evening, while Victor observed that his uncle watched him, .and would never let him go into the street at night on any account what- ever. At last the threatened storm burst. There came a terrible convulsion 92 VICTOR. which shook France to its center and made her king an exile. It is not for a simple story like ours to dwell upon such scenes as then occurred. It is enough to say that brave old Jerome, after feats of desperate valor, was shot through the heart while de- fending a barricade. Victor too was wounded by a musket shot, for, in spite of his uncle's vigilance, his curiosity had led him to rush from the house and plunge into the thick- est of the crowd. He was carried to the hospital, where the ball was ex- tracted from his side with severe pain and much peril. For several days after, he was delirious with fever, and he was as weak as an in- fant when reason returned. " Surely, surely he's better," Victor heard his uncle say when he Jirst came to himself. " Yes, his pulse is better, and also TEOUBLE. 93 his color," a female voice answered, at the same time laying her cool fingers upon his pulse. " My boy ! my own boy !" his uncle exclaimed in a faltering voice, but he was checked by the nurse. She was a sister of charity, who had come there to wait on the wounded. "To-morrow, if he's no worse. See how weak he is to-day," she said, and his uncle did not again speak. He stood a short distance from the bed surveying that pale and altered face. As Victor lay there in his weakness, trying to understand the dim present, there came to him a vivid recollection of the past. The voice of old Paul seemed to speak in his ear the words he had heard him repeat one night at the lodge, and he feebly whispered them to himself without being conscious of their im- port. When the sister heard him 94 vidToR. say, " I will give to him that is athirst of the water of life freely," she thought that he was thirsty, and brought him some refreshment, which he took for the first time. Victor was better the next day, and as soon as it was safe to move him he was carried to his uncle's house. Susanne had, at the request of his uncle, prepared his room, and stood ready to wait upon him. But the news of the late revolution had spread through the land, and when Victor was strong enough to really observe anything he found many friends around him. Among them were Eugene and Justine. Justine now had no one to hinder her seeing her dear Victor. Louis had gone to a foreign country to get rich, and the friends of Justine were glad that she was delivered from her tyrant. She was extremelv overcome at the sisrht TROUBLE. 95 of Victor's altered looks, but only said, " You see, Victor, we are here to help our dear uncle to nurse you, and when you are well enough Loth are to go back to Geneva with us." 96 VICTOE. CHAPTER VIII. TRUE FRIENDS. Jerome's name had never passed the lips of either uncle or nephew since he left them on the fatal day to return no more. Yet Victor often looked toward the door, as if lie must again see that tall military figure with the gray mustache and pleasant smile. But he never came, and Vic- tor knew as well as if he had been told that he never would. He had many thoughts both about Jerome and himself as he lay there in his weakness. " Had he died like Agnes," he said, " who lived so much like the angels on earth, we could not doubt his happiness now !" War and bloodshed, and the fierce TEUE FEIEKDS. 97 passions that caused them, seemed other things since he had looked upon them. One day, at last, when Pierre only was in the room Victor ventured to say, " Was our poor Jerome's death sudden ?" " Sudden ! I think he suffered lit- tle pain. He died as he wished to die." After that no allusion was made to him. Eugene watched by his friend's bed, waiting for an opportunity to do him good. One day Victor said : " I have much that I want to say to you, dear Eugene, but my head is so weak that it harts me even to listen." " I pray for you, dear Victor, in the silence of my heart. God under- stands this." After a time Eugene asked Victor if he felt strong enough to hear a few verses from the Bible. He said he 98 VICTOK. would be glad to hear them, and Eugene from that time read short por- tions of the Scriptures to him daily. Both Pierre and Justine were generally present at these times, and listened with apparent interest to what seemed to soothe and satisfy their boy. One day Pierre said : " This is really a fine book for the sick. The sentences are short, there- fore they can listen to them without weariness." "Yes," said Eugene, "they come to the point at once." " True, very true. And that re- minds me that I was once called with a priest to a dying bed. Could the poor sick man understand his long sentences and rapid utterance ? Never ! never ! he didn't, he couldn't, though he pretended to." Eugene, still improving his oppor- tunity, continued : TRUE .FRIENDS. 99 " Our book has its little word for all. It speaks to all classes. It understands human nature." " It seems to be the book to which the rich and the poor, the learned and the unlearned among you Protestants feel that they have an equal right, 1 ' said Pierre. " Undoubtedly, all have an equal right to it. The promises made to be- lievers thousands of years ago comfort those who read them to-day, and make them feel that they are entirely theirs." " The poor Susanne who has just left us took great pleasure in hearing it read to her daily by our dear boy here." Eugene looked gratified. " My clear Victor, I am glad to hear this ; had I known it I should not have felt so anxious." "Ah, I read it, but only to please Susanne," said Victor. 