From 1827 to 1831 the two friends were inseparable.  Dorlange, regularly supplied with means, was a sort of Marquis d’Aligre; Gaston, on the contrary, was reduced to his own resources for a living, and would have lived a life of extreme poverty had it not been for his friend.  But where friends love each other—­and the situation is more rare than people imagine—­all on one side and nothing on the other is a determining cause for association.  So, without any reckoning between them, our two pigeons held in common their purse, their earnings, their pains, pleasures, hopes, in fact, they held all things in common, and lived but one life between the two.  This state of things lasted till Dorlange had won the Grand Prix, and started for Rome.  Henceforth community of interests was no longer possible.  But Dorlange, still receiving an ample income through his mysterious dwarf, bethought himself of making over to Gaston the fifteen hundred francs paid to him by the government for the “prix de Rome.”  But a good heart in receiving is more rare than the good heart that gives.  His mind being ulcerated by constant misfortune Marie-Gaston refused, peremptorily, what pride insisted on calling alms.  Work, he said, had been provided for him by Daniel d’Arthez, one of our greatest writers, and the payment for that, added to his own small means, sufficed him.  This proud rejection, not properly understood by Dorlange, produced a slight coolness between the two friends; nevertheless, until the year 1833, their intimacy was maintained by a constant exchange of letters.  But here, on Marie-Gaston’s side, perfect confidence ceased, after a time, to exist.  He was hiding something; his proud determination to depend wholly on himself was a sad mistake.  Each day brought him nearer to penury.  At last, staking all upon one throw, he imprudently involved himself in journalism.  Assuming all the risks of an enterprise which amounted to thirty thousand francs, a stroke of ill-fortune left him nothing to look forward to but a debtor’s prison, which yawned before him.

It was at this moment that his meeting with Louise de Chaulieu took place.  During the nine months that preceded their marriage, Marie-Gaston’s letters to his friend became fewer and far-between.  Dorlange ought surely to have been the first to know of this change in the life of his friend, but not one word of it was confided to him.  This was exacted by the high and mighty lady of Gaston’s love, Louise de Chaulieu, Baronne de Macumer.

When the time for the marriage came, Madame de Macumer pushed this mania for secrecy to extremes.  I, her nearest and dearest friend, was scarcely informed of the event, and no one was admitted to the ceremony except the witnesses required by law.  Dorlange was still absent.  The correspondence between them ceased, and if Marie-Gaston had entered the convent of La Trappe, he could not have been more completely lost to his friend.

When Dorlange returned from Rome in 1836, the sequestration of Marie-Gaston’s person and affection was more than ever close and inexorable.  Dorlange had too much self-respect to endeavor to pass the barriers thus opposed to him, and the old friends not only never saw each other, but no communication passed between them.