,”
said
the
Count
,
expanding
his
fine
chest
and
laughing
exultingly
.
“
He
married
,
en
secondes
noces
,
a
lady
of
still
higher
birth
than
the
first
,
and
with
a
much
larger
dot
.
Louise
was
indignant
at
this
,
hated
her
stepmother
;
and
when
a
son
was
born
by
the
second
marriage
she
left
the
paternal
roof
,
went
to
reside
with
an
old
female
relative
near
the
Luxembourg
,
and
there
married
this
drawing-master
.
Her
father
and
the
family
did
all
they
could
to
prevent
it
;
but
in
these
democratic
days
a
woman
who
has
attained
her
majority
can
,
if
she
persist
in
her
determination
,
marry
to
please
herself
and
disgrace
her
ancestors
.
After
that
mesalliance
her
father
never
would
see
her
again
.
I
tried
in
vain
to
soften
him
.
All
his
parental
affections
settled
on
his
handsome
Victor
.
“
Ah
!
you
are
too
young
to
have
known
Victor
de
Mauleon
during
his
short
reign
at
Paris
,
as
roi
des
viveurs
.
”
“
Yes
,
he
was
before
my
time
;
but
I
have
heard
of
him
as
a
young
man
of
great
fashion
;
said
to
be
very
clever
,
a
duellist
,
and
a
sort
of
Don
Juan
.
”
“
Exactly
.
”
“
And
then
I
remember
vaguely
to
have
heard
that
he
committed
,
or
was
said
to
have
committed
,
some
villanous
action
connected
with
a
great
lady’s
jewels
,
and
to
have
left
Paris
in
consequence
.
”
“
Ah
,
yes
;
a
sad
scrape
.
At
that
time
there
was
a
political
crisis
;
we
were
under
a
Republic
;
anything
against
a
noble
was
believed
.
But
I
am
sure
Victor
de
Mauleon
was
not
the
man
to
commit
a
larceny
.
However
,
it
is
quite
true
that
he
left
Paris
,
and
I
don’t
know
what
has
become
of
him
since
.
”
Here
he
touched
De
Breze
,
who
,
though
still
near
,
had
not
been
listening
to
this
conversation
,
but
interchanging
jest
and
laughter
with
Lemercier
on
the
motley
scene
of
the
dance
.
“
De
Breze
,
have
you
ever
heard
what
became
of
poor
dear
Victor
de
Mauleon
?
—
you
knew
him
.
”
“
Knew
him
?
I
should
think
so
.
Who
could
be
in
the
great
world
and
not
know
le
beau
Victor
?
No
;
after
he
vanished
I
never
heard
more
of
him
;
doubtless
long
since
dead
.
A
good-hearted
fellow
in
spite
of
all
his
sins
.
”
“
My
dear
Monsieur
de
Breze
,
did
you
know
his
half-sister
?
”
asked
Graham
,
—
“
a
Madame
Duval
?
”
“
No.
I
never
heard
he
had
a
half-sister
.
Halt
there
;
I
recollect
that
I
met
Victor
once
,
in
the
garden
at
Versailles
,
walking
arm-in-arm
with
the
most
beautiful
girl
I
ever
saw
;
and
when
I
complimented
him
afterwards
at
the
Jockey
Club
on
his
new
conquest
,
he
replied
very
gravely
that
the
young
lady
was
his
niece
.
‘Niece
!
’
said
I
;
‘why
,
there
can’t
be
more
than
five
or
six
years
between
you.’
‘About
that
,
I
suppose
,
’
said
he
;
‘my
half-sister
,
her
mother
,
was
more
than
twenty
years
older
than
I
at
the
time
of
my
birth.’
I
doubted
the
truth
of
his
story
at
the
time
;
but
since
you
say
he
really
had
a
sister
,
my
doubt
wronged
him
.
”
“
Have
you
never
seen
that
same
young
lady
since
?
”
“
Never
.
”
“
How
many
years
ago
was
this
?
”
“
Let
me
see
,
about
twenty
or
twenty-one
years
ago
.
How
time
flies
!
”
Graham
still
continued
to
question
,
but
could
learn
no
further
particulars
.
He
turned
to
quit
the
gardens
just
as
the
band
was
striking
up
for
a
fresh
dance
,
a
wild
German
waltz
air
;
and
mingled
with
that
German
music
his
ear
caught
the
sprightly
sounds
of
the
French
laugh
,
one
laugh
distinguished
from
the
rest
by
a
more
genuine
ring
of
light-hearted
joy
,
the
laugh
that
he
had
heard
on
entering
the
gardens
,
and
the
sound
of
which
had
then
saddened
him
.
Looking
towards
the
quarter
from
which
it
came
,
he
again
saw
the
“
Ondine
of
Paris
.
”
She
was
not
now
the
centre
of
a
group
.
She
had
just
found
Gustave
Rameau
,
and
was
clinging
to
his
arm
with
a
look
of
happiness
in
her
face
,
frank
and
innocent
as
a
child’s
;
and
so
they
passed
amid
the
dancers
down
a
solitary
lamplit
alley
,
till
lost
to
the
Englishman’s
lingering
gaze
.
CHAPTER
X
.
The
next
morning
Graham
sent
again
for
M
.
Renard
.
“
Well
,
”
he
cried
,
when
that
dignitary
appeared
and
took
a
seat
beside
him
,
“
chance
has
favoured
me
.
”
“
I
always
counted
on
chance
,
Monsieur
.
Chance
has
more
wit
in
its
little
finger
than
the
Paris
police
in
its
whole
body
.
”
“
I
have
ascertained
the
relations
,
on
the
mother’s
side
,
of
Louise
Duval
,
and
the
only
question
is
how
to
get
at
them
.
”
Here
Graham
related
what
he
had
heard
,
and
ended
by
saying
,
“
This
Victor
de
Mauleon
is
therefore
my
Louise
Duval’s
uncle
.
He
was
,
no
doubt
,
taking
charge
of
her
in
the
year
that
the
persons
interested
in
her
discovery
lost
sight
of
her
in
Paris
;
and
surely
he
must
know
what
became
of
her
afterwards
.
”
“
Very
probably
;
and
chance
may
befriend
us
yet
in
the
discovery
of
Victor
de
Mauleon
.
You
seem
not
to
know
the
particulars
of
that
story
about
the
jewels
which
brought
him
into
some
connection
with
the
police
,
and
resulted
in
his
disappearance
from
Paris
.
”
“
No
;
tell
me
the
particulars
.
”
“
Victor
de
Mauleon
was
heir
to
some
60
,
000
or
70
,
000
francs
a
year
,
chiefly
on
the
mother’s
side
;
for
his
father
,
though
the
representative
of
one
of
the
most
ancient
houses
in
Normandy
,
was
very
poor
,
having
little
of
his
own
except
the
emoluments
of
an
appointment
in
the
Court
of
Louis
Philippe
.
“
But
before
,
by
the
death
of
his
parents
,
Victor
came
into
that
inheritance
,
he
very
largely
forestalled
it
.
His
tastes
were
magnificent
.
He
took
to
‘sport
,
’
kept
a
famous
stud
,
was
a
great
favourite
with
the
English
,
and
spoke
their
language
fluently
.
Indeed
he
was
considered
very
accomplished
,
and
of
considerable
intellectual
powers
.
It
was
generally
said
that
some
day
or
other
,
when
he
had
sown
his
wild
oats
,
he
would
,
if
he
took
to
politics
,
be
an
eminent
man
.
Altogether
he
was
a
very
strong
creature
.
That
was
a
very
strong
age
under
Louis
Philippe
.
The
viveurs
of
Paris
were
fine
types
for
the
heroes
of
Dumas
and
Sue
,
—
full
of
animal
life
and
spirits
.
Victor
de
Mauleon
was
a
romance
of
Dumas
,
incarnated
.
