in a while, to give lessons myself, and then we can keep a servant.'

"I stole away softly, made some noise outside, and went into their
room to take the lamp, that Pauline tried to light for me. The dear

child had just poured soothing balm into my wounds. Her outspoken
admiration had given me fresh courage. I so needed to believe in

myself and to come by a just estimate of my advantages. This revival
of hope in me perhaps colored my surroundings. Perhaps also I had

never before really looked at the picture that so often met my eyes,
of the two women in their room; it was a scene such as Flemish

painters have reproduced so faithfully for us, that I admired in its
delightful reality. The mother, with the kind smile upon her lips, sat

knitting stockings by the dying fire; Pauline was painting hand-
screens, her brushes and paints, strewn over the tiny table, made

bright spots of color for the eye to dwell on. When she had left her
seat and stood lighting my lamp, one must have been under the yoke of

a terrible passion indeed, not to admire her faintly flushed
transparent hands, the girlish charm of her attitude, the ideal grace

of her head, as the lamplight fell full on her pale face. Night and
silence added to the charms of this industrious vigil and peaceful

interior. The light-heartedness that sustained such continuous toil
could only spring from devoutsubmission and the lofty feelings that

it brings.
"There was an indescribableharmony between them and their

possessions. The splendor of Foedora's home did not satisfy; it called
out all my worst instincts; something in this lowly poverty and

unfeigned goodness revived me. It may have been that luxury abased me
in my own eyes, while here my self-respect was restored to me, as I

sought to extend the protection that a man is so eager to make felt,
over these two women, who in the bare simplicity of the existence in

their brown room seemed to live wholly in the feelings of their
hearts. As I came up to Pauline, she looked at me in an almost

motherly way; her hands shook a little as she held the lamp, so that
the light fell on me and cried:

" 'Dieu! how pale you are! and you are wet through! My mother will try
to wipe you dry. Monsieur Raphael,' she went on, after a little pause,

'you are so very fond of milk, and to-night we happen to have some
cream. Here, will you not take some?'

"She pounced like a kitten, on a china bowl full of milk. She did it
so quickly, and put it before me so prettily, that I hesitated.

" 'You are going to refuse me?' she said, and her tones changed.
"The pride in each felt for the other's pride. It was Pauline's

poverty that seemed to humiliate her, and to reproach me with my want
of consideration, and I melted at once and accepted the cream that

might have been meant for her morning's breakfast. The poor child
tried not to show her joy, but her eyes sparkled.

" 'I needed it badly,' I said as I sat down. (An anxious look passed
over her face.) 'Do you remember that passage, Pauline, where Bossuet

tells how God gave more abundantreward for a cup of cold water than
for a victory?'

" 'Yes,' she said, her heart beating like some wild bird's in a
child's hands.

" 'Well, as we shall part very soon, now,' I went on in an unsteady
voice, 'you must let me show my gratitude to you and to your mother

for all the care you have taken of me.'
" 'Oh, don't let us cast accounts,' she said laughing. But her

laughter covered an agitation that gave me pain. I went on without
appearing to hear her words:

" 'My piano is one of Erard's best instruments; and you must take it.
Pray accept it without hesitation; I really could not take it with me

on the journey I am about to make.'
"Perhaps the melancholy tones in which I spoke enlightened the two

women, for they seemed to understand, and eyed me with curiosity and
alarm. Here was the affection that I had looked for in the glacial

regions of the great world, true affection, unostentatious but tender,
and possibly lasting.

" 'Don't take it to heart so,' the mother said; 'stay on here. My
husband is on his way towards us even now,' she went on. 'I looked

into the Gospel of St. John this evening while Pauline hung our door-
key in a Bible from her fingers. The key turned; that means that

Gaudin is in health and doing well. Pauline began again for you and
for the young man in number seven--it turned for you, but not for him.

We are all going to be rich. Gaudin will come back a millionaire. I
dreamed once that I saw him in a ship full of serpents; luckily the

water was rough, and that means gold or precious stones from over-
sea.'

"The silly, friendly words were like the crooning lullaby with which a
mother soothes her sick child; they in a manner calmed me. There was a

pleasant heartiness in the worthy woman's looks and tones, which, if
it could not remove trouble, at any rate soothed and quieted it, and

deadened the pain. Pauline, keener-sighted than her mother, studied me
uneasily; her quick eyes seemed to read my life and my future. I

thanked the mother and daughter by an inclination of the head, and
hurried away; I was afraid I should break down.

"I found myself alone under my roof, and laid myself down in my
misery. My unhappyimagination suggested numberless baseless projects,

and prescribed impossible resolutions. When a man is struggling in the
wreck of his fortunes, he is not quite without resources, but I was

engulfed. Ah, my dear fellow, we are too ready to blame the wretched.
Let us be less harsh on the results of the most powerful of all social

solvents. Where poverty is absolute there exist no such things as
shame or crime, or virtue or intelligence. I knew not what to do; I

was as defenceless as a maiden on her knees before a beast of prey. A
penniless man who has no ties to bind him is master of himself at any

rate, but a luckless wretch who is in love no longer belongs to
himself, and may not take his own life. Love makes us almost sacred in

our own eyes; it is the life of another that we revere within us; then
and so it begins for us the cruelest trouble of all--the misery with a

hope in it, a hope for which we must even bear our torments. I thought
I would go to Rastignac on the morrow to confide Foedora's strange

resolution to him, and with that I slept.
" 'Ah, ha!' cried Rastignac, as he saw me enter his lodging at nine

o'clock in the morning. 'I know what brings you here. Foedora has
dismissed you. Some kind souls, who were jealous of your ascendency

over the countess, gave out that you were going to be married. Heaven
only knows what follies your rivals have equipped you with, and what

slanders have been directed at you.'
" 'That explains everything!' I exclaimed. I remembered all my

presumptuous speeches, and gave the countess credit for no little
magnanimity. It pleased me to think that I was a miscreant who had not

been punished nearly enough, and I saw nothing in her indulgence but
the long-suffering charity of love.

" 'Not quite so fast,' urged the prudent Gascon; 'Foedora has all the
sagacity natural to a profoundlyselfish woman; perhaps she may have

taken your measure while you still coveted only her money and her
splendor; in spite of all your care, she could have read you through

and through. She can dissemble far too well to let any dissimulation
pass undetected. I fear,' he went on, 'that I have brought you into a

bad way. In spite of her cleverness and her tact, she seems to me a
domineering sort of person, like every woman who can only feel

pleasure through her brain. Happiness for her lies entirely in a
comfortable life and in social pleasures; her sentiment is only

assumed; she will make you miserable; you will be her head footman.'
"He spoke to the deaf. I broke in upon him, disclosing, with an

affectation of light-heartedness, the state of my finances.
" 'Yesterday evening,' he rejoined, 'luck ran against me, and that

carried off all my available cash. But for that trivialmishap, I
would gladly have shared my purse with you. But let us go and

breakfast at the restaurant; perhaps there is good counsel in
oysters.'

"He dressed, and had his tilbury brought round. We went to the Cafe de
Paris like a couple of millionaires, armed with all the audacious

impertinence of the speculator whose capital is imaginary. That devil
of a Gascon quite disconcerted me by the coolness of his manners and

his absolute self-possession. While we were taking coffee after an
excellent and well-ordered repast, a young dandy entered, who did not

escape Rastignac. He had been nodding here and there among the crowd
to this or that young man, distinguished both by personal attractions

and elegantattire, and now he said to me:
" 'Here's your man,' as he beckoned to this gentleman with a wonderful