100 VICTOE. "Yet it was well to do it, and I have no doubt you received benefit. Our kind Saviour does not reject the humblest service offered him." That day Pierre said to Justine : " I have enough money, and need not again open my shop. I could not remain here ; it would be too lonely without my old comrade ; we were as twin brothers — " Here Pierrie's voice faltered. As soon as he could speak he resumed : " My whole life will I henceforward give to my poor boy. It was through my means that he nearly threw away his own." " Through your means, uncle ? O no !" " If it had not been for me he would not have been in Paris." " No, but you took him from those who were harsh to him to treat him like a son." TRUE FRIEKDS. 101 One day Pierre met Susanne on the stairs as he was coming in with some delicious grapes that he had been buying for Victor. After in- quiring about him, she asked permis- sion to arrange the grapes according to her own taste. This was granted, with the privilege also of taking them to her young friend. They were ]aid on their own green leaves and placed in a dish, so as to give the finest effect to the beautiful fruit, and then car- ried to his bed-side by his faithful old friend. He received her with a smile of delight, and her plain old face ap- peared to please him as much as the luscious fruit she brought him. When he tasted them he said : " They are so refreshing ! they cool my mouth." " You used to talk much of water when you were so ill at the hospital, Victor," said his uncle, " and it was 102 victor. always in connection with old Paul. Living water yon often spoke of." " Yes ; the night before I left old Paul he read of living water and prayed to have it. I believe live dreamed of it since, though I didn't understand what he meant." "Dear Victor," said Eugene, ever on the watch to do him good, " you know the living water that the Bible so often speaks of is the pardon of sin, and the peace which follows it makes the soul happy and joyful. Are you strong enough to have me kneel down and pray that it may be given to comfort you in your illness V " O do, Eugene, do," Victor said. And when Eugene and Susanne knelt down, Pierre also knelt, al- though it had been many years since those stiff old knees had bowed before the Lord, even in form. Eugene was doing good in that TRUE FRIENDS. 103 sick room. He was melting Justine v s prejudices, he was enlightening the mind of Pierre. His business called him home be- fore Victor was well enough to return with him. They missed him greatly when he was gone. But he told Victor that Susanne could more than supply his place, and that he must ask to have her with him. This he could do without hurting the feelings of his aunt, who was very delicate, and he still required much done for him. So Susanne was made assistant nurse. Many, many new thoughts had come to Victor's mind since his illness. He knew that death had been very near him ; that he had almost felt the touch of his icy hand. " O !" he thought as he lay on his bed, or sat propped up with pillows in his chair, "what a life mine has 104 VICTOK. been. God commands us to serve him. But I never thought of him. I never cared to please him. I thought only of pleasing myself." Susanne was glad to be recalled. She was useful in every way. On the little range, which opened like a cupboard in the wall, with the small- est of charcoal fires, she made dainty messes for Victor, and did the cook- ing for Pierre. She had already cured him of his dislike to female service. Susanne was a good nurse as well as cook. If her hands were coarser and harder than Justine's, they smoothed the sick boy's pillow as gently and tenderly as hers, and her voice could whisper of peace in believing that poor Justine knew nothing of. Yet she was far less bigoted than she had heretofore been. Indeed, she began to think that there must be some- thing not bad in a faith which, like TEUE FKIEKDS. 105 Eugene's, brought such happiness with it. Her faith had been of little value in her hours of trial. She felt the need of something more substantial. She saw the peace of God beam in the face of Eugene, and heard his words distill as the dew on the heart of the suffering boy when he talked to him so sweetly of the Saviour's love, and she felt that he had hold of some element of happiness of which she knew nothing. One day when her uncle said, " I believe theirs is the right kind of religion for such times as this, my dear niece," she could not but feel in her heart that it was truly so. " Until now," he continued, " I never troubled my head about these things. Catholics and Protestants were all the same to me. But when one sees a friend step off before his eyes into an unknown country, it's time to in- 106 VICTOR. quire about the place he's gone to. For myself, I'm an old man ; I stand, as I may say, with my foot uplifted. Where is it to step V Susanne was doing something about the room. " O," she said, " if monsieur will open the Bible and read, he will find all about the two worlds that we can't see, and monsieur will learn to walk right into the good land when the great Master calls." Victor stretched out his hand and said : "Dear Mother Susanne, God hears you. Ask him to bless me, to make me fit to die. I'm not prepared now. I'm very different from your Agnes." " My dear boy," said