deeds, laden with generous promises; to have praiseworthy engagements to fulfil, grand hopes to realize; to have in the past powerful protectors, inspiring models that one can invoke in the hour of crisis like exceptional patrons, like saints belonging exclusively to one’s own family; to have one’s conduct traced out by masters of whom we are proud; to have nothing to imagine—­nothing to originate, no good example to set, nothing to do but to nobly continue the work grandly commenced, to keep up the tradition, to follow the old routine—­it is especially glorious when the tradition is of honor, when the routine is of glory.

But who comprehends these sentiments now?  Who dares utter these noble words without an ironical smile?  Only a few helpless believers like myself who still energetically but vainly protest against these degradations.  Some go to Algeria to prove their hereditary bravery and obtain the Cross of Honor they are deprived of here; others retire to their chateaux and study the fine arts, thus enjoying the only generous resource of discouraged souls; surrounded by the true and the beautiful, they try to forget an ungrateful and degenerate party.  Others, disciples of Sully, temper their strength by hard work in the fruitful study of sacred science, and become enthusiastic, absorbed husbandmen, in order to conceal their misanthropy.  But what can they do?  Fight all alone for a deserted cause?  What can the best officers accomplish without soldiers?

You see, Valentine, I forget my own sorrows in thinking of our common woes; when I reflect upon the sad state of public affairs, I find Roger doubly culpable.  Possessing so brilliant a mind, such superb talents, he could by his influence bring these young fools back to the path of honor.  How unpardonable it is in him to lead them further astray by his dangerous example?

Oh, Valentine!  I feel that I am not fitted to live in times like these.  Everything displeases me.  The people of past ages seemed unintelligent, impracticable the people of the present day are coarse and hypocritical—­the former understand nothing, the latter pervert everything.  The former had not the attainments that I require, the latter have not the delicacy that I exact.  The world is ugly; I have seen enough of it.  It is sad to think of one so young as I, just entering upon life, having my head weighed down by the cares and disappointments of sixty years!  For a blonde head this weight is very heavy!

What! in this grand world, not one noble being, not one elevated soul possessed of high aspirations and a holy respect for love!

For a young woman to own millions and be compelled to hoard them because she has no one to bestow them upon!  To be rich, young, free, generous, and forced to live alone because no worthy partner can be found!...

Valentine, is not this a sad case?

Now my anger is gone—­I am only sad, but I am mortally sad....  I know not what to do....  Would I could fly to your arms!  Ah! mother! my mother! why am I left to struggle all alone in this unfeeling world!