led her mind with vulgar prejudices, shrunk her
imagination, and converted her heart into a sort of organ, limited to
fulfilling its function of physical balance wheel. You might say that
she had holy water in her veins instead of blood. She received her
cousin with an icy reserve; and he lost his time whenever he attempted
to touch the chord of her recollections--recollections of the time when
they had sketched out that flirtation in the Paul-and-Virginia style
which is traditional between cousins of different sexes. Still Rodolphe
was very much in love with his cousin Angela, who couldn't bear him; and
learning one day that the young lady was going shortly to the wedding
ball of one of her friends, he made bold to promise Angela a bouquet of
violets for the ball. And after asking permission of her father, Angela
accepted her cousin's gallant offer--always on condition that the
violets should be white.

Overjoyed at his cousin's amiability, Rodolphe danced and sang his way
back to Mount St. Bernard, as he called his lodging--why will be seen
presently. As he passed by a florist's in crossing the Palais Royal, he
saw some white violets in the showcase, and was curious enough to ask
their price. A presentable bouquet could not be had for less than ten
francs; there were some that cost more.

"The deuce!" exclaimed Rodolphe, "ten francs! and only eight days to
find this fortune! It will be a hard pull, but never mind, my cousin
shall have her flowers."

This happened in the time of Rodolphe's literary genesis, as the
transcendentalists would say. His only income at that period was an
allowance of fifteen francs a month, made him by a friend, who, after
living a long while in Paris as a poet, had, by the help of influential
acquaintances, gained the mastership of a provincial school. Rodolphe,
who was the child of prodigality, always spent his allowance in four
days; and, not choosing to abandon his holy but not very profitable
profession of elegiac poet, lived for the rest of the month on the rare
droppings from the basket of Providence. This long Lent had no terrors
for him; he passed through it gaily, thanks to his stoical temperament
and to the imaginary treasures which he expended every day while
waiting for the first of the month, that Easter which terminated his
fast. He lived at this time at the very top of one of the loftiest
houses in Paris. His room was shaped like a belvidere, and was a
delicious habitation