Justine weep- ing, "don't speak so. You won't die ; you are getting better." "But the good woman's prayers will do the child no harm," inter- TRUE FRIENDS, 107 posed the uncle; "let her do as he desires." So'Susanne knelt by the bed and prayed that Victor might be forgiven and comforted by Him who brings back the lost sheep to his fold, and who died to bring salvation to all who will believe in him and love him. It was a prayer of faith that brought an answer. Victor began to feel what it is to trust in Christ. The light was dim at first, but it grew stronger as he heard more and more of the willingness of Jesus to save sinners. He asked his uncle to write to Eugene, and to tell him that the seeds he planted in his mind were not destroyed, and that he hoped they would live and grow forever. Eugene answered the letter, and expressed joy at what he had heard. 108 VICTOR. He added : " Dear Victor, now that your Saviour has blessed you, you will not feel that the work is all done. It is but just begun. Chris- tianity is a life-long work ; but you will have help from above whenever you ask for it." A JOUKKEY HOME. 109 CHAPTEE IX. A JOUENEY HOME. When Victor was strong enough to travel they were all impatient to leave Paris. There was but one drawback to the boy's happiness, the thought of parting with the dear old friend who had been such a comfort and blessing to him. But Mother Susanne calmed him by dwelling upon their future meeting in their Father's house above. " For myself, it will not be long before I am called up thither," she said; "but you, I trust, have much to do for your fellow-creatures before your summons comes." Pierre too was full of gratitude to the good Susanne, and took care to leave her in far more comfort- 110 VICTOR. able circumstances than he found her. Justine preceded them. She wish- ed to get things in readiness, and her uncle gave her the means to do so. Louis had taken all that he could carry with him, making no provision whatever for his wife. Victor's health improved on the journey, and a little of his old color had come back to his cheeks when he reached Geneva. It was on a lovely spring day that the old home, which he had left with such different feelings, greeted him once more. He scarcely knew the room in which he had played when a child, and where he had both suffered and enjoyed much. The united exertions of Jus- tine and Henriette had transformed it. Taste and fancy had made it pretty with small expense. Perhaps it looked brighter to Victor that the A JOUK^TEt HOME. Ill dark shadow in the form of Louis haunted it no more. None but kind friends were around him. Not only Adrien's family, but even the young ladies from Les Prai- ries came to welcome him. Good old Paul too, leaning on the top of his staff like the patriarch Jacob, was there. Victor might well feel that no boy before ever had such kind friends. It was the season for early flow- ers, and each brought a floral gift. Jonquils and violets, sweet-jasmin and roses were everywhere seen. Pierre rubbed his hands with cheerfulness and satisfaction. Circumstances had hitherto made his life a lonely one. Only on Jerome had he poured out the affections of his heart ; but, though repressed, they were still there, and Victor had been the means of rousing them into new power. He felt that 112 VICTOR. now with him and Justine another life was before him. Speaking of Pierre to Eugene, Vic- tor said : "He is so kind and generous to me ! What can I do for him ?" " Try to bring him to the Saviour who has sought and found you," said Eugene. " O," he answered, " I pray for this constantly." As soon as Victor could climb the high stairs he went into Adrien's room. That too had been remodeled by Eugene's own hands, and newly papered by Henriette. It looked more cheerful, without being less picturesque. " We have a little company assem- ble here once a week to read the Bible, make comments on it, and pray together," said Eugene. "Will you not join us to-night, Victor?" A JOUBOTEY HOME. 113 " O gladly ! and I will ask my uncle." His uncle, though without prejudice against the little company, thought he would not be at home there, and declined. Victor found it a great benefit. He had indeed begun to love the Bible, and he was grateful for every opportunity that would be likely to make him comprehend it better. Then, too, he had learned the value of prayer, and was glad to have good people unite their prayers with his own that God would keep him faith- ful to eternal life. "My uncle must join us yet. I will not give it up. And O Eugene ! if my dear aunt could by any means be brought in among us !" " Nothing is impossible to him that believeth," was Eugene's reply. Yet still Victor did not recover 114 VICTOE. rapidly, and both Pierre and Justine became somewhat anxious. One day, after consulting with Jus- tine, Pierre said : "Victor, my boy, I've thought of a better medicine for you than any the doctor give. I think we will go south for a while." " O uncle, you have already done too much for me ! I am better here, and soon shall be quite well. I hope not to lead such an idle life always. I want to get strong, to show you and my dear aunt how grateful I am for all you have done for me." " I'm not entirely unselfish in my plan, Victor. I want to see Provence before I die. They've given it an- other name now, and one not half so pretty. But to me it is Provence still. The change of name has wrought no change in my feel- ings." A JOUKNEY HOME. 115 " It's Vaucluse now, uncle, or part of it, is it not V " O yes, and the Lower Alps, and a number of names besides. The beautiful Provence is cut up and shuffled like a pack of cards since I was born there. But I long to see it again. When a man gets old his thoughts go backward. I would look at the little village again, and the old house in which your grand- father, your father, and yourself were born. I might have gone years ago, but I was busy, and besides — but no matter;, we'll go now." The plan was highly approved by Justine and Victor's other friends. " O yes," Justine said, " he must go. And I am sure my good uncle will bring him back to us again quite well and cheerful." Not that Victor had not been 116 VICTOE. cheerful, for he had never been so truly happy in his life before. But he was far from strong and had a little cough. PEOVENCE EOSES. 117 CHAPTER X. PEOVENCE EOSES. In May Victor and his uncle set off on their journey, through one of the most varied and picturesque re- gions in the world ; a region which always remainslike a book of pictures in the memory of those who have seen it. There is a union of the sublime with the beautiful in the gently rising valleys, and the mount- ains wrapt in clouds, and in the rivers which sometimes rush swiftly onward, and then, changing their character, flow on serenely through scenes of pastoral loveliness. The orange, lemon, Hg^ and almond abound, and olive trees, which look much like our silver-leaved willow, are everywhere seen. 8 118 VICTOR. Their way was bordered by myriads of flowers of every form and color. Reel poppies, coronella, and gayly-tinted gladioli, every moment called forth Victor's admiration. Then he would turn from these minute specimens of the gracious Father's skill to the mountains, at one time dimmed with floating mists, and then glorious in the sunshine. Every hill and valley, cloud and mountain, spoke to him of the dear and tender Father whom he had learned to love. Victor's com- pany made his uncle feel younger. They talked of many interesting things as they traveled. Victor asked if the trade in flowers had ex- isted long in Provence. " Only since about the beginning of the present century," answered Pierre, a and it was through a connection of our family that it commenced." Victor begged to hear more, and PEOVENCE EOSES. 119 his uncle went on with the story the more readily as they were just on the confines of the flowery land. " Pierre Lescaut — you see he was a namesake of mine — was as honest as he was poor, and extremely fond of flowers withal. He owned a few acres that were not very productive, and a small house. But his olive fields and vineyards would not bring him a sum of money that it had now, on some accounts, become quite neces- sary for his happiness and welfare to secure. How to raise this sum, which was a large one, dwelt so much upon his mind that he dreamed about it. I won't pretend to tell the dream as the villagers tell it. I always doubted it myself; at least I've thought there's more poetry than truth in the way it is told. But how- ever this may be, one day Lescaut went to a dried-up old chemist and 120 VICTOR. said something to hini about making money out of the gay flowers which, for love of them, he had planted every spare spot in his garden and olive field with. The chemist had lived in Florence, where a great trade in essences was carried on. He told Lescaut that much might be made of his flowers, and that if he would raise a sufficient quantity of the right kind he would promise to distill them for him. Lescaut went home ful] of hope. People wondered to see him plant so many flowers and spend so much time in their culture. They thought he was losing his senses, and said that he had better be taking care of his olives and vines. But he kept his secret, and at length a crop of rare flowers was ready for the old Italian. He succeeded in distilling from them an essence equal to any which Florence affords. Moreover, PEOVENCE EOSES. 121 lie had the good fortune to obtain the patronage of the Empress Joseph- ine, who was famous for her passion for perfumes, and so his fortune, as well as the old Italian's, was made at once. Those who had ridiculed Lescaut were now glad to imitate him. The culture of golden grain and shining maize was abandoned,- and flower fields sprang up every- where. So the region about the cities of Caen and Grasse has become the sweetest in la belle France from the circumstances I have related. Lescaut was the benefactor of his neighborhood, although so sneered at in the beginning."* They came to the quiet village of Mery-les-Hoches just at sunset. Few travelers stop there. Most of them prefer the finer hotels of Caen and * The substance of this account was drawn from Chambers's Miscellany. 122 VICTOR. Grasse, between which cities the village lies. Pierre was very silent as they passed through the flowery fields which the inhabitants were preparing for the harvest. His thoughts were full of the past. Vic- tor was taken up with the present. It was wonderful to see the heaps of tuberoses, orange blossoms, and jas- mines that lay upon the ground ready for the distillery. Their fragrance, mingling with that of the superb Provence rose, filled the air for many miles. We have little idea of the sweetness and richness of the latter flower in its native climate. It is said that they have few blossoms at a time, but this is made up by their size and odor. They found the Auberge on the side of a hill, with a little stream at its foot, over- which a rustic bridge had been thrown. Nothing was PROVENCE ROSES. 