”
“
Monsieur
Renard
,
forgive
me
that
I
did
not
before
do
justice
to
your
taste
in
polite
literature
.
”
“
Monsieur
,
a
man
in
my
profession
does
not
attain
even
to
my
humble
eminence
if
he
be
not
something
else
than
a
professional
.
He
must
study
mankind
wherever
they
are
described
,
even
in
les
romans
.
To
return
to
Victor
de
Mauleon
.
Though
he
was
a
‘sportman
,
’
a
gambler
,
a
Don
Juan
,
a
duel
list
,
nothing
was
ever
said
against
his
honour
.
On
the
contrary
,
on
matters
of
honour
he
was
a
received
oracle
;
and
even
though
he
had
fought
several
duels
(
that
was
the
age
of
duels
)
,
and
was
reported
without
a
superior
,
almost
without
an
equal
,
in
either
weapon
,
the
sword
or
the
pistol
,
he
is
said
never
to
have
wantonly
provoked
an
encounter
,
and
to
have
so
used
his
skill
that
he
contrived
never
to
slay
,
nor
even
gravely
to
wound
,
an
antagonist
.
“
I
remember
one
instance
of
his
generosity
in
this
respect
;
for
it
was
much
talked
of
at
the
time
.
One
of
your
countrymen
,
who
had
never
handled
a
fencing-foil
nor
fired
a
pistol
,
took
offence
at
something
M
.
de
Mauleon
had
said
in
disparagement
of
the
Duke
of
Wellington
,
and
called
him
out
.
Victor
de
Mauleon
accepted
the
challenge
,
discharged
his
pistol
,
not
in
the
air
—
that
might
have
been
an
affront
—
but
so
as
to
be
wide
of
the
mark
,
walked
up
to
the
lines
to
be
shot
at
,
and
when
missed
,
said
,
‘Excuse
the
susceptibility
of
a
Frenchman
loath
to
believe
that
his
countryman
can
be
beaten
save
by
accident
,
and
accept
every
apology
one
gentleman
can
make
to
another
for
having
forgotten
the
respect
due
to
one
of
the
most
renowned
of
your
national
heroes.’
The
Englishman’s
name
was
Vane
.
Could
it
have
been
your
father
?
”
“
Very
probably
;
just
like
my
father
to
call
out
any
man
who
insulted
the
honour
of
his
country
,
as
represented
by
its
men
.
I
hope
the
two
combatants
became
friends
?
”
“
That
I
never
heard
;
the
duel
was
over
;
there
my
story
ends
.
”
“
Pray
go
on
.
”
“
One
day
—
it
was
in
the
midst
of
political
events
which
would
have
silenced
most
subjects
of
private
gossip
—
the
beau
monde
was
startled
by
the
news
that
the
Vicomte
(
he
was
then
,
by
his
father’s
death
,
Vicomte
)
de
Mauleon
had
been
given
into
the
custody
of
the
police
on
the
charge
of
stealing
the
jewels
of
the
Duchesse
de
(
the
wife
of
a
distinguished
foreigner
)
.
It
seems
that
some
days
before
this
event
,
the
Duc
,
wishing
to
make
Madame
his
spouse
an
agreeable
surprise
,
had
resolved
to
have
a
diamond
necklace
belonging
to
her
,
and
which
was
of
setting
so
old-fashioned
that
she
had
not
lately
worn
it
,
reset
for
her
birthday
.
He
therefore
secretly
possessed
himself
of
the
key
to
an
iron
safe
in
a
cabinet
adjoining
her
dressing-room
(
in
which
safe
her
more
valuable
jewels
were
kept
)
,
and
took
from
it
the
necklace
.
Imagine
his
dismay
when
the
jeweller
in
the
Rue
Vivienne
to
whom
he
carried
it
recognized
the
pretended
diamonds
as
imitation
paste
which
he
himself
had
some
days
previously
inserted
into
an
empty
setting
brought
to
him
by
a
Monsieur
with
whose
name
he
was
unacquainted
.
The
Duchesse
was
at
that
time
in
delicate
health
;
and
as
the
Duc’s
suspicions
naturally
fell
on
the
servants
,
especially
on
the
femme
de
chambre
,
who
was
in
great
favour
with
his
wife
,
he
did
not
like
to
alarm
Madame
,
nor
through
her
to
put
the
servants
on
their
guard
.
He
resolved
,
therefore
,
to
place
the
matter
in
the
hands
of
the
famous
—
—
—
—
,
who
was
then
the
pride
and
ornament
of
the
Parisian
police
.
And
the
very
night
afterwards
the
Vicomte
de
Mauleon
was
caught
and
apprehended
in
the
cabinet
where
the
jewels
were
kept
,
and
to
which
he
had
got
access
by
a
false
key
,
or
at
least
a
duplicate
key
,
found
in
his
possession
.
I
should
observe
that
M
.
de
Mauleon
occupied
the
entresol
in
the
same
hotel
in
which
the
upper
rooms
were
devoted
to
the
Duc
and
Duchesse
and
their
suite
.
As
soon
as
this
charge
against
the
Vicomte
was
made
known
(
and
it
was
known
the
next
morning
)
,
the
extent
of
his
debts
and
the
utterness
of
his
ruin
(
before
scarcely
conjectured
or
wholly
unheeded
)
became
public
through
the
medium
of
the
journals
,
and
furnished
an
obvious
motive
for
the
crime
of
which
he
was
accused
.
We
Parisians
,
Monsieur
,
are
subject
to
the
most
startling
reactions
of
feeling
.
The
men
we
adore
one
day
we
execrate
the
next
.
The
Vicomte
passed
at
once
from
the
popular
admiration
one
bestows
on
a
hero
to
the
popular
contempt
with
which
one
regards
a
petty
larcener
.
Society
wondered
how
it
had
ever
condescended
to
receive
into
its
bosom
the
gambler
,
the
duellist
,
the
Don
Juan
.
However
,
one
compensation
in
the
way
of
amusement
he
might
still
afford
to
society
for
the
grave
injuries
he
had
done
it
.
Society
would
attend
his
trial
,
witness
his
demeanour
at
the
bar
,
and
watch
the
expression
of
his
face
when
he
was
sentenced
to
the
galleys
.
But
,
Monsieur
,
this
wretch
completed
the
measure
of
his
iniquities
.
He
was
not
tried
at
all
.
The
Duc
and
Duchesse
quitted
Paris
for
Spain
,
and
the
Duc
instructed
his
lawyer
to
withdraw
his
charge
,
stating
his
conviction
of
the
Vicomte’s
complete
innocence
of
any
other
offence
than
that
which
he
himself
had
confessed
.
”
“
What
did
the
Vicomte
confess
?
You
omitted
to
state
that
.
”
“
The
Vicomte
,
when
apprehended
,
confessed
that
,
smitten
by
an
insane
passion
for
the
Duchesse
,
which
she
had
,
on
his
presuming
to
declare
it
,
met
with
indignant
scorn
,
he
had
taken
advantage
of
his
lodgment
in
the
same
house
to
admit
himself
into
the
cabinet
adjoining
her
dressing-room
by
means
of
a
key
which
he
had
procured
,
made
from
an
impression
of
the
key-hole
taken
in
wax
.
“
No
evidence
in
support
of
any
other
charge
against
the
Vicomte
was
forthcoming
,
—
nothing
,
in
short
,
beyond
the
infraction
du
domicile
caused
by
the
madness
of
youthful
love
,
and
for
which
there
was
no
prosecution
.
The
law
,
therefore
,
could
have
little
to
say
against
him
.
But
society
was
more
rigid
;
and
exceedingly
angry
to
find
that
a
man
who
had
been
so
conspicuous
for
luxury
should
prove
to
be
a
pauper
,
insisted
on
believing
that
M
.
de
Mauleon
was
guilty
of
the
meaner
,
though
not
perhaps
,
in
the
eyes
of
husbands
and
fathers
,
the
more
heinous
,
of
the
two
offences
.
