must wear? But even an old fool sees things sometimes. Thus, I have
seen that Madame, who had once plenty of money to play with, and longs,
poor dear, for the fine things of life, is very anxious that her
Juliette should make a good marriage. I have seen, too, that she has
thought of you, whom she thinks much richer than you are, as a good
match for Juliette, and has done her best to make Juliette think as she
does, all of which is quite natural in her, and indeed, praiseworthy,
especially if she likes and respects the young man. But, my boy, it is
the greatest nonsense. To begin with, you do not, and never will, care
for Juliette, and she does not, and never will, care for you. Your
natures, ah! they are quite different. You have something big in the
you, and Juliette--well, she has not. Marriage with her would be for
you a misery, and for Juliette a misery also, since what have you in
common? Besides, even if it were otherwise, do you think I would allow
such a thing, with you so young and in my charge? Bah! be good friends
with that pretty girl, and go hunt for flowers with her as much as you
like, for nothing will ever come of it. Only, bet no more in kisses,
for they are dangerous, and sparks sometimes set fire to haystacks."

"Indeed, I will not," exclaimed Godfrey with fervour.

"There, then, that trouble is finished." (Here, although he did not
know it, the Pasteur was mistaken.) "And now, as to the rest of this
letter. It is malignant, malignant, and its writer will always seek to
do you ill, and perhaps, sometimes succeed. It is the price which you
must pay for having mixed with such a person who mixes with the devil,
though that was no fault of yours, my boy. Still, always, always in the
world we are suffering from the faults of others. It is a law, the law
of vicarious sacrifice, which runs through everything, why, we do not
know. Still, be not afraid, for it is you who will win at the last, not
she. For the rest, soon you will go away from here, since the year for
which you came is almost finished, and you must turn your mind to the
bigger life. I pray you when you do, not to forget me, for, my boy, I,
who have no son, have learned to love you like a son, better perhaps,
than had you been one, since often I have observed that it is not
always fathers and sons that love each other most, frequently the other
way, indeed.

"Also I pray another thing of you--that if you think I have any wisdom,
or any little