show my face again."

"Admirable! The Provinces are not devoid of sprightliness!" dryly
replied Madame Emile de Girardin.

That was enough. I was weighed in the balance and found sadly wanting by
an ill-natured remark _plus_ and a duchess _minus_. Fifteen minutes
afterwards we took leave of Madame de Girardin. She gave Monsieur Jules
Sandeau a fraternal and virile shake of the hand in the English style; I
received only a very cold and very dry nod, which was as much as to
say,--"You are an ill-bred fellow and a fool; I have no fancy for you;
return here as rarely as possible."

Soon after this memorable evening, Monsieur Jules Sandeau's friendly
offices acquainted literary circles that a young man of the best
society, devoted to literature, the author of some remarkable sketches
in the newspapers and reviews, was about to appear as the literary
critic of "L'Assemblee Nationale," the well-known dally newspaper, which
has been since suppressed by the government. A month afterwards my
signature might have been read at the foot of a _feuilleton_ of fifteen
columns. About the same period of time a fashionable publisher brought
out a volume of tales by me. This was my literary honey-moon. I was
astonished at the number of friends and admirers that rose on every side
of me. I could scarcely restrain myself from parodying Alceste's
phrase,--"Really, Gentlemen, I did not think myself the fellow of
talents I find I am!" But, of all surprises, the human heart finds this
the easiest to grow accustomed to. I soon found it perfectly natural
that people should look upon me as a genius, and I ingenuously
reproached myself for not having sooner made the discovery. Everybody
praised my little book as if it were a masterpiece. I might have made a
volume with the packets of praises sent to me; but I must add, for
truth's sake, that most of my panegyrists took care to slip under the
envelope which covered their letter of praise a volume of their works. I
have kept several of these letters. Here are copies of three of them.

"Sir,--Your appearance among us is an honor in which every
literary man feels he has a share. You will regenerate criticism,
as you have purified novel-writing. One becomes better as he reads
your works, and feels an irresistible desire to do better that he
may be more worthy of your esteem. The days your criticisms appear
are our red-letter days, and every line you give our poor little
bo