combinations, and you must study
them and understand them if you want to keep yourselves always in good
position.'"

Charles was too much a man of the world, his parents had made him too
happy, he had received too much adulation in society, to be possessed of
noble sentiments. The grain of gold dropped by his mother into his heart
was beaten thin in the smithy of Parisian society; he had spread it
superficially, and it was worn away by the friction of life. Charles
was only twenty-one years old. At that age the freshness of youth seems
inseparable from candor and sincerity of soul. The voice, the glance,
the face itself, seem in harmony with the feelings; and thus it happens
that the sternest judge, the most sceptical lawyer, the least complying
of usurers, always hesitate to admit decrepitude of heart or the
corruption of worldly calculation while the eyes are still bathed
in purity and no wrinkles seam the brow. Charles, so far, had had no
occasion to apply the maxims of Parisian morality; up to this time he
was still endowed with the beauty of inexperience. And yet, unknown to
himself, he had been inoculated with selfishness. The germs of Parisian
political economy, latent in his heart, would assuredly burst forth,
sooner or later, whenever the careless spectator became an actor in the
drama of real life.

Nearly all young girls succumb to the tender promises such an outward
appearance seems to offer: even if Eugenie had been as prudent and
observing as provincial girls are often found to be, she was not likely
to distrust her cousin when his manners, words, and actions were still
in unison with the aspirations of a youthful heart. A mere chance--a
fatal chance--threw in her way the last effusions of real feeling which
stirred the young man's soul; she heard as it were the last breathings
of his conscience. She laid down the letter--to her so full of love--and
began smilingly to watch her sleeping cousin; the fresh illusions of
life were still, for her at least, upon his face; she vowed to herself
to love him always. Then she cast her eyes on the other letter, without
attaching much importance to this second indiscretion; and though she
read it, it was only to obtain new proofs of the noble qualities which,
like all women, she attributed to the man her heart had chosen.

My dear Alphonse,--When you receive this letter I shall be without
friends; but let me assure you that while I doubt the friendship
of th