“It is like the examinations,” observed Marechal, looking slyly at young Desvarennes, who was drawing himself up to his full height; “examinations never suited you.”

“Never,” said Savinien, energetically.  “They wished to get me into the Polytechnic School; impossible!  Then the Central School; no better.  I astonished the examiners by the novelty of my ideas.  They refused me.”

“Well, you know,” retorted Marechal, “if you began by overthrowing their theories—­”

“That’s it!” cried Savinien, triumphantly.  “My mind is stronger than I; I must let my imagination have free run, and no one will ever know what that particular turn of mind has cost me.  Even my family do not think me serious.  Aunt Desvarennes has forbidden any kind of enterprise, under pretence that I bear her name, and that I might compromise it because I have twice failed.  My aunt paid, it is true.  Do you think it is generous of her to take advantage of my situation, and prohibit my trying to succeed?  Are inventors judged by three or four failures?  If my aunt had allowed me I should have astonished the world.”

“She feared, above all,” said Marechal, simply, “to see you astonishing the Tribunal of Commerce.”

“Oh! you, too,” moaned Savinien, “are in league with my enemies; you make no account of me.”

And young Desvarennes sank as if crushed into an armchair and began to lament.  He was very unhappy at being misunderstood.  His aunt allowed him three thousand francs a month on condition that he would not make use of his ten fingers.  Was it moral?  Then he with such exuberant vigor had to waste it on pleasure and seeing life to the utmost.  He passed his time in theatres, at clubs, restaurants, in boudoirs.  He lost his time, his money, his hair, his illusions.  He bemoaned his lot, but continued, only to have something to do.  With grim sarcasm he called himself the galley-slave of pleasure.  And notwithstanding all these consuming excesses, he asserted that he could not render his imagination barren.  Amid the greatest follies at suppers, during the clinking of glasses; in the excitement of the dance-inspirations came to him in flashes, he made prodigious discoveries.

And as Marechal ventured a timid “Oh!” tinged with incredulity, Savinien flew into a passion.  Yes; he had invented something astonishing; he saw fortune within reach, and he thought the bargain made with his aunt very unjust.  Therefore he had come to break it, and to regain his liberty.

Marechal looked at the young man while he was explaining with animation his ambitious projects.  He scrutinized that flat forehead within which the dandy asserted so many good ideas were hidden.  He measured that slim form bent by wild living, and asked himself how that degenerate being could struggle against the difficulties of business.  A smile played on his lips.  He knew Savinien too well not to be aware that he was a prey to one of those attacks of melancholy which seized on him when his funds were low.