he was only
following out the evil tendencies which many people shelter under
the terrible axiom that "men should have strength of character,"--a
masculine phrase that has caused many a woman's misery.

The Descoings, father-in-law and mother-in-law of the doctor, were
commission merchants in the wool-trade, and did a double business by
selling for the producers and buying for the manufacturers of the golden
fleeces of Berry; thus pocketing a commission on both sides. In this way
they grew rich and miserly--the outcome of many such lives. Descoings
the son, younger brother of Madame Rouget, did not like Issoudun. He
went to seek his fortune in Paris, where he set up as a grocer in the
rue Saint-Honore. That step led to his ruin. But nothing could have
hindered it: a grocer is drawn to his business by an attracting force
quite equal to the repelling force which drives artists away from it.
We do not sufficiently study the social potentialities which make up
the various vocations of life. It would be interesting to know what
determines one man to be a stationer rather than a baker; since, in our
day, sons are not compelled to follow the calling of their fathers,
as they were among the Egyptians. In this instance, love decided the
vocation of Descoings. He said to himself, "I, too, will be a grocer!"
and in the same breath he said (also to himself) some other things
regarding his employer,--a beautiful creature, with whom he had fallen
desperately in love. Without other help than patience and the trifling
sum of money his father and mother sent him, he married the widow of his
predecessor, Monsieur Bixiou.

In 1792 Descoings was thought to be doing an excellent business. At that
time, the old Descoings were still living. They had retired from the
wool-trade, and were employing their capital in buying up the forfeited
estates,--another golden fleece! Their son-in-law Doctor Rouget, who,
about this time, felt pretty sure that he should soon have to mourn for
the death of his wife, sent his daughter to Paris to the care of his
brother-in-law, partly to let her see the capital, but still more to
carry out an artful scheme of his own. Descoings had no children. Madame
Descoings, twelve years older than her husband, was in good health,
but as fat as a thrush after harvest; and the canny Rouget knew enough
professionally to be certain that Monsieur and Madame Descoings,
contrary to the moral of fairy tales, would live happy eve