to force from
myself when I grew too much ashamed of my bashfulness; but the presence
of Saint-Jean, who was waiting upon us, condemned me to silence on the
subject next to my heart. I decided, therefore, to talk about Patience.
I asked her how it came to pass that she was on such good terms with
him, and in what light I ought to look upon the pretended sorcerer. She
gave me the main points in the history of the rustic philosopher, and
explained that it was the Abbe Aubert who had taken her to Gazeau Tower.
She had been much struck by the intelligence and wisdom of the stoic
hermit, and used to derive great pleasure from conversation with him. On
his side, Patience had conceived such a friendship for her that for some
time he had relaxed his strict habits, and would frequently pay her a
visit when he came to see the abbe.

As you may imagine, she had no little difficulty in making these
explanations intelligible to me. I was very much surprised at the
praise she bestowed on Patience, and at the sympathy she showed for
his revolutionary ideas. This was the first time I had heard a peasant
spoken of as a man. Besides, I had hitherto looked upon the sorcerer of
Gazeau Tower as very much below the ordinary peasant, and here was Edmee
praising him above most of the men she knew, and even siding with him
against the nobles. From this I drew the comfortable conclusion that
education was not so essential as the chevalier and the abbe would have
me believe.

"I can scarcely read any better than Patience," I added, "and I only
wish you found as much pleasure in my society as in his; but it hardly
appears so, cousin, for since I came here . . ."

We were then leaving the table, and I was rejoicing at the prospect of
being alone with her at last, so that I might talk more freely, when on
going into the drawing-room we found M. de la Marche there. He had just
arrived, and was in the act of entering by the opposite door. In my
heart I wished him at the devil.

M. de la March was one of the fashionable young nobles of the day.
Smitten with the new philosophy, devoted to Voltaire, a great admirer of
Franklin, more well-meaning than intelligent, understanding the oracles
less than he desired or pretended to understand them; a pretty poor
logician, since he found his ideas much less excellent and his political
hopes much less sweet on the day that the French nation took it into its
head to realize them; for the rest, full of fine sen