I
presume
that
the
Vicomte
felt
that
he
had
got
into
a
dilemma
from
which
no
pistol-shot
or
sword-thrust
could
free
him
,
for
he
left
Paris
abruptly
,
and
has
not
since
reappeared
.
The
sale
of
his
stud
and
effects
sufficed
,
I
believe
,
to
pay
his
debts
,
for
I
will
do
him
the
justice
to
say
that
they
were
paid
.
”
“
But
though
the
Vicomte
de
Mauleon
has
disappeared
,
he
must
have
left
relations
at
Paris
,
who
would
perhaps
know
what
has
become
of
him
and
of
his
niece
.
”
“
I
doubt
it
.
He
had
no
very
near
relations
.
The
nearest
was
an
old
celibataire
of
the
same
name
,
from
whom
he
had
some
expectations
,
but
who
died
shortly
after
this
esclandre
,
and
did
not
name
the
Vicomte
in
his
will
.
M
.
Victor
had
numerous
connections
among
the
highest
families
,
the
Rochebriants
,
Chavignys
,
Vandemars
,
Passys
,
Beauvilliers
;
but
they
are
not
likely
to
have
retained
any
connection
with
a
ruined
vaurien
,
and
still
less
with
a
niece
of
his
who
was
the
child
of
a
drawing-master
.
But
now
you
have
given
me
a
clew
,
I
will
try
to
follow
it
up
.
We
must
find
the
Vicomte
,
and
I
am
not
without
hope
of
doing
so
.
Pardon
me
if
I
decline
to
say
more
at
present
.
I
would
not
raise
false
expectations
;
but
in
a
week
or
two
I
will
have
the
honour
to
call
again
upon
Monsieur
.
”
“
Wait
one
instant
.
You
have
really
a
hope
of
discovering
M
.
de
Mauleon
?
”
“
Yes
.
I
cannot
say
more
at
present
.
”
M
.
Renard
departed
.
Still
that
hope
,
however
faint
it
might
prove
,
served
to
reanimate
Graham
;
and
with
that
hope
his
heart
,
as
if
a
load
had
been
lifted
from
its
mainspring
,
returned
instinctively
to
the
thought
of
Isaura
.
Whatever
seemed
to
promise
an
early
discharge
of
the
commission
connected
with
the
discovery
of
Louise
Duval
seemed
to
bring
Isaura
nearer
to
him
,
or
at
least
to
excuse
his
yearning
desire
to
see
more
of
her
,
to
understand
her
better
.
Faded
into
thin
air
was
the
vague
jealousy
of
Gustave
Rameau
which
he
had
so
unreasonably
conceived
;
he
felt
as
if
it
were
impossible
that
the
man
whom
the
“
Ondine
of
Paris
”
claimed
as
her
lover
could
dare
to
woo
or
hope
to
win
an
Isaura
.
He
even
forgot
the
friendship
with
the
eloquent
denouncer
of
the
marriage-bond
,
which
a
little
while
ago
had
seemed
to
him
an
unpardonable
offence
.
He
remembered
only
the
lovely
face
,
so
innocent
,
yet
so
intelligent
;
only
the
sweet
voice
,
which
had
for
the
first
time
breathed
music
into
his
own
soul
;
only
the
gentle
hand
,
whose
touch
had
for
the
first
time
sent
through
his
veins
the
thrill
which
distinguishes
from
all
her
sex
the
woman
whom
we
love
.
He
went
forth
elated
and
joyous
,
and
took
his
way
to
Isaura’s
villa
.
As
he
went
,
the
leaves
on
the
trees
under
which
he
passed
seemed
stirred
by
the
soft
May
breeze
in
sympathy
with
his
own
delight
.
Perhaps
it
was
rather
the
reverse
:
his
own
silent
delight
sympathized
with
all
delight
in
awakening
Nature
.
The
lover
seeking
reconciliation
with
the
loved
one
from
whom
some
trifle
has
unreasonably
estranged
him
,
in
a
cloudless
day
of
May
,
—
if
he
be
not
happy
enough
to
feel
a
brotherhood
in
all
things
happy
,
—
a
leaf
in
bloom
,
a
bird
in
song
,
—
then
indeed
he
may
call
himself
lover
,
but
he
does
not
know
what
is
love
.
BOOK
IV
.
CHAPTER
I
.
FROM
ISAURA
CICOGNA
TO
MADAME
DE
GRANTMESNIL
.
It
is
many
days
since
I
wrote
to
you
,
and
but
for
your
delightful
note
just
received
,
reproaching
me
for
silence
,
I
should
still
be
under
the
spell
of
that
awe
which
certain
words
of
M
.
Savarin
were
well
fitted
to
produce
.
Chancing
to
ask
him
if
he
had
written
to
you
lately
,
he
said
,
with
that
laugh
of
his
,
good-humouredly
ironical
,
“
No
,
Mademoiselle
,
I
am
not
one
of
the
Facheux
whom
Moliere
has
immortalized
.
If
the
meeting
of
lovers
should
be
sacred
from
the
intrusion
of
a
third
person
,
however
amiable
,
more
sacred
still
should
be
the
parting
between
an
author
and
his
work
.
Madame
de
Grantmesnil
is
in
that
moment
so
solemn
to
a
genius
earnest
as
hers
,
—
she
is
bidding
farewell
to
a
companion
with
whom
,
once
dismissed
into
the
world
,
she
can
never
converse
familiarly
again
;
it
ceases
to
be
her
companion
when
it
becomes
ours
.
Do
not
let
us
disturb
the
last
hours
they
will
pass
together
.
”
These
words
struck
me
much
.
I
suppose
there
is
truth
in
them
.
I
can
comprehend
that
a
work
which
has
long
been
all
in
all
to
its
author
,
concentrating
his
thoughts
,
gathering
round
it
the
hopes
and
fears
of
his
inmost
heart
,
dies
,
as
it
were
,
to
him
when
he
has
completed
its
life
for
others
,
and
launched
it
into
a
world
estranged
from
the
solitude
in
which
it
was
born
and
formed
.
I
can
almost
conceive
that
,
to
a
writer
like
you
,
the
very
fame
which
attends
the
work
thus
sent
forth
chills
your
own
love
for
it
.
The
characters
you
created
in
a
fairyland
,
known
but
to
yourself
,
must
lose
something
of
their
mysterious
charm
when
you
hear
them
discussed
and
cavilled
at
,
blamed
or
praised
,
as
if
they
were
really
the
creatures
of
streets
and
salons
.
I
wonder
if
hostile
criticism
pains
or
enrages
you
as
it
seems
to
do
such
other
authors
as
I
have
known
.
M
.
Savarin
,
for
instance
,
sets
down
in
his
tablets
as
an
enemy
to
whom
vengeance
is
due
the
smallest
scribbler
who
wounds
his
self-love
,
and
says
frankly
,
“
To
me
praise
is
food
,
dispraise
is
poison
.
Him
who
feeds
me
I
pay
;
him
who
poisons
me
I
break
on
the
wheel
.
”
M
.
Savarin
is
,
indeed
,
a
skilful
and
energetic
administrator
to
his
own
reputation
.
He
deals
with
it
as
if
it
were
a
kingdom
,
—
establishes
fortifications
for
its
defence
,
enlists
soldiers
to
fight
for
it
.
He
is
the
soul
and
centre
of
a
confederation
in
which
each
is
bound
to
defend
the
territory
of
the
others
,
and
all
those
territories
united
constitute
the
imperial
realm
of
M
.
Savarin
.
Don’t
think
me
an
ungracious
satirist
in
what
I
am
thus
saying
of
our
brilliant
friend
.
It
is
not
I
who
here
speak
;
it
is
himself
.
He
avows
his
policy
with
the
naivete
which
makes
the
charm
of
his
style
as
writer
.
