or dignified thus to live in terror of a minister’s daughter—­perhaps he might ultimately learn to associate and hold intercourse with her, unharmed.  That would be a triumph worth striving for!  Indeed, how could he feel secure until it had been won?  Again, did there at present exist any such risk as he had brought himself to imagine?  Was not this first ordeal, and its effects, all that was to be apprehended?  What if all his anxiety, and self-control, and prudence, had been wasting themselves upon nothing?  Would it not be worth while to try the experiment? to prove whether he was still liable to this strange witchery and enchantment? even if so it should turn out, it was still well that the point should be settled once for all.  Decided, then, that he should take the first opportunity to put himself to the test.

Thus did the young man argue around his instinct, ignorant that the poison was at that moment circulating in his blood, and prompting the very sophistries that his brain produced.  He who is cured begets a wholesome aversion toward what has harmed him; he feels no curiosity to prove whether or no he be yet open to mischief from it.  Bressant’s poison was in fact an elixir, whose delicious intoxication he had experienced once, and which his whole nature secretly but urgently craved to taste again.

A result somewhat similar to this was doubtless what Professor Valeyon aimed at in his plan of developing the emotional and affectional elements of his pupil, albeit he was far from imagining what might be the cost and risk to every thing which he himself held most dear.  Like many other men, of otherwise liberal mind and clear insight into character, he had certain convictions and principles, derived from contemplating the facts and results of his own life, which he believed must produce upon other people’s mental and moral constitutions as good an effect as upon his own.  And possibly, could we divest our regimen of life of all personal flavor and conformation, it might, other things being favorable, suit our friends very tolerably well.  But, until we are able to throw off the fetters of our own individuality, the measure of our garments can never accurately fit anybody else.

On the morning of the 1st of July, Bressant sat at his table, with his books and papers about him.  He was in an excellent humor, for he had just arrived at the conclusion that he might, and would, safely encounter his bugbear Cornelia.  If the professor invited him to tea, and to spend the evening, he was resolved to accept; and, at that moment, he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder, and, turning quickly round, recognized the sombre figure of the boarding-house keeper.

Although he had lived with her two weeks, he had not as yet had other than the briefest communication with her.  He probably thought ho had in hand many matters of more importance than the cultivation of his landlady’s acquaintance; and she, whatever may have been her desire to carry out the promise she had made to the professor, had not found it possible to be other than indirectly observant of his welfare.