123 heard but the murmur of the water and the song of birds as they entered the wicket. Every man and woman had gone out to the harvest, and the little inn was left in charge of a child, who, for want of something else to do, had fallen asleep on the door-sill. Victor could not bear to waken her; she looked so peaceful sleeping in the sjiade of the rose-bushes, and smiling in her sleep. Pierre took her in his arms, and, though frightened at first, she was soon awake sufficiently to say that her name was Pauline, that papa, mamma, and Claud were in the field, and that old Jeannette was in the garden, from whence she would call her. But the travelers had been seen entering the gate, and before little Pauline had left the room the land- lord and his wife came. They both received our travelers cordially, for guests were rare at that little inn, 124 VICTOK. though its accommodations were clean er and better than many of more im- posing appearance. Soon an old servant came in to lay the cloth. She courtesied at the door, and Pierre, in returning her salute, looked earnestly at her. At length rising and going toward her, he said: " Why, Jeannette, is it possible ! Can you be still living ?" The old woman dropped the cloth and looked up at him. She did not know his voice, but when she saw his eyes smiling on her she recognized him. " Master Pierre — my dear young master I" It was an old servant of his father's he had found. Beside her he felt young, though Victor had smiled to hear Jeannette call him so. " I never thought to see you again, PEOVEISTCE EOSES. 125 Master Pierre. How could you know rue, sir?" " I heard your name called, and I knew your walk." u Ah, Master Pierre, you always said that I walked one-sided like a crab ! but that you should still re- member me ! How glad I am to see you!" "And you live here, Jeannette?" " What else could I do, monsieur ? Poor Master Philippe thought he had left me enough to make me comfort- able ; but, alas ! it got in bad hands, and I lost it all. But it's all right. He taught me to be contented with what the good Lord 'sends, and I shall soon go to a pleasant home above." Victor had been sitting behind a screen and looking out of a window. She had not seen his face until now that he leaned forward to look at her. 126 VICTOR. u Do you know this young gentle- man V asked Pierre. "Yes — no! It can't be Master Philippe's son ; but it is !" cc Yes, it is indeed, Jeannette." " And so like his father !" She kissed his hands and her eyes overflowed. Victor put up his mouth, and she kissed it, with both his cheeks. " Yes, you are like him. He would have done the same to a poor old servant. But he was very good ; the love of the Saviour was in his heart." " I will try to be good like him," Victor answered, and the landlady came in to Irtirry Jeannette. When their meal was over they went out into the village, crossing the bridge at the foot of the hill, and following a lane bordered with rose- tree hedges. Jeannette had had per- mission to join them in their search PEOVENCE ROSES. 127 after relics of the past. Pierre, who knew what a faithful domestic in his family she had always been, was gratified by the character their land- lord gave her. • " I could trust her with gold," he said. " Her value cannot be named." At the termination of the lane they came to a low cottage, spreading broad and wide in its flowery garden, with dormer windows, overgrown with vines, and a rustic porch on which the master, in a gray blouse and red cap, sat smoking his pipe. A green gate, set in the hedge, ad- mitted them into the pleasant yard. They were received genially by the owner of the place. His family, he said, were all in the fields. He had come home to smoke his pipe, and should go back to help them cut their flowers before a change of weather came. In the mean time 128 VICTOE. the house was at their command. Then he went away and left them undisturbed. Tears came into Pierre's eyes as he looked around. " fhe same birds seem to make their homes here as when I was a boy," he said ; " the same flowers bloom, the same odors come. I only am changed." He looked ap at a dormer window, framed in roses. " That was my room from a child. I seem now to see a face looking out of it as young as your own, my boy. It wasn't the old wrinkled face then that you see now. No, it was peer- ing into the future with the hope of doing great things ; but I never did them. I seem to have lived in vain." " O no, uncle ! and if you didn't do all you wanted to, you are not a PK0VENCE ROSES. 129 very old man now. Perhaps you will still be able to do much good." Pierre shook his head. " I fear I shan't do much more. Your father slept in that room with me from a boy. I lived with my brother, as I never married, and Philippe was his only child. A good boy he ever was ; he always tried to do right. I think he prayed from a child, and yet he had no one to teach him to do so. He was always truth- ful, always did what he believed to be right. " Mother Susanne says, to such ' God will give more light ;' and I know it is written, ' If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God or whether I speak of myself. 