and does
not take her nephew walks any more, for he is a grown man now.
Yes, the child is grown into a man and has been hurt by life,
while he was running after shadows."

XXVI

One day, in the midday interval, he was informed that a visitor
was asking for him in the parlour; the news filled him with delight,
for he was very young and still counted on the possibilities of
the unknown. In the parlour he found Monsieur Tudesco, wearing
his waistcoat of ticking and holding a peaked hat in one hand.

"My young friend," began the Italian, "I learned from your respected
father's apprentice that you were confined in this sanctuary of
studious learning. I venture to say your fortune is overcast
with clouds, at least I fear it is. The lowliness of your estate
is not gilded like that of the Latin poet, and you are struggling
with a valiant heart against adverse fortune. That is why I am
come to offer you the hand of friendship, and I venture to say
you will regard as a mark of my amity and my esteem the request
I proffer for a crown-piece, which I find needful to sustain
an existence consecrated to learned studies."

The parlour was filling with pupils and their friends and relations.
Mothers and sons were exchanging sounding kisses, followed by
exclamations of "How hot you are, dear!" and prolonged whisperings.
Girls in light summer frocks were making sheep's eyes on the sly
at their brothers' friends, while fathers were pulling cakes
of chocolate out of their pockets.

Monsieur Tudesco, entirely at his ease among these fine people, did
not seem at all aware of the young usher's hideous embarrassment.
To the latter's "Come outside; we can talk better there," the
old man replied unconcernedly, "Oh, no, I don't think so."

He welcomed each lady who came in with a profound bow, and
distributed friendly taps on the cheek among the young aristocrats
around him.

Lying back in an arm-chair and displaying his famous waistcoat
to the very best advantage, he enlarged on such episodes of his
life as he thought most impressive:

"The fates were vanquished," he was telling Servien, "my livelihood
was assured. The landlord of an inn had entrusted his books to me,
and under his roof I was devoting my attention to mathematical
calculations, not, like the illustrious and ill-starred Galileo,
to measure the stars, but to establish with exactitude the profits
and losses of a trader. After two days' performance of these
honoura