stiff for Silvere to throw himself on her neck.
Thus they lived together amidst melancholy silence, in the depths of
which they felt the tremor of boundless love.

The sad, solemn atmosphere, which he had breathed from childhood, gave
Silvere a strong heart, in which gathered every form of enthusiasm. He
early became a serious, thoughtful little man, seeking instruction with
a kind of stubbornness. He only learnt a little spelling and arithmetic
at the school of the Christian Brothers, which he was compelled to leave
when he was but twelve years old, on account of his apprenticeship. He
never acquired the first rudiments of knowledge. However, he read all
the odd volumes which fell into his hands, and thus provided himself
with strange equipment; he had some notions of a multitude of subjects,
ill-digested notions, which he could never classify distinctly in his
head. When he was quite young, he had been in the habit of playing in
the workshop of a master wheelwright, a worthy man named Vian, who lived
at the entrance of the blind-alley in front of the Aire Saint-Mittre
where he stored his timber. Silvere used to jump up on the wheels of the
tilted carts undergoing repair, and amuse himself by dragging about
the heavy tools which his tiny hands could scarcely lift. One of his
greatest pleasures, too, was to assist the workmen by holding some piece
of wood for them, or bringing them the iron-work which they required.
When he had grown older he naturally became apprenticed to Vian. The
latter had taken a liking to the little fellow who was always kicking
about his heels, and asked Adelaide to let him come, refusing to take
anything for his board and lodging. Silvere eagerly accepted, already
foreseeing the time when he would be able to make his poor aunt Dide
some return for all she had spent upon him.

In a short time he became an excellent workman. He cherished, however,
much higher ambitions. Having once seen, at a coachbuilder's at
Plassans, a fine new carriage, shining with varnish, he vowed that he
would one day build carriages himself. He remembered this carriage as
a rare and unique work of art, an ideal towards which his aspirations
should tend. The tilted carts at which he worked in Vian's shop, those
carts which he had lovingly cherished, now seemed unworthy of his
affections. He began to attend the local drawing-school, where he formed
a connection with a youngster who had left college, and who lent him an
o