d the uncertainty
in which you have been left, only you must promise me to look as much
astonished as possible. Your mother, who only lives for you, is going to
present you with the greatest gift a youth of your age can receive--that
of liberty. Yes, dear boy, we thought we had discovered that you have no
very keen taste for study, and that a secluded life will suit neither
your character nor your health. In saying this I utter no reproach, for
every man is born with his own decided tastes, and the way to success and
happiness is-often-to allow him to follow these instincts. We have had
long discussions on this subject--your mother and I--and we have thought
much about your future; she has at last come to a decision, and for the
last ten days has been at Versailles, endeavouring to obtain your
admission as a royal page. Here is the mystery, this is the reason which
has kept her from you, and as she knew you would hear it with delight,
she wished to have the pleasure of telling you herself. Therefore, once
again, when you see her, which will be very soon, do not let her see I
have told you; appear to be greatly surprised. It is true that I am
asking you to tell a lie, but it is a very innocent one, and its good
intention will counteract its sinfulness--may God grant we never have
worse upon our consciences! Thus, instead of lessons and the solemn
precepts of your tutors, instead of a monotonous school-life, you are
going to enjoy your liberty; also the pleasures of the court and the
world. All that rather alarms me, and I ought to confess that I at first
opposed this plan. I begged your mother to reflect, to consider that in
this new existence you would run great risk of losing the religious
feeling which inspires you, and which I have had the happiness, during my
sojourn at Buisson-Souef, of further developing in your mind. I still
recall with emotion your fervid and sincere aspirations towards the
Creator when you approached the Sacred Table for the first time, and
when, kneeling beside you, and envying the purity of heart and innocence
of soul which appeared to animate your countenance as with a divine
radiance, I besought God that, in default of my own virtue, the love for
heavenly Truth with which I have inspired you might be reckoned to my
account. Your piety is my work, Edouard, and I defended it against your
mother's plans; but she replied that in every career a man is master of
his own good or evil a