“A gambler!”

“Yes, there is that, to be sure.”

“A fool, as it seems, who, in exchange for her beauty, grace, and youth, can offer only an assortment of damaged goods!  Yes, I do pity girls duped thus, deceived and sacrificed by the very purity that makes them believe in that of others.”

“You’ve some queer notions!  It’s the way of the world.  If the innocent victims were only to marry males of equal innocence, under the guardianship of virtuous parents, the days of this world would be numbered, my boy.  I assure you that Dufilleul is a good match, handsome for one thing—­”

“That’s worth a deal!”

“Rich.”

“The deuce he is!”

“And then a name which can be divided.”

“Divided?”

“With all the ease in the world.  A very rare quality.  At his marriage he describes himself as Monsieur du Filleul.  A year later he is Baron du Filleul.  At the death of his father, an old cad, he becomes Comte du Filleul.  If the young wife is pretty and knows how to cajole her husband, she may even become a marquise.”

“Ugh!”

“You are out of spirits, my poor fellow; I will stand you an absinthe, the only beverage that will suit the bitterness of your heart.”

“No, I shall go home.”

“Good-by, then.  You don’t take your degree cheerfully.”

“Good-by.”

He spun round on his heels and went down the Boulevard St. Michel.

So all is over forever between her and me, and, saddest of all, she is even more to be pitied than I. Poor girl!  I loved her deeply, but I did it awkwardly, as I do everything, and missed my chance of speaking.  The mute declaration which I risked, or rather which a friend risked for me, found her already engaged to this beast who has brought more skill to the task, who has made no blots at the National Library, who has dared all when he had everything to fear—­

I have allowed myself to be taken by her maiden witchery.  All the fault, all the folly is mine.  She has given me no encouragement, no sign of liking me.  If she smiled at St. Germain it was because she was surprised and flattered.  If she came near to tears at the Salon it was because she pitied me.  I have not the shadow of a reproach to make her.

That is all I shall ever get from her—­a tear, a smile.  That’s all; never mind, I shall contrive to live on it.  She has been my first love, and I shall keep her a place in my heart from which no other shall drive her.  I shall now set to work to shut this poor heart which did so wrong to open....  I thought to be happy to-night, and I am full of sorrow.  Henceforward I think I shall understand Sylvestre better.  Our sorrows will bring us nearer.  I will go to see him at once, and will tell him so.

But first I must write to my uncle to tell him that his nephew is a Doctor of Law.  All the rest, my plans, my whole future can be put off till to-morrow, or the day after, unless I get disgusted at the very thought of a future and decide to conjugate my life in the present indicative only.  That is what I feel inclined to do.