hments; without dependants, no
duties. All we, with whom you come in contact, are machines, which you
thrust here and there, inconsiderate of their feelings. You seek your
recreations in public, by the light of the evening chandelier: this
school and yonder college are your workshops, where you fabricate the
ware called pupils. I don't so much as know where you live; it is
natural to take it for granted that you have no home, and need none."

"I am judged," said he. "Your opinion of me is just what I thought it
was. For you I am neither a man nor a Christian. You see me void of
affection and religion, unattached by friend or family, unpiloted by
principle or faith. It is well, Mademoiselle; such is our reward in
this life."

"You are a philosopher, Monsieur; a cynic philosopher" (and I looked at
his paletot, of which he straightway brushed the dim sleeve with his
hand), "despising the foibles of humanity--above its
luxuries--independent of its comforts."

"Et vous, Mademoiselle? vous etes proprette et douillette, et
affreusement insensible, par-dessus le marche."

"But, in short, Monsieur, now I think of it, you _must_ live somewhere?
Do tell me where; and what establishment of servants do you keep?"

With a fearful projection of the under-lip, implying an impetus of
scorn the most decided, he broke out--

"Je vis dans un trou! I inhabit a den, Miss--a cavern, where you would
not put your dainty nose. Once, with base shame of speaking the whole
truth, I talked about my 'study' in that college: know now that this
'study' is my whole abode; my chamber is there and my drawing-room. As
for my 'establishment of servants'" (mimicking my voice) "they number
ten; les voila."

And he grimly spread, close under my eyes, his ten fingers.

"I black my boots," pursued he savagely. "I brush my paletot."

"No, Monsieur, it is too plain; you never do that," was my parenthesis.

"Je fais mon lit et mon menage; I seek my dinner in a restaurant; my
supper takes care, of itself; I pass days laborious and loveless;
nights long and lonely; I am ferocious, and bearded and monkish; and
nothing now living in this world loves me, except some old hearts worn
like my own, and some few beings, impoverished, suffering, poor in
purse and in spirit, whom the kingdoms of this world own not, but to
whom a will and testament not to be disputed has bequeathed the kingdom
of heaven."

"Ah, Monsieur; but I know!"

"What do you know? many thin