1 " Pierre then went on to say, " I remember what anger he had to bear when he told your grandfa- 130 VICTOR. ther that he had became a Protest- ant ; how we all scoffed him. But this did not move him, and we be- gan to think at length that his be- lief might be right, because his con- duct was so much better than ours. Our opposition died away, and he went on his own course." By this time, accompanied by Jeannette, they had entered the house and taken their way into a room up stairs. "In that place, by the door, he knelt and prayed without book or rosary both night and morning," con- tinued Pierre. " Sometimes his lips moved softly, at other times not. A solemn awe used to come over me. I felt that Philippe held communion with an unseen Presence." " How came my father to become a Protestant?" asked Victor, more and more interested. PE0VENCE EOSES. 131 " Through Celestine D'Ormay, whom he afterward married. We were all Catholics when the D'Or- mays came to live among us. They were much ridiculed for their strange w T ays, particularly for the quiet man- ner in which they kept the Sabbath. But when your father became ac- quainted with them he embraced their principles." " Did you know much of my mother ?" " Not very much ; I left Provence soon after her marriage to your fa- ther, and she lived but a year from that time. But Justine remembers her. Her she would have made a Protestant, but a bigoted aunt guarded her." Jeanette here spoke : " O, monsieur, your mother was as good as she w^as lovely. Neither she nor your father are yet forgotten by 132 VICTOR. the poor and the needy here. They both lived to do good, and it was sad that such lights among us were so early quenched." Every spot in that little chamber had a tender memory connected with it. Philippe had been to Pierre like a child. He leaned out of the win- dow. " In this same spot under the eaves did Philippe hang a bird-cage which he himself made. I am glad they still keep one there." Jeannette led them into a room below, with a wide long window looking out into the garden. From it they saw the sloping hill, the foot- bridge, and the gentle stream. It was now Victor's turn to speak. " Surely I have seen this room be- fore. A pale gentleman once sat by that window, and I stood by his knee. He said something to me PROVENCE EOSES. 133 about the blue sky, which looked just as it does now. I cried — and he read to me from a book — O I under- stand it all now ! Father ! father P he said, covering his face with his hands, " O my dear father !" The full sense of the treasure he had once possessed came to him, the treasure he had lost. But even then he felt the blessing of having had such a parent. Yes, he knew that the book thus associated with the only memory he had of his father was to him now the dearest thing in life. It told him whither he had gone ; it would teach him how to live so that he might at length be a partaker of his blessedness. " Yes, dear child," said Jeannette, " in this room was I when your dear father talked to you. You asked him to take you up to heaven. He couldn't do that ; but he put you in 9 134 VICTOR. good hands till your time comes to go to him. When I took you out of the room crying, I heard him say in his faint sweet voice, 4 Leave thy fa- therless children to me and I will preserve them.' O dear young mas- ter, how Master Philippe prayed for you ! Have his prayers been an- swered V "0 1 hope so, mother ! I want to be like papa just as he was like Jesus. I think his prayers saved my life when I was so foolish as to put my- self in great danger, and I think they are helping to save my soul now." " The good God be praised that you are in the path that leads to him," said Jeannette ; " I shall soon be there myself, dear child, for I am very old. And you, dear Master Pierre, who loved the young Philippe so well, you must not be separated from him." PROVENCE ROSES. 135 Pierre's convictions of the truth of Christianity were not weakened by the artless testimony of this simple daughter of Christ. On their return to the inn, through the same sweet scenes they had trodden previously, Jeannette told them that although there had not been a single Protest- ant in the village when the D'Ormays came there to live, there was now a little company of believers who met together for divine worship, and to encourage each other in the Christian path. That evening was the one on which they usually assembled. Would Master Victor join them? They would be so glad, and some who had known his father and moth- er would be there. Jeannette and Victor went to the Widow Richaud's that evening. The full moon shone on the chestnut-tree, which threw its branches over the 136 VICTOR. humble roof of the cottage. Dew- drops sparkled on the grass that grew beside their narrow foot-path, and no sound but the lulling music of the little stream was heard. There seemed to Victor, who had hitherto always lived in the city, something solemn in this silence of the country. A few plain women in tight jackets and short striped petticoats, and two or three men, in clean but com- mon dresses, read the Bible, sang and prayed together. Then an old man rose and told how little he had known of the true Saviour in his early years, that he tried to find him, but that he had not the light of his word to go by, and that he therefore walked in dim and crooked paths. " But," he continued, " as I sat at my door one evening thinking of these things and saying in my heart the words of the psalmist, ' O when PK0VENCE E0SE8. 