“
It
is
the
greatest
mistake
,
”
he
said
to
me
yesterday
,
“
to
talk
of
the
Republic
of
Letters
.
Every
author
who
wins
a
name
is
a
sovereign
in
his
own
domain
,
be
it
large
or
small
.
Woe
to
any
republican
who
wants
to
dethrone
me
!
”
Somehow
or
other
,
when
M
.
Savarin
thus
talks
I
feel
as
if
he
were
betraying
the
cause
of
,
genius
.
I
cannot
bring
myself
to
regard
literature
as
a
craft
,
—
to
me
it
is
a
sacred
mission
;
and
in
hearing
this
“
sovereign
”
boast
of
the
tricks
by
which
he
maintains
his
state
,
I
seem
to
listen
to
a
priest
who
treats
as
imposture
the
religion
he
professes
to
teach
.
M
.
Savarin’s
favourite
eleve
now
is
a
young
contributor
to
his
journal
,
named
Gustave
Rameau
.
M
.
Savarin
said
the
other
day
in
my
hearing
,
“
I
and
my
set
were
Young
France
;
Gustave
Rameau
and
his
set
are
New
Paris
.
”
“
And
what
is
the
distinction
between
the
one
and
the
other
?
”
asked
my
American
friend
,
Mrs.
Morley
.
“
The
set
of
‘Young
France
,
’
”
answered
M
.
Savarin
,
“
had
in
it
the
hearty
consciousness
of
youth
;
it
was
bold
and
vehement
,
with
abundant
vitality
and
animal
spirits
;
whatever
may
be
said
against
it
in
other
respects
,
the
power
of
thews
and
sinews
must
be
conceded
to
its
chief
representatives
.
But
the
set
of
‘New
Paris’
has
very
bad
health
,
and
very
indifferent
spirits
.
Still
,
in
its
way
,
it
is
very
clever
;
it
can
sting
and
bite
as
keenly
as
if
it
were
big
and
strong
.
Rameau
is
the
most
promising
member
of
the
set
.
He
will
be
popular
in
his
time
,
because
he
represents
a
good
deal
of
the
mind
of
his
time
,
—
namely
,
the
mind
and
the
time
of
‘New
Paris.’
”
Do
you
know
anything
of
this
young
Rameau’s
writings
?
You
do
not
know
himself
,
for
he
told
me
so
,
expressing
a
desire
,
that
was
evidently
very
sincere
,
to
find
some
occasion
on
which
to
render
you
his
homage
.
He
said
this
the
first
time
I
met
him
at
M
.
Savarin’s
,
and
before
he
knew
how
dear
to
me
are
yourself
and
your
fame
.
He
came
and
sat
by
me
after
dinner
,
and
won
my
interest
at
once
by
asking
me
if
I
had
heard
that
you
were
busied
on
a
new
work
;
and
then
,
without
waiting
for
my
answer
,
he
launched
forth
into
praises
of
you
,
which
made
a
notable
contrast
to
the
scorn
with
which
he
spoke
of
all
your
contemporaries
,
—
except
indeed
M
.
Savarin
,
who
,
however
,
might
not
have
been
pleased
to
hear
his
favourite
pupil
style
him
“
a
great
writer
in
small
things
.
”
I
spare
you
his
epigrams
on
Dumas
and
Victor
Hugo
and
my
beloved
Lamartine
.
Though
his
talk
was
showy
,
and
dazzled
me
at
first
,
I
soon
got
rather
tired
of
it
,
even
the
first
time
we
met
.
Since
then
I
have
seen
him
very
often
,
not
only
at
M
.
Savarin’s
,
but
he
calls
here
at
least
every
other
day
,
and
we
have
become
quite
good
friends
.
He
gains
on
acquaintance
so
far
that
one
cannot
help
feeling
how
much
he
is
to
be
pitied
.
He
is
so
envious
!
and
the
envious
must
be
so
unhappy
.
And
then
he
is
at
once
so
near
and
so
far
from
all
the
things
that
he
envies
.
He
longs
for
riches
and
luxury
,
and
can
only
as
yet
earn
a
bare
competence
by
his
labours
.
Therefore
he
hates
the
rich
and
luxurious
.
His
literary
successes
,
instead
of
pleasing
him
,
render
him
miserable
by
their
contrast
with
the
fame
of
the
authors
whom
he
envies
and
assails
.
He
has
a
beautiful
head
,
of
which
he
is
conscious
,
but
it
is
joined
to
a
body
without
strength
or
grace
.
He
is
conscious
of
this
too
,
—
but
it
is
cruel
to
go
on
with
this
sketch
.
You
can
see
at
once
the
kind
of
person
who
,
whether
he
inspire
affection
or
dislike
,
cannot
fail
to
create
an
interest
,
painful
but
compassionate
.
You
will
be
pleased
to
hear
that
Dr.
C
.
considers
my
health
so
improved
that
I
may
next
year
enter
fairly
on
the
profession
for
which
I
was
intended
and
trained
.
Yet
I
still
feel
hesitating
and
doubtful
.
To
give
myself
wholly
up
to
the
art
in
which
I
am
told
I
could
excel
must
alienate
me
entirely
from
the
ambition
that
yearns
for
fields
in
which
,
alas
!
it
may
perhaps
never
appropriate
to
itself
a
rood
for
culture
,
—
only
wander
,
lost
in
a
vague
fairyland
,
to
which
it
has
not
the
fairy’s
birthright
.
O
thou
great
Enchantress
,
to
whom
are
equally
subject
the
streets
of
Paris
and
the
realm
of
Faerie
,
thou
who
hast
sounded
to
the
deeps
that
circumfluent
ocean
called
“
practical
human
life
,
”
and
hast
taught
the
acutest
of
its
navigators
to
consider
how
far
its
courses
are
guided
by
orbs
in
heaven
,
—
canst
thou
solve
this
riddle
which
,
if
it
perplexes
me
,
must
perplex
so
many
?
What
is
the
real
distinction
between
the
rare
genius
and
the
commonalty
of
human
souls
that
feel
to
the
quick
all
the
grandest
and
divinest
things
which
the
rare
genius
places
before
them
,
sighing
within
themselves
,
“
This
rare
genius
does
but
express
that
which
was
previously
familiar
to
us
,
so
far
as
thought
and
sentiment
extend
”
?
Nay
,
the
genius
itself
,
however
eloquent
,
never
does
,
never
can
,
express
the
whole
of
the
thought
or
the
sentiment
it
interprets
;
on
the
contrary
,
the
greater
the
genius
is
,
the
more
it
leaves
a
something
of
incomplete
satisfaction
on
our
minds
,
—
it
promises
so
much
more
than
it
performs
;
it
implies
so
much
more
than
it
announces
.
I
am
impressed
with
the
truth
of
what
I
thus
say
in
proportion
as
I
re-peruse
and
re-study
the
greatest
writers
that
have
come
within
my
narrow
range
of
reading
;
and
by
the
greatest
writers
I
mean
those
who
are
not
exclusively
reasoners
(
of
such
I
cannot
judge
)
,
nor
mere
poets
(
of
whom
,
so
far
as
concerns
the
union
of
words
with
music
,
I
ought
to
be
able
to
judge
)
,
but
the
few
who
unite
reason
and
poetry
,
and
appeal
at
once
to
the
common-sense
of
the
multitude
and
the
imagination
of
the
few
.
The
highest
type
of
this
union
to
me
is
Shakspeare
;
and
I
can
comprehend
the
justice
of
no
criticism
on
him
which
does
not
allow
this
sense
of
incomplete
satisfaction
augmenting
in
proportion
as
the
poet
soars
to
his
highest
.
I
ask
again
,
In
what
consists
this
distinction
between
the
rare
genius
and
the
commonalty
of
minds
that
exclaim
,
“
He
expresses
what
we
feel
,
but
never
the
whole
of
what
we
feel
”
?
