civilities, he being Madame Babette’s nephew, with a soft graciousness which must have made one of her principal charms; for all who knew her speak of the fascination of her manners, so winning and attentive to others, while yet her opinions, and often her actions, were of so decided a character.  For, as I have said, her beauty was by no means great; yet every man who came near her seems to have fallen into the sphere of her influence.  Monsieur Morin was deeper than ever in love with her during these last few days:  he was worked up into a state capable of any sacrifice, either of himself or others, so that he might obtain her at last.  He sat ‘devouring her with his eyes’ (to use Pierre’s expression) whenever she could not see him; but, if she looked towards him, he looked to the ground—­anywhere—­away from her and almost stammered in his replies if she addressed any question to him.’

“He had been, I should think, ashamed of his extreme agitation on the Boulevards, for Pierre thought that he absolutely shunned him for these few succeeding days.  He must have believed that he had driven the Norman (my poor Clement!) off the field, by banishing him from his inn; and thought that the intercourse between him and Virginie, which he had thus interrupted, was of so slight and transient a character as to be quenched by a little difficulty.

“But he appears to have felt that he had made but little way, and he awkwardly turned to Pierre for help—­not yet confessing his love, though; he only tried to make friends again with the lad after their silent estrangement.  And Pierre for some time did not choose to perceive his cousin’s advances.  He would reply to all the roundabout questions Morin put to him respecting household conversations when he was not present, or household occupations and tone of thought, without mentioning Virginie’s name any more than his questioner did.  The lad would seem to suppose, that his cousin’s strong interest in their domestic ways of going on was all on account of Madame Babette.  At last he worked his cousin up to the point of making him a confidant:  and then the boy was half frightened at the torrent of vehement words he had unloosed.  The lava came down with a greater rush for having been pent up so long.  Morin cried out his words in a hoarse, passionate voice, clenched his teeth, his fingers, and seemed almost convulsed, as he spoke out his terrible love for Virginie, which would lead him to kill her sooner than see her another’s; and if another stepped in between him and her!—­and then he smiled a fierce, triumphant smile, but did not say any more.

“Pierre was, as I said, half-frightened; but also half-admiring.  This was really love—­a ’grande passion,’—­a really fine dramatic thing,—­like the plays they acted at the little theatre yonder.  He had a dozen times the sympathy with his cousin now that he had had before, and readily swore by the infernal gods, for they were far too enlightened to believe in one