he overtook Norbert de Varenne, who was also leaving. The old
poet took him by the arm. No longer having to fear any rivalry as
regards the paper, their work being essentially different, he now
manifested a fatherly kindness towards the young fellow.

"Well, will you walk home a bit of my way with me?" said he.

"With pleasure, my dear master," replied Duroy.

And they went out, walking slowly along the Boulevard Malesherbes. Paris
was almost deserted that night--a cold night--one of those nights that
seem vaster, as it were, than others, when the stars seem higher above,
and the air seems to bear on its icy breath something coming from
further than even the stars. The two men did not speak at first. Then
Duroy, in order to say something, remarked: "Monsieur Laroche Mathieu
seems very intelligent and well informed."

The old poet murmured: "Do you think so?"

The young fellow, surprised at this remark, hesitated in replying: "Yes;
besides, he passes for one of the most capable men in the Chamber."

"It is possible. In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man is king.
All these people are commonplace because their mind is shut in between
two walls, money and politics. They are dullards, my dear fellow, with
whom it is impossible to talk about anything we care for. Their minds
are at the bottom mud, or rather sewage; like the Seine Asnieres. Ah!
how difficult it is to find a man with breadth of thought, one who
causes you the same sensation as the breeze from across the broad ocean
one breathes on the seashore. I have known some such; they are dead."

Norbert de Varenne spoke with a clear but restrained voice, which would
have rung out in the silence of the night had he given it rein. He
seemed excited and sad, and went on: "What matter, besides, a little

more or less talent, since all must come to an end."

He was silent, and Duroy, who felt light hearted that evening, said with
a smile: "You are gloomy to-day, dear master."

The poet replied: "I am always so, my lad, so will you be in a few
years. Life is a hill. As long as one is climbing up one looks towards
the summit and is happy, but when one reaches the top one suddenly
perceives the descent before one, and its bottom, which is death. One
climbs up slowly, but one goes down quickly. At your age a man is happy.
He hopes for many things, which, by the way, never come to pass. At
mine, one no longer expects anything--but death."

Duroy began to laugh: "Y