She has given me no encouragement, no sign of
liking me. If she smiled at St. Germain it was because she was surprised
and flattered. If she came near to tears at the Salon it was because she
pitied me. I have not the shadow of a reproach to make her.

That is all I shall ever get from her--a tear, a smile. That's all;
never mind, I shall contrive to live on it. She has been my first love,
and I shall keep her a place in my heart from which no other shall drive
her. I shall now set to work to shut this poor heart which did so wrong
to open.... I thought to be happy to-night, and I am full of sorrow.
Henceforward I think I shall understand Sylvestre better. Our sorrows
will bring us nearer. I will go to see him at once, and will tell him
so.

But first I must write to my uncle to tell him that his nephew is a
Doctor of Law. All the rest, my plans, my whole future can be put off
till to-morrow, or the day after, unless I get disgusted at the very
thought of a future and decide to conjugate my life in the present
indicative only. That is what I feel inclined to do.

May 4th.

Lampron has gone to the country to pass a fortnight in an out-of-the-way
place with an old relative, where he goes into hiding when he wishes to
finish an engraving.

But Madame Lampron was at home. After a little hesitation I told her
all, and I am glad I did so. She found in her simple, womanly heart
just the counsel that I needed. One feels that she is used to giving
consolation. She possesses the secret of that feminine deftness which
is the great set-off to feminine weakness. Weak? Yes, women perhaps are
weak, yet less weak than we, the strong sex, for they can raise us to
our feet. She called me, "My dear Monsieur Fabien," and there was
balm in the very way she said the words. I used to think she wanted
refinement; she does not, she only lacks reading, and lack of reading
may go with the most delicate and lofty feelings. No one ever taught her
certain turns of expression which she used. "If your mother was alive,"
said she, "this is what she would say." And then she spoke to me of God,
who alone can determinate man's trials, either by the end He ordains,
or the resignation He inspires. I felt myself carried with her into
the regions where our sorrows shrink into insignificance as the horizon
broadens around them. And I remember she uttered this fine thought, "See
how my son has suffered! It makes one believe, Monsieu