‘I remember,’ I said, ’the case of an heir apparent of seventy; his father was ninety-five.  One day the young man was very grumpy.  They tried to find out what was the matter with him; at last he broke out, “Everybody’s father dies except mine."’

‘An acquaintance of mine,’ said Beaumont, ’not a son, but a son-in-law, complained equally of the pertinacious longevity of his father-in-law.  “Je n’ai pas cru,” he said, “en me mariant, que j’epousais la fille du Pere Eternel.”  Your primogeniture,’ he continued, ’must be a great source of unfilial feelings.  The eldest son of one of your great families is in the position of the heir apparent to a throne.  His father’s death is to give him suddenly rank, power, and wealth; and we know that royal heirs apparent are seldom affectionate sons.  With us the fortunes are much smaller, they are equally divided, and the rank that descends to the son is nothing.’

‘What regulates,’ I asked, ‘the descent of titles?’

‘It is ill regulated,’ said Beaumont ’Titles are now of such little value that scarcely anyone troubles himself to lay down rules about them.

’In general, however, it is said, that all the sons of dukes and of marquises are counts.  The sons of counts in some families all take the title of Count.  There are, perhaps, thirty Beaumonts.  Some call themselves marquises, some counts, some barons.  I am, I believe, the only one of the family who has assumed no title.  Alexis de Tocqueville took none, but his elder brother, during his father’s life, called himself vicomte and his younger brother baron.  Probably Alexis ought then to have called himself chevalier, and, on his father’s death, baron.  But, I repeat, the matter is too unimportant to be subject to any settled rules.  Ancient descent is, with us, of great value, of far more than it is with you, but titles are worth nothing.’

[Footnote 1:  This incident is described in a little book published last year, the Memoirs of Madame de Montaign.—­ED.]

[Footnote 2:  M. de La Fayette was Madame de Beaumont’s grandfather.—­ED.]

[Footnote 3:  The chateau of M. de La Fayette.—­ED.]

Saturday, August 17.—­We drove to the coast and ascended the lighthouse of Gatteville, 85 metres, or about 280 feet high.  It stands in the middle of a coast fringed with frightful reefs, just enough under water to create no breakers, and a flat plain a couple of miles wide behind, so that the coast is not seen till you come close to it.  In spite of many lighthouses and buoys, wrecks are frequent.  A mysterious one occurred last February:  the lighthouse watchman showed us the spot—­a reef just below the lighthouse about two hundred yards from the shore.