lowing as it blows outside, and
making the candle flicker, the only light that shone upon that vigil of
a penniless recluse, reflected upon scattered sheets all covered with
writing,--in a word, that atmosphere of inhabited cells wherein the
very soul of the inhabitants exhales,--enabled de Gery to comprehend at
once the impassioned Andre Maranne, his long hair thrown back and
flying in the wind, his somewhat eccentric appearance, very excusable
when one pays for it with a life of suffering and privations; and his
sympathy instantly went out to the courageous youth, whose militant
pride he fully divined at a single glance. But the other was too
excited to notice this transition. As soon as the door was closed, he
said, with the accent of a stage hero addressing the perjured seducer:

"Monsieur de Gery, I am not a Cassandra yet." And, as he observed his
interlocutor's unbounded amazement, he added: "Yes, yes, we understand
each other. I see perfectly clearly what attracts you to M. Joyeuse's,
nor has the warm welcome you receive there escaped me. You are rich,
you are of noble birth, no one can hesitate between you and the poor
poet who carries on an absurd trade in order to gain time to attain
success, which will never come perhaps. But I won't allow my happiness
to be stolen from me. We will fight, monsieur, we will fight," he
repeated, excited by his rival's unruffled tranquillity. "I have loved
Mademoiselle Joyeuse a long while. That love is the aim, the joy, and
the strength of a very hard life, painful in many respects. I have
nothing but that in the world, and I should prefer to die rather than
to renounce it."

What a strange combination is the human heart! Paul was not in love
with the charming Aline. His whole heart belonged to another. He
thought of her simply as a friend, the most adorable of friends. And
yet the idea that Maranne was thinking of her, that she undoubtedly
responded to his lover-like attentions, caused him a thrill of jealous
anger, and his tone was very sharp when he asked if Mademoiselle
Joyeuse were aware of this feeling of Andre's and had in any way
authorized him to proclaim his rights.

"Yes, monsieur, Mademoiselle Elise knows that I love her, and before
your frequent visits--"

"Elise--is it Elise you're talking about?"

"Why, who should it be, pray? The other two are too young."

He entered thoroughly into the traditions of the family. In his eyes
Grandmamma's twenty years, her