Is
it
the
mere
power
over
language
,
a
larger
knowledge
of
dictionaries
,
a
finer
ear
for
period
and
cadence
,
a
more
artistic
craft
in
casing
our
thoughts
and
sentiments
in
well-selected
words
?
Is
it
true
what
Buffon
says
,
“
that
the
style
is
the
man
”
?
Is
it
true
what
I
am
told
Goethe
said
,
“
Poetry
is
form
”
?
I
cannot
believe
this
;
and
if
you
tell
me
it
is
true
,
then
I
no
longer
pine
to
be
a
writer
.
But
if
it
be
not
true
,
explain
to
me
how
it
is
that
the
greatest
genius
is
popular
in
proportion
as
it
makes
itself
akin
to
us
by
uttering
in
better
words
than
we
employ
that
which
was
already
within
us
,
brings
to
light
what
in
our
souls
was
latent
,
and
does
but
correct
,
beautify
,
and
publish
the
correspondence
which
an
ordinary
reader
carries
on
privately
every
day
between
himself
and
his
mind
or
his
heart
.
If
this
superiority
in
the
genius
be
but
style
and
form
,
I
abandon
my
dream
of
being
something
else
than
a
singer
of
words
by
another
to
the
music
of
another
.
But
then
,
what
then
?
My
knowledge
of
books
and
art
is
wonderfully
small
.
What
little
I
do
know
I
gather
from
very
few
books
and
from
what
I
hear
said
by
the
few
worth
listening
to
whom
I
happen
to
meet
;
and
out
of
these
,
in
solitude
and
revery
,
not
by
conscious
effort
,
I
arrive
at
some
results
which
appear
to
my
inexperience
original
.
Perhaps
,
indeed
,
they
have
the
same
kind
of
originality
as
the
musical
compositions
of
amateurs
who
effect
a
cantata
or
a
quartette
made
up
of
borrowed
details
from
great
masters
,
and
constituting
a
whole
so
original
that
no
real
master
would
deign
to
own
it
.
Oh
,
if
I
could
get
you
to
understand
how
unsettled
,
how
struggling
my
whole
nature
at
this
moment
is
!
I
wonder
what
is
the
sensation
of
the
chrysalis
which
has
been
a
silkworm
,
when
it
first
feels
the
new
wings
stirring
within
its
shell
,
—
wings
,
alas
!
they
are
but
those
of
the
humblest
and
shortest-lived
sort
of
moth
,
scarcely
born
into
daylight
before
it
dies
.
Could
it
reason
,
it
might
regret
its
earlier
life
,
and
say
,
“
Better
be
the
silkworm
than
the
moth
.
”
FROM
THE
SAME
TO
THE
SAME
.
Have
you
known
well
any
English
people
in
the
course
of
your
life
?
I
say
well
,
for
you
must
have
had
acquaintance
with
many
.
But
it
seems
to
me
so
difficult
to
know
an
Englishman
well
.
Even
I
,
who
so
loved
and
revered
Mr.
Selby
,
—
I
,
whose
childhood
was
admitted
into
his
companionship
by
that
love
which
places
ignorance
and
knowledge
,
infancy
and
age
,
upon
ground
so
equal
that
heart
touches
heart
,
cannot
say
that
I
understand
the
English
character
to
anything
like
the
extent
to
which
I
fancy
I
understand
the
Italian
and
the
French
.
Between
us
of
the
Continent
and
them
of
the
island
the
British
Channel
always
flows
.
There
is
an
Englishman
here
to
whom
I
have
been
introduced
,
whom
I
have
met
,
though
but
seldom
,
in
that
society
which
bounds
the
Paris
world
to
me
.
Pray
,
pray
tell
me
,
did
you
ever
know
,
ever
meet
him
?
His
name
is
Graham
Vane
.
He
is
the
only
son
,
I
am
told
,
of
a
man
who
was
a
celebrite
in
England
as
an
orator
and
statesman
,
and
on
both
sides
he
belongs
to
the
haute
aristocratic
.
He
himself
has
that
indescribable
air
and
mien
to
which
we
apply
the
epithet
‘distinguished.’
In
the
most
crowded
salon
the
eye
would
fix
on
him
,
and
involuntarily
follow
his
movements
.
Yet
his
manners
are
frank
and
simple
,
wholly
without
the
stiffness
or
reserve
which
are
said
to
characterize
the
English
.
There
is
an
inborn
dignity
in
his
bearing
which
consists
in
the
absence
of
all
dignity
assumed
.
But
what
strikes
me
most
in
this
Englishman
is
an
expression
of
countenance
which
the
English
depict
by
the
word
‘open
,
’
—
that
expression
which
inspires
you
with
a
belief
in
the
existence
of
sincerity
.
Mrs.
Morley
said
of
him
,
in
that
poetic
extravagance
of
phrase
by
which
the
Americans
startle
the
English
,
“
That
man’s
forehead
would
light
up
the
Mammoth
Cave
.
”
Do
you
not
know
,
Eulalie
,
what
it
is
to
us
cultivators
of
art
—
art
being
the
expression
of
truth
through
fiction
—
to
come
into
the
atmosphere
of
one
of
those
souls
in
which
Truth
stands
out
bold
and
beautiful
in
itself
,
and
needs
no
idealization
through
fiction
?
Oh
,
how
near
we
should
be
to
heaven
could
we
live
daily
,
hourly
,
in
the
presence
of
one
the
honesty
of
whose
word
we
could
never
doubt
,
the
authority
of
whose
word
we
could
never
disobey
!
Mr.
Vane
professes
not
to
understand
music
,
not
even
to
care
for
it
,
except
rarely
,
and
yet
he
spoke
of
its
influence
over
others
with
an
enthusiasm
that
half
charmed
me
once
more
back
to
my
destined
calling
;
nay
,
might
have
charmed
me
wholly
,
but
that
he
seemed
to
think
that
I
—
that
any
public
singer
—
must
be
a
creature
apart
from
the
world
,
—
the
world
in
which
such
men
live
.
Perhaps
that
is
true
.
CHAPTER
II
.
It
was
one
of
those
lovely
noons
towards
the
end
of
May
in
which
a
rural
suburb
has
the
mellow
charm
of
summer
to
him
who
escapes
awhile
from
the
streets
of
a
crowded
capital
.
The
Londoner
knows
its
charm
when
he
feels
his
tread
on
the
softening
swards
of
the
Vale
of
Health
,
or
,
pausing
at
Richmond
under
the
budding
willow
,
gazes
on
the
river
glittering
in
the
warmer
sunlight
,
and
hears
from
the
villa-gardens
behind
him
the
brief
trill
of
the
blackbird
.
But
the
suburbs
round
Paris
are
,
I
think
,
a
yet
more
pleasing
relief
from
the
metropolis
;
they
are
more
easily
reached
,
and
I
know
not
why
,
but
they
seem
more
rural
,
—
perhaps
because
the
contrast
of
their
repose
with
the
stir
left
behind
,
of
their
redundance
of
leaf
and
blossom
compared
with
the
prim
efflorescence
of
trees
in
the
Boulevards
and
Tuileries
,
is
more
striking
.
However
that
may
be
,
when
Graham
reached
the
pretty
suburb
in
which
Isaura
dwelt
,
it
seemed
to
him
as
if
all
the
wheels
of
the
loud
busy
life
were
suddenly
smitten
still
.
The
hour
was
yet
early
;
he
felt
sure
that
he
should
find
Isaura
at
home
.
The
garden-gate
stood
unfastened
and
ajar
;
he
pushed
it
aside
and
entered
.
I
think
I
have
before
said
that
the
garden
of
the
villa
was
shut
out
from
the
road
and
the
gaze
of
neighbours
by
a
wall
and
thick
belts
of
evergreens
;
it
stretched
behind
the
house
somewhat
far
for
the
garden
of
a
suburban
villa
.
