r, a great artist, a great inventor in a nation. A man of superior
intellect or an idiot--a Hulot or a Crevel--equally crave for the ideal
and for enjoyment; all alike go in search of the mysterious compound, so
rare that at last it is usually found to be a work in two volumes. This
craving is a depraved impulse due to society.

Marriage, no doubt, must be accepted as a tie; it is life, with its
duties and its stern sacrifices on both parts equally. Libertines, who
seek for hidden treasure, are as guilty as other evil-doers who are more
hardly dealt with than they. These reflections are not a mere veneer of
moralizing; they show the reason of many unexplained misfortunes. But,
indeed, this drama points its own moral--or morals, for they are of many
kinds.

The Baron presently went to call on the Marshal Prince de Wissembourg,
whose powerful patronage was now his only chance. Having dwelt under his
protection for five-and-thirty years, he was a visitor at all hours, and
would be admitted to his rooms as soon as he was up.

"Ah! How are you, my dear Hector?" said the great and worthy leader.
"What is the matter? You look anxious. And yet the session is ended.
One more over! I speak of that now as I used to speak of a campaign.
And indeed I believe the newspapers nowadays speak of the sessions as
parliamentary campaigns."

"We have been in difficulties, I must confess, Marshal; but the times
are hard!" said Hulot. "It cannot be helped; the world was made so.
Every phase has its own drawbacks. The worst misfortunes in the year
1841 is that neither the King nor the ministers are free to act as
Napoleon was."

The Marshal gave Hulot one of those eagle flashes which in its pride,
clearness, and perspicacity showed that, in spite of years, that lofty
soul was still upright and vigorous.

"You want me to so something for you?" said he, in a hearty tone.

"I find myself under the necessity of applying to you for the promotion
of one of my second clerks to the head of a room--as a personal favor to
myself--and his advancement to be officer of the Legion of Honor."

"What is his name?" said the Marshal, with a look like a lightning
flash.

"Marneffe."

"He has a pretty wife; I saw her on the occasion of your daughter's
marriage.--If Roger--but Roger is away!--Hector, my boy, this is
concerned with your pleasures. What, you still indulge--? Well, you
are a credit to the old Guard. That is what comes of having been in
th