igars, and his cab-fares when he is late.

Maxence was neither better nor worse than the rest. Like the rest
he strove to discover the ideal profession which makes a man rich,
and amuses him at the same time.

Under the pretext that he drew nicely, he spoke of becoming a painter,
calculating coolly what painting may yield, and reckoning, according
to some newspaper, the earnings of Corot or Geroine, Ziem, Bouguereau,
and some others, who are reaping at last the fruits of unceasing
efforts and crushing labors.

But, in the way of pictures, M. Vincent Favoral appreciated only the
blue vignettes of the Bank of France.

"I wish no artists in my family," he said, in a tone that admitted
of no reply.

Maxence would willingly have become an engineer, for it's rather
the style to be an engineer now-a-days; but the examinations for
the Polytechnic School are rather steep. Or else a cavalry officer;
but the two years at Saint Cyr are not very gay. Or chief clerk,
like M. Desormeaux; but he would have to begin by being supernumerary.

Finally after hesitating for a long time between law and medicine,
he made up his mind to become a lawyer, influenced above all, by
the joyous legends of the Latin quarter.

That was not exactly M. Vincent Favoral's dream.

"That's going to cost money again," he growled.

The fact is, he had indulged in the fallacious hope that his son,
as soon as he left college, would enter at once some business-house,
where he would earn enough to take care of himself.

He yielded at last, however, to the persistent entreaties of his
wife, and the solicitations of his friends.

"Be it so," he said to Maxence: "you will study law. Only, as it
cannot suit me that you should waste your days lounging in the
billiard-rooms of the left bank, you shall at the same time work
in an attorney's office. Next Saturday I shall arrange with my
friend Chapelain."

Maxence had not bargained for such an arrangement; and he came near
backing out at the prospect of a discipline which he foresaw must
be as exacting as that of the college.

Still, as he could think of nothing better, he persevered. And,
vacations over, he was duly entered at the law-school, and settled
at a desk in M. Chapelain's office, which was then in the Rue St.
Antoine.

The first year every thing went on tolerably. He enjoyed as much
freedom as he cared to. His father did not allow him one centime
for his pocket-money; but the attorney