h he patted me on the head, and said I was _bonne
enfant_, if I were not _si diablement entetee_, and bade me go to bed,
and sleep myself into a better humour; a piece of advice which appeared
to me _so_ judicious, that I proceeded at once to obey it, and bidding
them both a kind good-night, betook myself to my own room to ponder
rather than to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of
reflection, for with the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings, which
had long lain dormant rather than dead within me had almost overwhelmed
me; and the hardness which had its origin in the bitterness of conscious
dependence, and which had gained strength from the pride of
self-acquired independence, began to thaw in my heart, and to give way
to milder and gentler feelings.

The thoughts of home, the desire for my country, the love for my father
who, though weak and almost imbecile, had ever been kind to me in
person, the craving affection for my brothers and my sisters, nay!
something approaching to pity or regret for the mother who had proved
herself but a step-mother towards me, all revived in increased and
re-invigorated force.

By-and-bye, too, I began to feel that I should be very wretched after
the parting with my beloved brother at the end of so brief a renewal of
love and intimacy; to be aware of what I had scarcely felt before in the
self-confidence of the position I had won--that it is a sad and lonely
thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, with no natural friends, no
kind kindred on whom to rely in case of sickness or misfortune;--and, to
consider, how dark and grave a thing must be solitary old age, and
perhaps a solitary death-bed, far from the home of one's youth, the
friends of one's childhood.

Then there arose another thought connected with the preceding, by that
extraordinary and inexplicable chain, which seems to run through the
whole mind of man, linking together things apparently as far asunder as
the poles, which have, however, in reality, a kindred origin. That
thought was, wherefore should my life be solitary? Why should I stand
apart and alone from my race, relying on myself only, and depriving
myself, for the sake of a perhaps imaginary independence, of all the
endearments of social life, all the sweet ties of family?

Perhaps, the very presence of my brother had opened my eyes to the
truth, that there is no such thing in the world as real independence.
To realise that possession, most coveted,