137 wilt thou come unto nie V though then I knew them not, a young person who had lately come to live in the village came up to me. She asked me if Jesus was my Saviour, aDd I did not know what to say. But she talked of him to me, and she put his word into my hands ; and so I found him to the rejoicing of my soul. Now walk I in the light of his coun- tenance and in the teachings of the Holy Ghost. They tell me that the child of that angel mother is here, and that he is a partaker of her pre- cious faith. Will he speak a word in our little company ? It will teach us to pray with more faith for our children, if he tells us that the prayers of the good parents for him have been answered." O how these words, spoken out of the fullness of the good man's heart, impressed Victor ! Though he trem- 138 VICTOR. bled, could be refuse to give the sim- ple testimony that was asked ? Jesus had been so kind to him ; should he not try to do a little for his people ? Jeannette pressed his hand, and he rose to say: " The prayers of my father and my mother are being answered. Their God is my God ; their Saviour has found me, and led me to his fold. The Holy Spirit that spoke to them speaks to me." There were some tears shed when Victor sat down. Then a manly voice raised the following tenderly beautiful hymn of Gerhard Terstee- gen's, in which the females devoutly joined : " O childhood ! well-beloved of heaven, Whose mind to Christ alone is given, How longs my heart to feel like thee ! O Jesus ! form thyself in me. Lord ! let me while on earth remaining, Such childlike frame be still retaining ; PROVENCE ROSES. 139 With me then here, I know full well, God and his Paradise will dwell." That meeting shone like a star in Victor's memory as long as he lived. He was glad that he had there been able to speak a little word for Christ. There was a scarcity of Bibles among the good villagers, and Pierre told Victor he would send them a supply on his return home. This was done, with a specially fine one, with large print, for Jeannette. The visit was full of enjoyment both to Victor and his uncle. The latter said it had renewed his life. . They returned to Geneva delighted and impressed by all they had seen, and Victor with entirely recovered health. He was permitted to learn Eugene's business, and finally entered into partnership with him. . The two young men became celebrated for their excellent work, as well as for 140 VICTOR. their hi^h moral character and ex- tensive usefulness. " But O what a risk I ran in that wicked city 1" would Victor often say. " What but those prayers treasured up in heaven could have saved me ? Snares were under my feet and all around me." " Ah, but you listened to the voice that called you back!" Eugene re- plied, " or even those prayers would not have availed. The child of pious parents is not carried passively to heaven. Holy influences can be re- sisted. God gives us power to fol- low him, but he does not compel us." " I know it," said Victor ; " we must reach out our hands to receive blessings that God stretches out his to give us. Does he not say, c O that thou hadst hearkened to my com- mandments ! then had thy peace been PKOVE^CE ROSES. 141 as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea V " " Yes, and I cannot conceive of a more awful image than that of the Deity mourning over his children be- cause they will not be saved I" an- swered Eugene. Justine gradually forsook the super- stitions of her Church. The life and warmth of the religion around her spoke too forcibly to be resisted. Louis never returned a rich man. He died from over-exertion amid the gold which he had so greedily coveted. Pierre's was a serene old age, cheer- ed by the attentions of Justine and Victor. He learned to love the Bible, and often pondered with much feel- ing upon the parable of the laborers, saying that the one called at the eleventh hour was himself. Paul was the first of the little com- 142 VICTOR. pany we have grouped together to go to the promised country where, it is said, " they shall not hunger nor thirst, neither shall the heat nor sun smite them ; for He that hath mercy on them shall lead them, even by the springs of water shall he guide them." THE END. ® BOOKS FOE SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 200 Mulberry-street, IVew York. LONDON IN MODERN TIMES; Or. Sketches of the English Metropolis during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. 18ino,, pp. 222. THE RODEN FAMILY; Or, the Sad End of Bad Ways. Keminiscences of the West India Islands. Second Series, No. II. Three Illustrations. 18nio., pp. 159. LEARNING- TO FEEL. Illustrated. Two volumes, 18rno., pp. 298. LEARNING TO ACT. Three Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 144. ROSA, THE "WORK GIRL; By the Author of " The Irish Dove." Two Illus- trations. 18mo., pp. 138. THE FIERY FURNACE; Or, the Story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. By a Sunday-School Teacher. Two Illustrations. ISrno., pp. 64. ELIZABETH BALES: A Pattern for Sunday-School Teachers and Tract Distributers. By J. A. James. 18mo., pp. 84. SOCIAL PROGRESS; Or, Business and Pleasure. By the Author of " Nature's Wonders," " Village Science," etc. Six- teen Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 269. MINES AND MINING. ISino , pp. 212. BOOKS FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 200 Mulberry-9treet, IVew York. MINNIE RAY. A Story of Faith and Good Works. By Mrs. C. M. Edwards, Author of " The Herbert Family," " The Itinerant," etc. Four Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 198. AUNT EFFIE; Or, the Pious Widow and her Infidel Brother. By Bev. Daniel Wise, Author of " Guide to the Sav- iour," "Path of Life," " Young Man's Counselor," etc. Two Illustrations. ISnio., pp. 174. SARAH NEAL. A Tale of Eeal Life. By the Author of " Eoland Band" and "The Homely Child." Three Illus- trations. 