“And there lies his road to ruin,” returned David. “Dear Eve, listen to me. A man needs an independent fortune, or the sublime cynicism of poverty, for the slow execution of great work. Believe me, Lucien’s horror of privation is so great, the savor of banquets, the incense of success is so sweet in his nostrils, his self-love has grown so much in Mme. de Bargeton’s boudoir, that he will do anything desperate sooner than fall back, and you will never earn enough for his requirements.
“Then you are only a false friend to him!” Eve cried in despair, “or you would not discourage us in this way.”
“Eve! Eve!” cried David, “if only I could be a brother to Lucien! You alone can give me that title; he could accept anything from me then; I should claim the right of devoting my life to him with the love that hallows your self-sacrifice, but with some worldly wisdom too. Eve, my darling, give Lucien a store from which he need not blush to draw! His brother’s purse will be like his own, will it not? If you only knew all my thoughts about Lucien’s position! If he means to go to Mme. de Bargeton’s, he must not be my foreman any longer, poor fellow! He ought not to live in L’Houmeau; you ought not to be a working girl; and your mother must give up her employment as well. If you would consent to be my wife, the difficulties will all be smoothed away. Lucien might live on the second floor in the Place du Mûrier until I can build rooms for him over the shed at the back of the yard (if my father will allow it, that is.). And in that way we would arrange a free and independent life for him. The wish to support Lucien will give me a better will to work than I ever should have had for myself alone; but it rests with you to give me the right to devote myself to him. Some day, perhaps, he will go to Paris, the only place that can bring out all that is in him, and where his talents will be appreciated and rewarded. Living in Paris is expensive, and the earnings of all three of us will be needed for his support. And besides, will not you and your mother need someone to lean upon then? Dear Eve, marry me for love of Lucien; perhaps afterwards you will love me when you see how I shall strive to help him and to make you happy. We are, both of us, equally simple in our tastes; we have few wants; Lucien’s welfare shall be the great object of our lives. His heart shall be our treasure-house, we will lay up all our fortune, and think and feel and hope in him.”
“Worldly considerations keep us apart,” said Eve, moved by this love that tried to explain away its greatness. “You are rich and I am poor. One must love indeed to overcome such a difficulty.”
“Then you do not care enough for me?” cried the stricken David.
“But perhaps your father would object—”
“Never mind,” said David; “if asking my father is all that is necessary, you will be my wife. Eve, my dear Eve, how you have lightened life for me in a moment; and my heart has been very heavy with thoughts that I could not utter, I did not know how to speak of them. Only tell me that you care for me a little, and I will take courage to tell you the rest.”
“Indeed,” she said, “you make me quite ashamed; but confidence for confidence, I will tell you this, that I have never thought of anyone but you in my life. I looked upon you as one of those men to whom a woman might be proud to belong, and I did not dare to hope so great a thing for myself, a penniless working girl with no prospects.”
“That is enough, that is enough,” he answered, sitting down on the bar by the weir, for they had gone to and fro like mad creatures over the same length of pathway.
“What is the matter?” she asked, her voice expressing for the first time a woman’s sweet anxiety for one who belongs to her.
“Nothing but good,” he answered. “It is the sight of a whole lifetime of happiness that dazzles me, as it were; it is overwhelming. Why am I happier than you?” he asked, with a touch of sadness. “For I know that I am happier.”
Eve looked at David with mischievous, doubtful eyes that asked an explanation.
“Dear Eve, I am taking more than I give. So I shall always love you more than you love me, because I have more reason to love. You are an angel; I am a man.”
“I am not so learned,” Eve said, smiling. “I love you—”
“As much as you love Lucien?” he broke in.
“Enough to be your wife, enough to devote myself to you, to try not to add anything to your burdens, for we shall have some struggles; it will not be quite easy at first.”
“Dear Eve, have you known that I loved you since the first day I saw you?”
“Where is the woman who does not feel that she is loved?”
“Now let me get rid of your scruples as to my imaginary riches. I am a poor man, dear. Yes, it pleased my father to ruin me; he made a speculation of me, as a good many so-called benefactors do. If I make a fortune, it will be entirely through you. That is not a lover’s speech, but sober, serious earnest. I ought to tell you about my faults, for they are exceedingly bad ones in a man who has his way to make. My character and habits and favorite occupations all unfit me for business and money-getting, and yet we can only make money by some