He
paused
when
he
had
passed
the
gateway
,
for
he
heard
in
the
distance
the
voice
of
one
singing
,
—
singing
low
,
singing
plaintively
.
He
knew
it
was
the
voice
of
Isaura-he
passed
on
,
leaving
the
house
behind
him
,
and
tracking
the
voice
till
he
reached
the
singer
.
Isaura
was
seated
within
an
arbour
towards
the
farther
end
of
the
garden
,
—
an
arbour
which
,
a
little
later
in
the
year
,
must
indeed
be
delicate
and
dainty
with
lush
exuberance
of
jessamine
and
woodbine
;
now
into
its
iron
trelliswork
leaflets
and
flowers
were
insinuating
their
gentle
way
.
Just
at
the
entrance
one
white
rose
—
a
winter
rose
that
had
mysteriously
survived
its
relations
—
opened
its
pale
hues
frankly
to
the
noonday
sun
.
Graham
approached
slowly
,
noiselessly
,
and
the
last
note
of
the
song
had
ceased
when
he
stood
at
the
entrance
of
the
arbour
.
Isaura
did
not
perceive
him
at
first
,
for
her
face
was
bent
downward
musingly
,
as
was
often
her
wont
after
singing
,
especially
when
alone
;
but
she
felt
that
the
place
was
darkened
,
that
something
stood
between
her
and
the
sunshine
.
She
raised
her
face
,
and
a
quick
flush
mantled
over
it
as
she
uttered
his
name
,
not
loudly
,
not
as
in
surprise
,
but
inwardly
and
whisperingly
,
as
in
a
sort
of
fear
.
“
Pardon
me
,
Mademoiselle
,
”
said
Graham
,
entering
;
“
but
I
heard
your
voice
as
I
came
into
the
garden
,
and
it
drew
me
onward
involuntarily
.
What
a
lovely
air
!
and
what
simple
sweetness
in
such
of
the
words
as
reached
me
!
I
am
so
ignorant
of
music
that
you
must
not
laugh
at
me
if
I
ask
whose
is
the
music
and
whose
are
the
words
?
Probably
both
are
so
well
known
as
to
convict
me
of
a
barbarous
ignorance
.
”
“
Oh
,
no
,
”
said
Isaura
,
with
a
still
heightened
colour
,
and
in
accents
embarrassed
and
hesitating
.
“
Both
the
words
and
music
are
by
an
unknown
and
very
humble
composer
,
yet
not
,
indeed
,
quite
original
,
—
they
have
not
even
that
merit
;
at
least
they
were
suggested
by
a
popular
song
in
the
Neapolitan
dialect
which
is
said
to
be
very
old
.
”
“
I
don’t
know
if
I
caught
the
true
meaning
of
the
words
,
for
they
seemed
to
me
to
convey
a
more
subtle
and
refined
sentiment
than
is
common
in
the
popular
songs
of
southern
Italy
.
”
“
The
sentiment
in
the
original
is
changed
in
the
paraphrase
,
and
not
,
I
fear
,
improved
by
the
change
.
”
“
Will
you
explain
to
me
the
sentiment
in
both
,
and
let
me
judge
which
I
prefer
?
”
“
In
the
Neapolitan
song
a
young
fisherman
,
who
has
moored
his
boat
under
a
rock
on
the
shore
,
sees
a
beautiful
face
below
the
surface
of
the
waters
;
he
imagines
it
to
be
that
of
a
Nereid
,
and
casts
in
his
net
to
catch
this
supposed
nymph
of
the
ocean
.
He
only
disturbs
the
water
,
loses
the
image
,
and
brings
up
a
few
common
fishes
.
He
returns
home
disappointed
,
and
very
much
enamoured
of
the
supposed
Nereid
.
The
next
day
he
goes
again
to
the
same
place
,
and
discovers
that
the
face
which
had
so
charmed
him
was
that
of
a
mortal
girl
reflected
on
the
waters
from
the
rock
behind
him
,
on
which
she
had
been
seated
,
and
on
which
she
had
her
home
.
The
original
air
is
arch
and
lively
;
just
listen
to
it
.
”
And
Isaura
warbled
one
of
those
artless
and
somewhat
meagre
tunes
to
which
light-stringed
instruments
are
the
fitting
accompaniment
.
“
That
,
”
said
Graham
,
“
is
a
different
music
indeed
from
the
other
,
which
is
deep
and
plaintive
,
and
goes
to
the
heart
.
”
“
But
do
you
not
see
how
the
words
have
been
altered
?
In
the
song
you
first
heard
me
singing
,
the
fisherman
goes
again
to
the
spot
,
again
and
again
sees
the
face
in
the
water
,
again
and
again
seeks
to
capture
the
Nereid
,
and
never
knows
to
the
last
that
the
face
was
that
of
the
mortal
on
the
rock
close
behind
him
,
and
which
he
passed
by
without
notice
every
day
.
Deluded
by
an
ideal
image
,
the
real
one
escapes
from
his
eye
.
”
“
Is
the
verse
that
is
recast
meant
to
symbolize
a
moral
in
love
?
”
“
In
love
?
nay
,
I
know
not
;
but
in
life
,
yes
,
—
at
least
the
life
of
the
artist
.
”
“
The
paraphrase
of
the
original
is
yours
,
Signorina
,
words
and
music
both
.
Am
I
not
right
?
Your
silence
answers
‘Yes.’
Will
you
pardon
me
if
I
say
that
,
though
there
can
be
no
doubt
of
the
new
beauty
you
have
given
to
the
old
song
,
I
think
that
the
moral
of
the
old
was
the
sounder
one
,
the
truer
to
human
life
.
We
do
not
go
on
to
the
last
duped
by
an
allusion
.
If
enamoured
by
the
shadow
on
the
waters
,
still
we
do
look
around
us
and
discover
the
image
it
reflects
.
”
Isaura
shook
her
head
gently
,
but
made
no
answer
.
On
the
table
before
her
there
were
a
few
myrtle-sprigs
and
one
or
two
buds
from
the
last
winter
rose
,
which
she
had
been
arranging
into
a
simple
nosegay
;
she
took
up
these
,
and
abstractedly
began
to
pluck
and
scatter
the
rose-leaves
.
“
Despise
the
coming
May
flowers
if
you
will
,
they
will
soon
be
so
plentiful
,
”
said
Graham
;
“
but
do
not
cast
away
the
few
blossoms
which
winter
has
so
kindly
spared
,
and
which
even
summer
will
not
give
again
;
”
and
placing
his
hand
on
the
winter
buds
,
it
touched
hers
,
—
lightly
,
indeed
,
but
she
felt
the
touch
,
shrank
from
it
,
coloured
,
and
rose
from
her
seat
.
“
The
sun
has
left
this
side
of
the
garden
,
the
east
wind
is
rising
,
and
you
must
find
it
chilly
here
,
”
she
said
,
in
an
altered
tone
;
“
will
you
not
come
into
the
house
?
”
“
It
is
not
the
air
that
I
feel
chilly
,
”
said
Graham
,
with
a
half-smile
;
“
I
almost
fear
that
my
prosaic
admonitions
have
displeased
you
.
”
“
They
were
not
prosaic
;
and
they
were
kind
and
very
wise
,
”
she
added
,
with
her
exquisite
laugh
,
—
laugh
so
wonderfully
sweet
and
musical
.
She
now
had
gained
the
entrance
of
the
arbour
;
Graham
joined
her
,
and
they
walked
towards
the
house
.
He
asked
her
if
she
had
seen
much
of
the
Savarins
since
they
had
met
.
“
Once
or
twice
we
have
been
there
of
an
evening
.
”
“
And
encountered
,
no
doubt
,
the
illustrious
young
minstrel
who
despises
Tasso
and
Corneille
?
”
“
M
.
Rameau
?
