dless and possibly arrogant words their enemy had uttered in
moments of excitement and expansion, he grew cautious; and sometimes
because of this, and sometimes because he was collecting material for
his work, he would often be silent in general society. To the end,
however, he loved a tete-a-tete with a sympathetic listener--one, it
must be conceded, who would be content, except for the occasional
comment, to remain himself in the background, as the great man wanted
a safety-valve for his own impetuous thoughts, and did not generally
care to hear the paler, less interesting impressions of his companion.

With what longing, in the midst of his harassing life in Paris, he
would look back to the charming long fireside chats he had had with
Madame Hanska; and as the time to meet her again came nearer, with
what satisfaction special tit-bits of gossip were reserved to be
talked over and explained during the long evenings at Wierzchownia!
How he loved to rush in to his sister with the latest news of the
personages of his novels, as well as with brilliant plans to improve
his general prospects; and with what enthusiasm he poured out to
Theophile Gautier, or even to Leon Gozlan, his confidences of all
sorts! Plans, absurd and impossible, but worked out with a
business-like arrangement of detail which, when mingled with
somnambulists and magnetisers, had a weird yet apparently fascinating
effect on his hearers; magnificent diatribes against the wickedness of
his special enemies, journalists, editors, and the Press in general;
strange fancies to do with the world where Eugenie Grandet or Le Pere
Goriot had their dwelling,--all these ideas, opinions, and feelings
came from his lips with an eloquence, a force, and a life which were
all convincing. Yet by a strange anomaly, which is sometimes seen in
talkative and apparently unreserved people, Balzac in reality revealed
very little of himself--in fact, we may often suspect him of using a
flow of apparently spontaneous words as a screen to mask some hidden
feeling. Therefore, when people who had considered themselves his
intimate friends tried to write about him after his death, they found
that they really knew little of the essentials of the man, and could
only string together amusing anecdotes, proving him to have been
eccentric, amusing, and essentially _bon camarade_, but giving little
idea of his real personality and genius.

Even in these early days at the card-parties--where