At first he did not notice her, she was only a schoolgirl stumbling over her French verbs, annoying him with her faulty accent, but gradually his eyes rested on her more often than on any other. He found excuses to speak to her after class was over, to meet her in secret, before he met her family.
How that meeting came about he told eleven or so years later with a careless indifference.
The First Meeting
“I became acquainted with the family, eighteen months or two years after I became acquainted with herself. The way in which I first came to visit at her parents’ house was this.
“I gave some of my pupils, but not Miss Dyer, tickets to a phrenological lecture, and shortly afterward one of these pupils gave me a ticket to another lecture, at which I saw them, and also Miss Dyer with her brother John.
“On leaving the lecture I accompanied home the Misses Stuart who were intimate friends of mine. Miss Dyer and her brother came along, with a Miss Smith.
“The Stuarts and I thought at the time that was forward on their part. After leaving them, John Dyer and Miss Smith walked on and I followed with my late wife. Dyer and Miss Smith disappeared and I had to take Miss Dyer home.
“I did not then go into the house, but a day or two afterward she asked me why I did not come to see her at home. She said her papa and mamma would be glad to see me, and an evening was fixed, when I called.
“I afterward learned from her mother that while she was happy to see me, her daughter had not asked leave for me to call.”
Chantrelle was a native of Nantes, that city in which close to five thousand victims of the French revolution perished by drowning, being imprisoned in barges which were sunk in the river.
His father was a shipowner who gave him an excellent education followed by a course of study at Nantes Medical School continued at Strassburg and Paris.
Of Two Minds
After his communistic escapade he went to America, but what he did there is not recorded. He came across the Atlantic again to England, and taught languages in several cities before coming to Edinburgh.
He was an excellent linguist, a man of culture, and had a good address, and it was not long before he was teaching classes in several of the leading educational establishments of the city.
He even compiled several books on the French language which were adopted as text books. He added to his income by giving tuition in French, German, Latin and Greek.
It was little wonder that a schoolgirl was fascinated by this traveled, polished man of the world. Little wonder that she should have given herself to him.
We have several of her letters written in this period, with one or two of his, and reading them, we can see the respective characters of Elizabeth Chantrelle and Eugene. There is no sacrilege in giving this poor girl’s letters to the public. None can point a finger of scorn or contempt. They were written from the heart and can evoke nothing but sympathy.
“My darling Eugene,” she writes in one, “how could you for one moment suppose I would cease loving you? Dear Eugene, I really love you, I am sure as much as you love me. Did you get the note I put into your coat pocket? I am very sorry I have not been able to get beside you.
“I have not been out; you have no idea how well I am watched. But you know, dear, it is a great comfort to think you are so near me. I think you had better not walk so much in the square as people will be wondering what handsome gentleman it is, walking so often.
“I am in an awful hurry in case of mamma. I have only written because I could not get beside you, but will try. If your windows are to the front, sit at them and I will pass on the other side. Believe me, my own darling Eugene, ever your truly loving Lizzie. Burn this.”
And what sort of a letter was Chantrelle writing, a cold brief note such as this:
“I cannot answer your note just now. I will as soon as I can. In the meantime, don’t come over now. I wish you not to do so and moreover command you not to come. To-morrow I will see what can be done.”
He has betrayed this girl, and his first thought is of letting her go upon her lonely path, but in spite of himself, her loveliness holds him to her. He is in half a mind to marry her, and tells her so, and she is jubilant, and then almost afraid she may not be worthy of him. He is still uncertain.
“Kisses Without Number”
“My darling Eugene,” she tells him. “How very miserable you left me last night. I am sure when you spoke of giving me up you did not mean it. Really I could not live. The idea of your saying that I would soon forget you.
“Oh, Eugene, you do not know how I love you. I could never bear any one else to kiss or pet me. If it was broken off I would die. You think, perhaps, I do not mean it, but, really, I could not live without your love.
“I do so wish it was all settled. I think, dear, you think I do not love you, but the day seems to be twice as long when you are not coming.
“I heard Maggie say that surely I must be ill because I am so quiet. Will you settle it with papa and tell him to say yes or no. If no, we must be married without his consent as I could not live without you.
“I feel my love increasing daily as I am never content but with you. My darling Eugene, you do not know how intensely I love you, far more than I did. How different it will be when we are married, we shall have no one to bother us.
“I do wish we were married. I shall be so very, very faithful to you, my darling. I wish I had you here, but as it is impossible at present, I send you kisses without number. Ever yours, Lizzie.”
Letters such as these roused a responsive spark in Chantrelle, for we find him writing:
She Does Not Complain
“My dear Lizzie, I could not remain so long without seeing you. I’ll call this evening. If you are not in, I’ll conclude that you don’t very much care for me. Why do you want to die, you foolish little puss, there are many happy days in store for you yet? Now mind, if you are not in, I shall be very unhappy and cross. Ever yours, Eugene.”
Such doubts as were in his mind were very apparent to this girl who was only fifteen years old, and she is ready to sacrifice herself if it will make the man she adores happy. She writes to him:
“My darling Eugene, I have been thinking over everything and have come to the conclusion that if you do not wish to I shall never ask you to marry me. But should we be married I will be very true and obedient. You will do with me just as you please.
“That day I spent with you, I thought that if I was constantly confined to the house by illness I should be quite happy if I was only with you. All I want on earth is to be always with you.
“I would be as happy as the day is long, which I am not now. Will you excuse this scribble as I am writing outside of the dining room window. I tell you again, dear Eugene, that no one else ever had me — never. Can you believe it?
“But if you will not marry me, I will never do anything against your wish. With fondest love and many, many kisses, ever your loving Lizzie.”
She suggests that perhaps it will be better for them both if she frees him from his engagements, and he answers sharply:
“Lizzie, I do not believe a single word you say. I am ready to fulfill all my engagements with you when the time comes even though it should bring me to shame and misery. My house is always open to you when you choose to come, but I never will enter yours again. Eugene.”
Elizabeth’s parents were much opposed to Chantrelle’s affair with their daughter. They had no idea to what lengths it had gone, and that Chantrelle and Elizabeth had given each other written acknowledgments that they took each other as wife and husband respectively. But there was now a cogent reason for marriage.