of your age can receive—­that of liberty.  Yes, dear boy, we thought we had discovered that you have no very keen taste for study, and that a secluded life will suit neither your character nor your health.  In saying this I utter no reproach, for every man is born with his own decided tastes, and the way to success and happiness is-often-to allow him to follow these instincts.  We have had long discussions on this subject—­your mother and I—­and we have thought much about your future; she has at last come to a decision, and for the last ten days has been at Versailles, endeavouring to obtain your admission as a royal page.  Here is the mystery, this is the reason which has kept her from you, and as she knew you would hear it with delight, she wished to have the pleasure of telling you herself.  Therefore, once again, when you see her, which will be very soon, do not let her see I have told you; appear to be greatly surprised.  It is true that I am asking you to tell a lie, but it is a very innocent one, and its good intention will counteract its sinfulness—­may God grant we never have worse upon our consciences!  Thus, instead of lessons and the solemn precepts of your tutors, instead of a monotonous school-life, you are going to enjoy your liberty; also the pleasures of the court and the world.  All that rather alarms me, and I ought to confess that I at first opposed this plan.  I begged your mother to reflect, to consider that in this new existence you would run great risk of losing the religious feeling which inspires you, and which I have had the happiness, during my sojourn at Buisson-Souef, of further developing in your mind.  I still recall with emotion your fervid and sincere aspirations towards the Creator when you approached the Sacred Table for the first time, and when, kneeling beside you, and envying the purity of heart and innocence of soul which appeared to animate your countenance as with a divine radiance, I besought God that, in default of my own virtue, the love for heavenly Truth with which I have inspired you might be reckoned to my account.  Your piety is my work, Edouard, and I defended it against your mother’s plans; but she replied that in every career a man is master of his own good or evil actions; and as I have no authority over you, and friendship only gives me the right to advise, I must give way.  If this be your vocation, then follow it.

“My occupations are so numerous (I have to collect from different sources this hundred thousand livres intended to defray the greater part of the Buisson purchase) that I have not a moment in which to come and see you this week.  Spend the time in reflection, and write to me fully what you think about this plan.  If, like me, you feel any scruples, you must tell them to your mother, who decidedly wants only to make you happy.  Speak to me freely, openly.  It is arranged that I am to fetch you on the 11th of this month, and escort you to Versailles, where Madame de Lamotte will be waiting to receive you with the utmost tenderness.  Adieu, dear boy; write to me.  Your father knows nothing as yet; his consent will be asked after your decision.”