en so far in this dull, little world, where calculation replaced
thought and feeling, where courtesy was a cut-and-dried formality, and
ideas of the very simplest were too alarming to be received or to pass
current? The sound of Mme. de Beauseant's name revived a young man's
dreams and wakened urgent desires that had lain dormant for a little.

Gaston de Nueil was absent-minded and preoccupied for the rest of the
evening. He was pondering how he might gain access to Mme. de Beauseant,
and truly it was no very easy matter. She was believed to be extremely
clever. But if men and women of parts may be captivated by something
subtle or eccentric, they are also exacting, and can read all that lies
below the surface; and after the first step has been taken, the chances
of failure and success in the difficult task of pleasing them are about
even. In this particular case, moreover, the Vicomtesse, besides the
pride of her position, had all the dignity of her name. Her utter
seclusion was the least of the barriers raised between her and the
world. For which reasons it was well-nigh impossible that a stranger,
however well born, could hope for admittance; and yet, the next
morning found M. de Nueil taking his walks abroad in the direction of
Courcelles, a dupe of illusions natural at his age. Several times he
made the circuit of the garden walls, looking earnestly through every
gap at the closed shutters or open windows, hoping for some romantic
chance, on which he founded schemes for introducing himself into this
unknown lady's presence, without a thought of their impracticability.
Morning after morning was spent in this way to mighty purpose; but with
each day's walk, that vision of a woman living apart from the world, of
love's martyr buried in solitude, loomed larger in his thoughts, and
was enshrined in his soul. So Gaston de Nueil walked under the walls
of Courcelles, and some gardener's heavy footstep would set his heart
beating high with hope.

He thought of writing to Mme. de Beauseant, but on mature consideration,
what can you say to a woman whom you have never seen, a complete
stranger? And Gaston had little self-confidence. Like most young persons
with a plentiful crop of illusions still standing, he dreaded the
mortifying contempt of silence more than death itself, and shuddered at
the thought of sending his first tender epistle forth to face so many
chances of being thrown on the fire. He was distracted by innumerab