the situation is more rare
than people imagine--all on one side and nothing on the other is a
determining cause for association. So, without any reckoning between
them, our two pigeons held in common their purse, their earnings, their
pains, pleasures, hopes, in fact, they held all things in common, and
lived but one life between the two. This state of things lasted till
Dorlange had won the Grand Prix, and started for Rome. Henceforth
community of interests was no longer possible. But Dorlange, still
receiving an ample income through his mysterious dwarf, bethought
himself of making over to Gaston the fifteen hundred francs paid to him
by the government for the "prix de Rome." But a good heart in receiving
is more rare than the good heart that gives. His mind being ulcerated
by constant misfortune Marie-Gaston refused, peremptorily, what pride
insisted on calling _alms_. Work, he said, had been provided for him by
Daniel d'Arthez, one of our greatest writers, and the payment for that,
added to his own small means, sufficed him. This proud rejection, not
properly understood by Dorlange, produced a slight coolness between
the two friends; nevertheless, until the year 1833, their intimacy
was maintained by a constant exchange of letters. But here, on
Marie-Gaston's side, perfect confidence ceased, after a time, to exist.
He was hiding something; his proud determination to depend wholly on
himself was a sad mistake. Each day brought him nearer to penury. At
last, staking all upon one throw, he imprudently involved himself in
journalism. Assuming all the risks of an enterprise which amounted to
thirty thousand francs, a stroke of ill-fortune left him nothing to look
forward to but a debtor's prison, which yawned before him.

It was at this moment that his meeting with Louise de Chaulieu
took place. During the nine months that preceded their marriage,
Marie-Gaston's letters to his friend became fewer and far-between.
Dorlange ought surely to have been the first to know of this change in
the life of his friend, but not one word of it was confided to him.
This was exacted by the high and mighty lady of Gaston's love, Louise de
Chaulieu, Baronne de Macumer.

When the time for the marriage came, Madame de Macumer pushed this mania
for secrecy to extremes. I, her nearest and dearest friend, was scarcely
informed of the event, and no one was admitted to the ceremony
except the witnesses required by law. Dorlange was still absent.