hands, white as those of a woman, were remarkably handsome. The habit

of meditation had taught him to droop his head like a fragile flower,
and the attitude was in keeping with his person; it was like the last

grace that a great artist touches into a portrait to bring out its
latent thought. Etienne's head was that of a delicate girl placed upon

the weakly and deformed body of a man.
Poesy, the rich meditations of which make us roam like botanists

through the vast fields of thought, the fruitfulcomparison of human
ideas, the enthusiasm given by a clear conception of works of genius,

came to be the inexhaustible and tranquil joys of the young man's
solitary and dreamy life. Flowers, ravishing creatures whose destiny

resembled his own, were his loves. Happy to see in her son the
innocent passions which took the place of the rough contact with

social life which he never could have borne, the duchess encouraged
Etienne's tastes; she brought him Spanish "romanceros," Italian

"motets," books, sonnets, poems. The library of Cardinal d'Herouville
came into Etienne's possession, the use of which filled his life.

These readings, which his fragile health forbade him to continue for
many hours at a time, and his rambles among the rocks of his domain,

were interspersed with naive meditations which kept him motionless" target="_blank" title="a.静止的；固定的">motionless for
hours together before his smiling flowers--those sweet companions!--or

crouching in a niche of the rocks before some species of algae, a
moss, a seaweed, studying their mysteries; seeking perhaps a rhythm in

their fragrant depths, like a bee its honey. He often admired, without
purpose, and without explaining his pleasure to himself, the slender

lines on the petals of dark flowers, the delicacy of their rich tunics
of gold or purple, green or azure, the fringes, so profusely

beautiful, of their calyxes or leaves, their ivory or velvet textures.
Later, a thinker as well as a poet, he would detect the reason of

these innumerable differences in a single nature, by discovering the
indication of unknown faculties; for from day to day he made progress

in the interpretation of the Divine Word writing upon all things here
below.

These constant and secret researches into matters occult gave to
Etienne's life the apparent somnolence of meditative genius. He would

spend long days lying upon the shore, happy, a poet, all-unconscious
of the fact. The sudden irruption of a gilded insect, the shimmering

of the sun upon the ocean, the tremulousmotion of the vast and limpid
mirror of the waters, a shell, a crab, all was event and pleasure to

that ingenuous young soul. And then to see his mother coming towards
him, to hear from afar the rustle of her gown, to await her, to kiss

her, to talk to her, to listen to her gave him such keen emotions that
often a slight delay, a trifling fear would throw him into a violent

fever. In him there was nought but soul, and in order that the weak,
debilitated body should not be destroyed by the keen emotions of that

soul, Etienne needed silence, caresses, peace in the landscape, and
the love of a woman. For the time being, his mother gave him the love

and the caresses; flowers and books entranced his solitude; his little
kingdom of sand and shells, algae and verdure seemed to him a

universe, ever fresh and new.
Etienne imbibed all the benefits of this physical and absolutely

innocent life, this mental and moral life so poetically extended. A
child by form, a man in mind, he was equallyangelic under either

aspect. By his mother's influence his studies had removed his emotions
to the region of ideas. The action of his life took place, therefore,

in the moral world, far from the social world which would either have
killed him or made him suffer. He lived by his soul and by his

intellect. Laying hold of human thought by reading, he rose to
thoughts that stirred in matter; he felt the thoughts of the air, he

read the thoughts on the skies. Early he mounted that ethereal summit
where alone he found the delicatenourishment that his soul needed;

intoxicating food! which predestined him to sorrow whenever to these
accumulated treasures should be added the riches of a passion rising

suddenly in his heart.
If, at times, Jeanne de Saint-Savin dreaded that coming storm, he

consoled herself with a thought which the otherwise sad vocation of
her son put into her mind,--for the poor mother found no remedy for

his sorrows except some lesser sorrow.
"He will be a cardinal," she thought; "he will live in the sentiment

of Art, of which he will make himself the protector. He will love Art
instead of loving a woman, and Art will not betray him."