18mo., pp. 76. BE COURTEOUS; Or, Eeligion the True Eefiner. By Mrs. M. H. Maxwell. Three Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 183. A SCHOOL-BOY'S LIFE: Being a Memoir of John Lang Bickersteth, late of Bugby School. ISmo., pp. 69. MARGARET CRAVEN; Or, Beauty of the Heart. By the Author of " The Lost Key," " The Golden Mushroom," and " The Little Water-cress Sellers." Five Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 175. LITTLE JESSIE'S WORK, And the Broken Eosebuds. Two Engravings, 18mo., pp. 83. ELL1N0R GREY: Or, the Sunday-School Class at Trimble Hollow. By Mrs. H. C. Gardner, Author of " Annie Lee," etc. Four Hlustrations. 18mo., pp. 195. ® a •a BOOKS FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 200 Mulberry-street, New York. THE TEMPTATION; Or, Henry Thornton. Showing the Progress and Fruits of Intemperance. Three Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 90. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. Sketches from the History of Napoleon Bonaparte. Written for the Young. Six Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 126. THE MISSIONARY TEACHER: A Memoir of Cyrus Shepard, embracing a Brief Sketch of the Early History of the Oregon Mission. By Kev. Z. A. Mudge. Seven Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 221. DENNIS-BROOKS; Or, a Mother's Grief. 18mo., pp. 62. CHEERFUL CHAPTERS: Adapted to Youth, and not unsuited to Age. By old Alan Gray. Four Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 179. THE KITTEN IN THE WELL; Or, One Sinner destroyeth much Good. By Fatheb William. Four Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 84. THE EGYPTIAN. By the Author of " The Jew." Illustrated. 18mo., pp. 180. THE PATRIARCHS. Illustrated. 18mo., pp. 240. SKETCHES OF MISSION LIFE Among the Indians of Oregon. Fire Illustrations, 18mo., pp. 229. g .__. a —a BOOKS POE SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 200 Mulberry-street, Kew York CHARLES DURAN; Or, the Career of a Bad Boy. By the Author of "The Waldos." Three Illustrations. 18nio., pp.59. FRONTIER SKETCHES. Selected and arranged hy the Author of "Dying Hours," etc. 18rno., pp. 142. PRISON SKETCHES. By a Chaplain. 18mo., pp. 105. THE TEMPEST; Or, an Account of the Nature, Properties, Dangers, and Uses of Wind in various Parts of the World. Fourteen Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 230. STORIES OF SCHOOLBOYS. Four Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 143. COLUMBUS ; Or, the Discovery of America. By George Cxjbitt. 18mo., pp. 163. THE "WALDOS; Or, Incidents of the American Eevolution. Two Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 106. MEMORY'S PICTURES; Or, Scenes of Childhood. Two Illustrations. 18mo., pp. 68. NATURE'S WONDERS; Or, God's Care over all his Works. By the Author of " Peeps at Nature." Illustrated. ISruo., pp. 226. THE YOUTH'S MONITOR. Four volumes, ISmo., each, pp. 288. ®- s ' BOOKS FOE SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 2®0 Mulberry-street, New York. NELLIE RTJSSEL; Or, the Little Girl who was easily Frightened, Three Illustrations. 18mo. WHISPERS FOR BOYS About one of their most Deceitful Enemies. By a Lady. Four Illustrations. 18mo. AN HOUR AND A HALF In a Country Sunday-School. Being a PWure of the Practical "Working of a Successful Country Sunday- School. Ten Illustrations. 18mo. ARNOLD LESLIE; Or, the Young Skeptic. Being the History of a Boy who Worked his Way to Honor and Competence through many Trials and Temptations. Written by Himself. Five Illustrations. 18mo. FRANK ELSTON; Or, Patience in Well-doing. A Story for Lads who have none to depend upon but God and their own energies. Four Illustrations. 18mo. PEARLS for the LITTLE ONES. A Series of Stories from Child-life. By Mes. Mart Jane Phillips. Four Illustrations. 18mo, THE YOUNG HOP-PICKERS. By the late Sarah Maria Fry, Author of " Matty Gregg," "Margaret Craven," "The Lost Key," etc. Three Illustrations. 18mo. GEORGY LEE ; Or, the Boy who became a Great Artist: and tho Shadow in the House. By Mrs. 0. A. S. Bbale. Four Illustrations. 18mo. I BOOKS FOE SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 200 Mulberry-street, New York. THE YOUNG GOLD SEEKER, And other Authentic Sketches. A Book for Youth. By Mrs. Mart Jane Phillips, Author of " Pearls for the Little Ones," etc. Two Illustrations. ISmo. LITTLE TIGER LILY And her Cousin Alice ; or, How a Bad Temper was cured. By Marianna H. Bliss. Three Illustra- tions. 18nio. HOME PICTURES For the Little Ones. A Series of Sketches from Beal Child-Life. By Mrs. Mary Jane Phillips, Author of " Pearls for the Little. Ones." Two Illus- trations. 18mo. LITTLE THINGS For Little Folks. By Mrs. Mart Jane Phillips, Author of "Pearls for the Little Ones," "Home Scenes," " Casket of Gems," etc. Two Illustra- tions. ISmo. MARGARET MAXHAM. A Book for Young Ladies. By Marianna H. Bliss, Author of "Little Tiger Lily," etc. Three Hlus- trations. 18mo. FACTS ABOUT GlRLS, For Girls. Being a Selection of Interesting and Instructive Anecdotes of Girls. By Eev. Kichabd Donkerslet. Six Illustrations. 18nio. JUNA ATHERTON'S Year at School. A Story for Louisa Ellen . Three g 6 Year at School. A Story for Young Ladies. By Louisa Ellen . Three Illustrations. 18mo-. I .. lhr*r*&&C&'%/ Tryp#Y~>. /