nfusion at thus having
betrayed himself into a reference to his past. 'None have the right to
question me on these things.'

'A student enrolled with his due title,' suggested the wily Abbe,
'would at once stand independent of all generous interpretation.'

'You will learn no more from _me_, Monsieur l'Abbe,' said the youth
disdainfully. 'I shall not seek to prove a rank from which I ask to
derive no advantage. They called me t'other day, at the tribunal, a
"vagabond": that is the only title the law of Tuscany gives me.'

The Abbe, with a tact skilled to overcome far greater difficulties,
strove to allay the youth's irritation, and smooth down the asperity
which recent illness, as well as temperament, excited, and at last
succeeded so far that Gerald seated himself at his side, and listened
calmly to the plan which the Marquise had formed for his future life. At
some length, and with a degree of address that deprived the subject
of anything that could alarm the jealous susceptibility of the boy's
nature, the Abbe related that a custom prevailed in certain great houses
(whose alliances with royalty favoured the privilege) of attaching to
their household young cadets of noble families, who served in a capacity
similar to that of courtier to the person of the king. They were
'gentlemen of the presence,' pages or equerries, as their age or
pretensions decided; and, in fact, from the followers of such houses
as the De Rohan, the Noailles, the Tavannes, and the Bauffre-mont, did
royalty itself recruit its personal attendants. Monsieur de Girardon was
too shrewd a reader of character not to perceive that any description
of the splendours and fascinations of a life of voluptuous ease would
be less captivating to such a youth than a picture of a career full of
incident and adventure, and so he dwelt almost exclusively on all that
such a career could offer of high ambition, the army being chiefly
officered by the private influence of the great families of France.

'You will thus,' said he, at the close of a clever description; 'you
will thus, at the very threshold of life, enjoy what the luckiest rarely
attain till later on--the choice of what road you will take. If the
splendour of a court life attract you, you can be a courtier; if the
ambitions of statesmanship engross your mind, you are sure of office; if
you aspire to military glory, here is your shortest road to it; or if,'
said he, with a graceful melancholy, 'you can s