Oh
,
yes
;
he
is
constantly
at
the
Savarins
.
Do
not
be
severe
on
him
.
He
is
unhappy
,
he
is
struggling
,
he
is
soured
.
An
artist
has
thorns
in
his
path
which
lookers-on
do
not
heed
.
”
“
All
people
have
thorns
in
their
path
,
and
I
have
no
great
respect
for
those
who
want
lookers-on
to
heed
them
whenever
they
are
scratched
.
But
M
.
Rameau
seems
to
me
one
of
those
writers
very
common
nowadays
,
in
France
and
even
in
England
;
writers
who
have
never
read
anything
worth
studying
,
and
are
,
of
course
,
presumptuous
in
proportion
to
their
ignorance
.
I
should
not
have
thought
an
artist
like
yourself
could
have
recognized
an
artist
in
a
M
.
Rameau
who
despises
Tasso
without
knowing
Italian
.
”
Graham
spoke
bitterly
;
he
was
once
more
jealous
.
“
Are
you
not
an
artist
yourself
?
Are
you
not
a
writer
?
M
.
Savarin
told
me
you
were
a
distinguished
man
of
letters
.
”
“
M
.
Savarin
flatters
me
too
much
.
I
am
not
an
artist
,
and
I
have
a
great
dislike
to
that
word
as
it
is
now
hackneyed
and
vulgarized
in
England
and
in
France
.
A
cook
calls
himself
an
artist
;
a
tailor
does
the
same
;
a
man
writes
a
gaudy
melodrame
,
a
spasmodic
song
,
a
sensational
novel
,
and
straightway
he
calls
Himself
an
artist
,
and
indulges
in
a
pedantic
jargon
about
‘essence’
and
‘form
,
’
assuring
us
that
a
poet
we
can
understand
wants
essence
,
and
a
poet
we
can
scan
wants
form
.
Thank
heaven
,
I
am
not
vain
enough
to
call
myself
artist
.
I
have
written
some
very
dry
lucubrations
in
periodicals
,
chiefly
political
,
or
critical
upon
other
subjects
than
art
.
But
why
,
a
propos
of
M
.
Rameau
,
did
you
ask
me
that
question
respecting
myself
?
”
“
Because
much
in
your
conversation
,
”
answered
Isaura
,
in
rather
a
mournful
tone
,
“
made
me
suppose
you
had
more
sympathies
with
art
and
its
cultivators
than
you
cared
to
avow
;
and
if
you
had
such
sympathies
,
you
would
comprehend
what
a
relief
it
is
to
a
poor
aspirant
to
art
like
myself
to
come
into
communication
with
those
who
devote
themselves
to
any
art
distinct
from
the
common
pursuits
of
the
world
,
what
a
relief
it
is
to
escape
from
the
ordinary
talk
of
society
.
There
is
a
sort
of
instinctive
freemasonry
among
us
,
including
masters
and
disciples
;
and
one
art
has
a
fellowship
with
other
arts
.
Mine
is
but
song
and
music
,
yet
I
feel
attracted
towards
a
sculptor
,
a
painter
,
a
romance-writer
,
a
poet
,
as
much
as
towards
a
singer
,
a
musician
.
Do
you
understand
why
I
cannot
contemn
M
.
Rameau
as
you
do
?
I
differ
from
his
tastes
in
literature
;
I
do
not
much
admire
such
of
his
writings
as
I
have
read
;
I
grant
that
he
overestimates
his
own
genius
,
whatever
that
be
,
—
yet
I
like
to
converse
with
him
.
He
is
a
struggler
upwards
,
though
with
weak
wings
,
or
with
erring
footsteps
,
like
myself
.
”
“
Mademoiselle
,
”
said
Graham
,
earnestly
,
“
I
cannot
say
how
I
thank
you
for
this
candour
.
Do
not
condemn
me
for
abusing
it
,
if
—
”
he
paused
.
“
If
what
?
”
“
If
I
,
so
much
older
than
yourself
,
—
I
do
not
say
only
in
years
,
but
in
the
experience
of
life
,
I
whose
lot
is
cast
among
those
busy
and
‘positive’
pursuits
,
which
necessarily
quicken
that
unromantic
faculty
called
common-sense
,
—
if
,
I
say
,
the
deep
interest
with
which
you
must
inspire
all
whom
you
admit
into
an
acquaintance
even
as
unfamiliar
as
that
now
between
us
makes
me
utter
one
caution
,
such
as
might
be
uttered
by
a
friend
or
brother
.
Beware
of
those
artistic
sympathies
which
you
so
touchingly
confess
;
beware
how
,
in
the
great
events
of
life
,
you
allow
fancy
to
misguide
your
reason
.
In
choosing
friends
on
whom
to
rely
,
separate
the
artist
from
the
human
being
.
Judge
of
the
human
being
for
what
it
is
in
itself
.
Do
not
worship
the
face
on
the
waters
,
blind
to
the
image
on
the
rock
.
In
one
word
,
never
see
in
an
artist
like
a
M
.
Rameau
the
human
being
to
whom
you
could
intrust
the
destinies
of
your
life
.
Pardon
me
,
pardon
me
;
we
may
meet
little
hereafter
,
but
you
are
a
creature
so
utterly
new
to
me
,
so
wholly
unlike
any
woman
I
have
ever
before
encountered
and
admired
,
and
to
me
seem
endowed
with
such
wealth
of
mind
and
soul
,
exposed
to
such
hazard
,
that
—
that
—
”
again
he
paused
,
and
his
voice
trembled
as
he
concluded
—
“
that
it
would
be
a
deep
sorrow
to
me
if
,
perhaps
years
hence
,
I
should
have
to
say
,
‘Alas’
!
by
what
mistake
has
that
wealth
been
wasted
!
’
”
While
they
had
thus
conversed
,
mechanically
they
had
turned
away
from
the
house
,
and
were
again
standing
before
the
arbour
.
Graham
,
absorbed
in
the
passion
of
his
adjuration
,
had
not
till
now
looked
into
the
face
of
the
companion
by
his
side
.
Now
,
when
he
had
concluded
,
and
heard
no
reply
,
he
bent
down
and
saw
that
Isaura
was
weeping
silently
.
His
heart
smote
him
.
“
Forgive
me
,
”
he
exclaimed
,
drawing
her
hand
into
his
;
“
I
have
had
no
right
to
talk
thus
;
but
it
was
not
from
want
of
respect
;
it
was
—
it
was
—
”
The
hand
which
was
yielded
to
his
pressed
it
gently
,
timidly
,
chastely
.
“
Forgive
!
”
murmured
Isaura
;
“
do
you
think
that
I
,
an
orphan
,
have
never
longed
for
a
friend
who
would
speak
to
me
thus
?
”
And
so
saying
,
she
lifted
her
eyes
,
streaming
still
,
to
his
bended
countenance
,
—
eyes
,
despite
their
tears
,
so
clear
in
their
innocent
limpid
beauty
,
so
ingenuous
,
so
frank
,
so
virgin-like
,
so
unlike
the
eyes
of
‘any
other
woman
he
had
encountered
and
admired.’
“
Alas
!
”
he
said
,
in
quick
and
hurried
accents
,
“
you
may
remember
,
when
we
have
before
conversed
,
how
I
,
though
so
uncultured
in
your
art
,
still
recognized
its
beautiful
influence
upon
human
breasts
;
how
I
sought
to
combat
your
own
depreciation
of
its
rank
among
the
elevating
agencies
of
humanity
;
how
,
too
,
I
said
that
no
man
could
venture
to
ask
you
to
renounce
the
boards
,
the
lamps
,
—
resign
the
fame
of
actress
,
of
singer
.
Well
,
now
that
you
accord
to
me
the
title
of
friend
,
now
that
you
so
touchingly
remind
me
that
you
are
an
orphan
,
thinking
of
all
the
perils
the
young
and
the
beautiful
of
your
sex
must
encounter
when
they
abandon
private
life
for
public
,
I
think
that
a
true
friend
might
put
the
question
,
‘Can
you
resign
the
fame
of
actress
,
of
singer
?
