nnot understand me," he said, setting
himself apart from his sister and mother and David, now that they could
no longer be deceived as to his real character and his future.

Many troubles and shocks of fortune had quickened the intuitive sense
in both the women. Eve and Mme. Chardon guessed the thoughts in Lucien's
inmost soul; they felt that he misjudged them; they saw him mentally
isolating himself.

"Paris has changed him very much," they said between themselves. They
were indeed reaping the harvest of egoism which they themselves had
fostered.

It was inevitable but that the leaven should work in all three; and this
most of all in Lucien, because he felt that he was so heavily to blame.
As for Eve, she was just the kind of sister to beg an erring brother to
"Forgive me for your trespasses;" but when the union of two souls had
been as perfect since life's very beginnings, as it had been with Eve
and Lucien, any blow dealt to that fair ideal is fatal. Scoundrels can
draw knives on each other and make it up again afterwards, while a look
or a word is enough to sunder two lovers for ever. In the recollection
of an almost perfect life of heart and heart lies the secret of many an
estrangement that none can explain. Two may live together without full
trust in their hearts if only their past holds no memories of complete
and unclouded love; but for those who once have known that intimate
life, it becomes intolerable to keep perpetual watch over looks and
words. Great poets know this; Paul and Virginie die before youth is
over; can we think of Paul and Virginie estranged? Let us know that, to
the honor of Lucien and Eve, the grave injury done was not the source of
the pain; it was entirely a matter of feeling upon either side, for the
poet in fault, as for the sister who was in no way to blame. Things
had reached the point when the slightest misunderstanding, or little
quarrel, or a fresh disappointment in Lucien would end in final
estrangement. Money difficulties may be arranged, but feelings are
inexorable.

Next day Lucien received a copy of the local paper. He turned pale with
pleasure when he saw his name at the head of one of the first "leaders"
in that highly respectable sheet, which like the provincial academies
that Voltaire compared to a well-bred miss, was never talked about.

"Let Franche-Comte boast of giving the light to Victor Hugo, to
Charles Nodier, and Cuvier," ran the article, "Brittany of
p