e, his long hair
thrown back and streaming loose, that somewhat excessive appearance,
very excusable when it is paid for by a life of sufferings and
privations, and his sympathy immediately went out to this courageous
fellow whose intrepidity of spirit he guessed at a glance. But the
other was too deeply moved by emotion to notice the progress of these
reflections. As soon as the door was closed upon them, he said, with the
accent of a stage hero addressing the perfidious seducer, "M. de Gery, I
am not yet a Cassandra."

And seeing the stupefaction of de Gery:

"Yes, yes," he went on, "we understand each other. I have known
perfectly well what it is that draws you to M. Joyeuse's house, and
the eager welcome with which you are received there has not escaped my
notice either. You are rich, you are of noble birth, there can be no
hesitation between you and the poor poet who follows a ridiculous trade
in order to give himself full time to reach a success which perhaps will
never come. But I shall not allow my happiness to be stolen from me.
We must fight, monsieur, we must fight," he repeated, excited by the
peaceful calm of his rival. "For long I have loved Mlle. Joyeuse. That
love is the end, the joy, and the strength of an existence which is very
hard, in many respects painful. I have only it in the world, and I would
rather die than give it up."

Strangeness of the human soul! Paul did not love the charming Aline. His
whole heart belonged to the other. He thought of her simply as a friend,
the most adorable of friends. But the idea that Maranne was interested
in her, that she no doubt returned this regard, gave him the jealous
shiver of an annoyance, and it was with some considerable sharpness that
he inquired whether Mlle. Joyeuse was aware of this sentiment of Andre's
and had in any way authorized him thus to proclaim his rights.

"Yes, monsieur, Mlle. Elise knows that I love her, and before your
frequent visits--"

"Elise? It is of Elise you are speaking?"

"And of whom, then, should I be speaking? The two others are too young."

He fully entered into the traditions of the family, this Andre. For him,
Bonne Maman's age of twenty years, her triumphant grace, were obscured
by a surname full of respect and the attributes of a Providence which
seemed to cling to her.

A very brief explanation having calmed Andre Maranne's mind, he offered
his apologies to de Gery, begged him to sit down in the arm-chair
of car