’
”
“
I
will
answer
you
frankly
.
The
profession
which
once
seemed
to
me
so
alluring
began
to
lose
its
charms
in
my
eyes
some
months
ago
.
It
was
your
words
,
very
eloquently
expressed
,
on
the
ennobling
effects
of
music
and
song
upon
a
popular
audience
,
that
counteracted
the
growing
distaste
to
rendering
up
my
whole
life
to
the
vocation
of
the
stage
;
but
now
I
think
I
should
feel
grateful
to
the
friend
whose
advice
interpreted
the
voice
of
my
own
heart
,
and
bade
me
relinquish
the
career
of
actress
.
”
Graham’s
face
grew
radiant
.
But
whatever
might
have
been
his
reply
was
arrested
;
voices
and
footsteps
were
heard
behind
.
He
turned
round
and
saw
the
Venosta
,
the
Savarins
,
and
Gustave
Rameau
.
Isaura
heard
and
saw
also
,
started
in
a
sort
of
alarmed
confusion
,
and
then
instinctively
retreated
towards
the
arbour
.
Graham
hurried
on
to
meet
the
Signora
and
the
visitors
,
giving
time
to
Isaura
to
compose
herself
by
arresting
them
in
the
pathway
with
conventional
salutations
.
A
few
minutes
later
Isaura
joined
them
,
and
there
was
talk
to
which
Graham
scarcely
listened
,
though
he
shared
in
it
by
abstracted
monosyllables
.
He
declined
going
into
the
house
,
and
took
leave
at
the
gate
.
In
parting
,
his
eyes
fixed
themselves
on
Isaura
.
Gustave
Rameau
was
by
her
side
.
That
nosegay
which
had
been
left
in
the
arbour
was
in
her
hand
;
and
though
she
was
bending
over
it
,
she
did
not
now
pluck
and
scatter
the
rose-leaves
.
Graham
at
that
moment
felt
no
jealousy
of
the
fair-faced
young
poet
beside
her
.
As
he
walked
slowly
back
,
he
muttered
to
himself
,
“
But
am
I
yet
in
the
position
to
hold
myself
wholly
free
?
Am
I
,
am
I
?
Were
the
sole
choice
before
me
that
between
her
and
ambition
and
wealth
,
how
soon
it
would
be
made
!
Ambition
has
no
prize
equal
to
the
heart
of
such
a
woman
;
wealth
no
sources
of
joy
equal
to
the
treasures
of
her
love
.
”
CHAPTER
III
.
FROM
ISAURA
CICOGNA
TO
MADAME
DE
GRANTMESNIL
.
The
day
after
I
posted
my
last
,
Mr.
Vane
called
on
us
.
I
was
in
our
little
garden
at
the
time
.
Our
conversation
was
brief
,
and
soon
interrupted
by
visitors
,
—
the
Savarins
and
M
.
Rameau
.
I
long
for
your
answer
.
I
wonder
how
he
impressed
you
,
if
you
have
met
him
;
how
he
would
impress
,
if
you
met
him
now
.
To
me
he
is
so
different
from
all
others
;
and
I
scarcely
know
why
his
words
ring
in
my
ears
,
and
his
image
rests
in
my
thoughts
.
It
is
strange
altogether
;
for
though
he
is
young
,
he
speaks
to
me
as
if
he
were
so
much
older
than
I
,
—
so
kindly
,
so
tenderly
,
yet
as
if
I
were
a
child
,
and
much
as
the
dear
Maestro
might
do
,
if
he
thought
I
needed
caution
or
counsel
.
Do
not
fancy
,
Eulalie
,
that
there
is
any
danger
of
my
deceiving
myself
as
to
the
nature
of
such
interest
as
he
may
take
in
me
.
Oh
,
no
!
There
is
a
gulf
between
us
there
which
he
does
not
lose
sight
of
,
and
which
we
could
not
pass
.
How
,
indeed
,
I
could
interest
him
at
all
,
I
cannot
guess
.
A
rich
,
high-born
Englishman
,
intent
on
political
life
;
practical
,
prosaic
—
no
,
not
prosaic
;
but
still
with
the
kind
of
sense
which
does
not
admit
into
its
range
of
vision
that
world
of
dreams
which
is
familiar
as
their
daily
home
to
Romance
and
to
Art
.
It
has
always
seemed
to
me
that
for
love
,
love
such
as
I
conceive
it
,
there
must
be
a
deep
and
constant
sympathy
between
two
persons
,
—
not
,
indeed
,
in
the
usual
and
ordinary
trifles
of
taste
and
sentiment
,
but
in
those
essentials
which
form
the
root
of
character
,
and
branch
out
in
all
the
leaves
and
blooms
that
expand
to
the
sunshine
and
shrink
from
the
cold
,
—
that
the
worldling
should
wed
the
worldling
,
the
artist
the
artist
.
Can
the
realist
and
the
idealist
blend
together
,
and
hold
together
till
death
and
beyond
death
?
If
not
,
can
there
be
true
love
between
them
?
By
true
love
,
I
mean
the
love
which
interpenetrates
the
soul
,
and
once
given
can
never
die
.
Oh
,
Eulalie
,
answer
me
,
answer
!
P.
S.
—
I
have
now
fully
made
up
my
mind
to
renounce
all
thought
of
the
stage
.
FROM
MADAME
DE
GRANTMESNIL
TOISAURA
CICOGNA
.
MY
DEAR
CHILD
,
—
how
your
mind
has
grown
since
you
left
me
,
the
sanguine
and
aspiring
votary
of
an
art
which
,
of
all
arts
,
brings
the
most
immediate
reward
to
a
successful
cultivator
,
and
is
in
itself
so
divine
in
its
immediate
effects
upon
human
souls
!
Who
shall
say
what
may
be
the
after-results
of
those
effects
which
the
waiters
on
posterity
presume
to
despise
because
they
are
immediate
?
A
dull
man
,
to
whose
mind
a
ray
of
that
vague
starlight
undetected
in
the
atmosphere
of
workday
life
has
never
yet
travelled
;
to
whom
the
philosopher
,
the
preacher
,
the
poet
appeal
in
vain
,
—
nay
,
to
whom
the
conceptions
of
the
grandest
master
of
instrumental
music
are
incomprehensible
;
to
whom
Beethoven
unlocks
no
portal
in
heaven
;
to
whom
Rossini
has
no
mysteries
on
earth
unsolved
by
the
critics
of
the
pit
,
—
suddenly
hears
the
human
voice
of
the
human
singer
,
and
at
the
sound
of
that
voice
the
walls
which
enclosed
him
fall
.
The
something
far
from
and
beyond
the
routine
of
his
commonplace
existence
becomes
known
to
him
.
He
of
himself
,
poor
man
,
can
make
nothing
of
it
.
He
cannot
put
it
down
on
paper
,
and
say
the
next
morning
,
“
I
am
an
inch
nearer
to
heaven
than
I
was
last
night
;
”
but
the
feeling
that
he
is
an
inch
nearer
to
heaven
abides
with
him
.
Unconsciously
he
is
gentler
,
he
is
less
earthly
,
and
,
in
being
nearer
to
heaven
,
he
is
stronger
for
earth
.
You
singers
do
not
seem
to
me
to
understand
that
you
have
—
to
use
your
own
word
,
so
much
in
vogue
that
it
has
become
abused
and
trite
—
a
mission
!
When
you
talk
of
missions
,
from
whom
comes
the
mission
?
Not
from
men
.
If
there
be
a
mission
from
man
to
men
,
it
must
be
appointed
from
on
high
.
Think
of
all
this
;
and
in
being
faithful
to
your
art
,
be
true
to
yourself
.
If
