The titles of his writings run as follows:  ’Les Amours de Jacques (1868); Un Beau Frere (1869); Romain Kalbris (1864), being a romance for children; Une Bonne Afaire, and Madame Obernin (1870); Un Cure de Province (1872); Un Mariage sons le Second Empire (1873); Une Belle Mere (1874); L’Auberge du Monde (1875-1876, 4 vols.); Les Batailles du Mariage (1877, 3 vols.); Cara (1877); Le Docteur Claude (1879); Le Boheme Tapageuse (1880, 3 vols.); Pompon, and Une Femme d’Argent (1881); La Petite Soeur, and Les Millions Honteux (1882); Les Besogneux, and Paulette (1883); Marichette, and Micheline (1884.); Le Lieutenant Bonnet, and Sang Bleu (1885); Baccara, and Zyte (1886); Viceo Francis, Seduction, and Ghislaine (1887); Mondaine (1888); Mariage Riche, and Justice (1889); Mere (1890), Anie (1891); Complices (1892); Conscience (1893); and Amours de Jeunes et Amours de Vieux (1894).’

About this time Hector Malot resolved not to write fiction any more.  He announced this determination in a card published in the journal, ’Le Temps,’ May 25, 1895—­It was then maliciously stated that “M.  Malot his retired from business after having accumulated a fortune.”  However, he took up his pen again and published a history of his literary life:  Le Roman de mes Romans (1896); besides two volumes of fiction, L’Amour dominateur (1896), and Pages choisies (1898), works which showed that, in the language of Holy Writ, “his eye was not dimmed nor his natural force abated,” and afforded him a triumph over his slanderers.

                  EdouardPailleron
               de l’Academie Francaise.

CONSCIENCE

BOOK 1.

CHAPTER I

THE REUNION

When Crozat, the Bohemian, escaped from poverty, by a good marriage that made him a citizen of the Rue de Vaugirard, he did not break with his old comrades; instead of shunning them, or keeping them at a distance, he took pleasure in gathering them about him, glad to open his house to them, the comforts of which were very different from the attic of the Rue Ganneron, that he had occupied for so long a time.

Every Wednesday, from four to seven o’clock, he had a reunion at his house, the Hotel des Medicis, and it was a holiday for which his friends prepared themselves.  When a new idea occurred to one of the habitues it was caressed, matured, studied in solitude, in order to be presented in full bloom at the assembly.

Crozat’s reception of his friends was pleasing, simple, like the man, cordial on the part of the husband, as well as on the part of the wife, who, having been an actress, held to the religion of comradeship:  On a table were small pitchers of beer and glasses; within reach was an old stone jar from Beauvais, full of tobacco.  The beer was good, the tobacco dry, and the glasses were never empty.