im with loving tenderness to the last.
At the graveside in Pere Lachaise, Eugene and Christophe were the only
mourners; Bianchon's duties detained him at the hospital. When the body
of Old Goriot was lowered into the earth, the clergy recited a short
prayer--all that could be given for the student's money. The pall of
night was falling; the mist struck a chill on Eugene's nerves, and when
he took a last glance at the shell containing all that was mortal of his
old friend, he buried the last tear of his young manhood--a tear drawn
by a sacred emotion from a pure heart.

Eugene wandered to the most elevated part of the cemetery, whence he
surveyed that portion of the city between the Place Vendome and the dome
of the Invalides, where lives that world of fashion which he had
hungered to penetrate. With bitterness he muttered: "Now there is
relentless war between us." And as the first act of defiance which he
had sworn against society, Rastignac went to dine with Madame Nucingen!

* * * * *

The Magic Skin

In no other work is the special quality of Balzac's genius
displayed so completely as in "La Peau de Chagrin," which we
render as "The Magic Skin." Published in 1831, it is the
earliest in date of his veritable masterpieces, and the finest
in conception. There is no novel more soberly true to life
than this strange fairy tale. His hero, the Marquis de
Valentin, is a young aristocrat of the Byronic type. He
rejects the simple joys and stern realities of human
existence; he wants more than life can give. He gets what he
wants. He obtains a magic skin which enables him to fulfil his
every wish. But in so doing he uses up his vital powers. Such
is the idea which makes this fantastic story a profound
philosophical study.

_I.--The Seal of Solomon_

On a dull morning towards the end of October, 1830, a tall, pale, and
rather handsome young man came to the Pont Royal, and leaned over the
bridge, and gazed with wild and yet resolute eyes at the swirling waters
below. Just as he was preparing to leap down, a ragged old woman passed
by.

"Wretched weather for drowning oneself, isn't it?" she said, with a
grin. "How cold and dirty the Seine looks!"

The young man turned and smiled at her in the delirium of his courage.
Then, suddenly he shuddered. On a shed by the Tuileries he saw, written
in large letters: "Help for