sometimes the
hostess noticed the defection of the two young guests, and, holding a
card in each delicate hand, would beckon them to take their place at
the game, which they would do with humble and discomfited faces, like
schoolboys surprised at a forbidden amusement--M. de Petigny, Balzac's
companion, must have been struck by his openness in some respects and
the absolute mystery with which he surrounded himself in others. Where
he lived, what he was doing, what his life was like--all these facts
were hidden from his companion, till he revealed himself at last, on
the verge of his hoped-for triumph. But, on the other hand, the
sentiments and impressions of which M. de Petigny read afterwards in
Balzac's books seemed to him only a pale, distant echo of the rich and
vivid expressions which fell from his lips in these intimate talks.
Magnetism, in which he had a strong faith all his life, was exercising
his thoughts greatly. It was "the irresistible ascendency of mind over
matter, of a strong and immovable will over a soul open to all
impressions."[*] Before long he would have mastered its secrets, and
would be able to compel every man to obey him and every woman to love
him. He had already, he announced, begun to occupy his fixed position
in life, and was on the threshold of a millennium.

[*] Article by M. Jules de Petigny.

Balzac's glimpses of society were, however, rare, and ceased
altogether during the last few months of his stay in the Rue
Lesdiguieres. However, other more satisfying pleasures were his:
"Unspeakable joys are showered on us by the exertion of our mental
faculties; the quest of ideas, and the tranquil contemplation of
knowledge; delights indescribable, because purely intellectual and
impalpable to our senses. So we are obliged to use material terms to
express the mysteries of the soul. The pleasure of striking out in
some lonely lake of clear water, with forests, rocks, and flowers
around, and the soft stirring of the warm breeze--all this would give
to those who knew them not a very faint idea of the exultation with
which my soul bathed itself in the beams of an unknown light,
hearkened to the awful and uncertain voice of inspiration, as vision
upon vision poured from some unknown source through my throbbing
brain."[*]

[*] "La Peau de Chagrin," by Honore de Balzac.

There was another side to the picture, and perhaps in this
description, written in 1830, Balzac has slightly antedated his joy