The pleasures of this tender motherhood were incessantly held in check
by sad reflections, born of the strange position in which Etienne was

placed. The brothers had passed the adolescent age without knowing
each other, without so much as even suspecting their rival existence.

The duchess had long hoped for an opportunity, during the absence of
her husband, to bind the two brothers to each other in some solemn

scene by which she might enfold them both in her love. This hope, long
cherished, had now faded. Far from wishing to bring about an

intercourse between the brothers, she feared an encounter between
them, even more than between the father and son. Maximilien, who

believed in evil only, might have feared that Etienne would some day
claim his rights, and, so fearing, might have flung him into the sea

with a stone around his neck. No son had ever less respect for a
mother than he. As soon as he could reason he had seen the low esteem

in which the duke held his wife. If the old man still retained some
forms of decency in his manners to the duchess, Maximilien,

unrestrained by his father, caused his mother many a grief.
Consequently, Bertrand was incessantly on the watch to prevent

Maximilien from seeing Etienne, whose existence was carefully
concealed. All the attendants of the castle cordially hated the

Marquis de Saint-Sever (the name and title borne by the younger
brother), and those who knew of the existence of the elder looked upon

him as an avenger whom God was holding in reserve.
Etienne's future was thereforedoubtful; he might even be persecuted

by his own brother! The poor duchess had no relations to whom she
could confide the life and interests of her cherished child. Would he

not blame her when in his violet robes he longed to be a father as she
had been a mother? These thoughts, and her melancholy life so full of

secret sorrows were like a mortalillness kept at bay for a time by
remedies. Her heart needed the wisest management, and those about her

were cruelly inexpert in gentleness. What mother's heart would not
have been torn at the sight of her eldest son, a man of mind and soul

in whom a noble genius made itself felt, deprived of his rights, while
the younger, hard and brutal, without talent, even military talent,

was chosen to wear the ducal coronet and perpetuate the family? The
house of Herouville was discarding its own glory. Incapable of anger

the gentle Jeanne de Saint-Savin could only bless and weep, but often
she raised her eyes to heaven, asking it to account for this singular

doom. Those eyes filled with tears when she thought that at her death
her cherished child would be wholly orphaned and left exposed to the

brutalities of a brother without faith or conscience.
Such emotions repressed, a first love unforgotten, so many sorrows

ignored and hidden within her,--for she kept her keenest sufferings
from her cherished child,--her joys embittered, her griefs unrelieved,

all these shocks had weakened the springs of life and were developing
in her system a slow consumption which day by day was gathering

greater force. A last blow hastened it. She tried to warn the duke as
to the results of Maximilien's education, and was repulsed; she saw

that she could give no remedy to the shocking seeds which were
germinating in the soul of her second child. From this moment began a

period of decline which soon became so visible as to bring about the
appointment of Beauvouloir to the post of physician to the house of

Herouville and the government of Normandy.
The former bonesetter came to live at the castle. In those days such

posts belonged to learned men, who thus gained a living and the
leisure necessary for a studious life and the accomplishment of

scientific work. Beauvouloir had for some time desired the situation,
because his knowledge and his fortune had won him numerous bitter

enemies. In spite of the protection of a great family to whom he had
done great services, he had recently been implicated in a criminal

case, and the intervention of the Governor of Normandy, obtained by
the duchess, had alone saved him from being brought to trial. The duke

had no reason to repent this protection given to the old bonesetter.
Beauvouloir saved the life of the Marquis de Saint-Sever in so

dangerous an illness that any other physician would have failed in
doing so. But the wounds of the duchess were too deep-seated and dated

too far back to be cured, especially as they were constantly kept open
in her home. When her sufferings warned this angel of many sorrows

that her end was approaching, death was hastened by the gloomy
apprehensions that filled her mind as to the future.

"What will become of my poor child without me?" was a thought renewed
every hour like a bitter tide.