fortune so pitilessly refused to the unknown
writer. This sudden change in his position made no change in Daniel
d'Arthez's habits; he continued to work with a simplicity worthy of
the antique past, and even assumed new toils by accepting a seat in the
Chamber of Deputies, where he took his seat on the Right.

Since his accession to fame he had sometimes gone into society. One of
his old friends, the now-famous physician, Horace Bianchon, persuaded
him to make the acquaintance of the Baron de Rastignac, under-secretary
of State, and a friend of de Marsay, the prime minister. These two
political officials acquiesced, rather nobly, in the strong wish of
d'Arthez, Bianchon, and other friends of Michel Chrestien for the
removal of the body of that republican to the church of Saint-Merri for
the purpose of giving it funeral honors. Gratitude for a service which
contrasted with the administrative rigor displayed at a time when
political passions were so violent, had bound, so to speak, d'Arthez to
Rastignac. The latter and de Marsay were much too clever not to profit
by that circumstance; and thus they won over other friends of Michel
Chrestien, who did not share his political opinions, and who now
attached themselves to the new government. One of them, Leon Giraud,
appointed in the first instance master of petitions, became eventually a
Councillor of State.

The whole existence of Daniel d'Arthez is consecrated to work; he sees
society only by snatches; it is to him a sort of dream. His house is a
convent, where he leads the life of a Benedictine; the same sobriety of
regimen, the same regularity of occupation. His friends knew that up to
the present time woman had been to him no more than an always dreaded
circumstance; he had observed her too much not to fear her; but by dint
of studying her he had ceased to understand her,--like, in this, to
those deep strategists who are always beaten on unexpected ground,
where their scientific axioms are either modified or contradicted. In
character he still remains a simple-hearted child, all the while
proving himself an observer of the first rank. This contrast, apparently
impossible, is explainable to those who know how to measure the depths
which separate faculties from feelings; the former proceed from the
head, the latter from the heart. A man can be a great man and a wicked
one, just as he can be a fool and a devoted lover. D'Arthez is one of
those privileged beings in whom shr