d down the
room, disdainfully shaking his little head with its low forehead on
which were plastered a few fair curls (made with curling-irons), with
the indignant air of an Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

"Oh, I know very well what is at the bottom of the business--my aunt is
jealous of me because I am a man of ideas. She wishes to be the only
one of the family who possesses any. She thinks of binding me down to a
besotting work," continued he, "but I won't have it. I know what I
want! It is independence of thought, bent on the solution of great
problems--that is, a wide field to apply my discoveries. But a fixed
rule, common law, I could not submit to it."

"It is like the examinations," observed Marechal, looking slyly at
young Desvarennes, who was drawing himself up to his full height;
"examinations never suited you."

"Never," said Savinien, energetically. "They wished to get me into the
Polytechnic School; impossible! Then the Central School; no better. I
astonished the examiners by the novelty of my ideas. They refused me."

"Well, you know," retorted Marechal, "if you began by overthrowing their
theories--"

"That's it!" cried Savinien, triumphantly. "My mind is stronger than I;
I must let my imagination have free run, and no one will ever know what
that particular turn of mind has cost me. Even my family do not think
me serious. Aunt Desvarennes has forbidden any kind of enterprise, under
pretence that I bear her name, and that I might compromise it because I
have twice failed. My aunt paid, it is true. Do you think it is generous
of her to take advantage of my situation, and prohibit my trying to
succeed? Are inventors judged by three or four failures? If my aunt had
allowed me I should have astonished the world."

"She feared, above all," said Marechal, simply, "to see you astonishing
the Tribunal of Commerce."

"Oh! you, too," moaned Savinien, "are in league with my enemies; you
make no account of me."

And young Desvarennes sank as if crushed into an armchair and began to
lament. He was very unhappy at being misunderstood. His aunt allowed him
three thousand francs a month on condition that he would not make use of
his ten fingers. Was it moral? Then he with such exuberant vigor had to
waste it on pleasure and seeing life to the utmost. He passed his time
in theatres, at clubs, restaurants, in boudoirs. He lost his time, his
money, his hair, his illusions. He bemoaned his lot, but contin