And there was one person who did observe him closely.  Charles followed him step by step with his sharp eyes; every blunder, every extravagance, every loss—­he knew all to a nicety, and he wondered that Alphonse could keep going so long.

They had as good as grown up together.  Their mothers were cousins; the families had lived near each other in the same street; and in a city like Paris proximity is as important as relationship in promoting close intercourse.  Moreover, the boys went to the same school.

Thenceforth, as they grew up to manhood, they were inseparable.  Mutual adaptation overcame the great differences which originally marked their characters, until at last their idiosyncrasies fitted into each other like the artfully-carved pieces of wood which compose the picture-puzzles of our childhood.

The relation between them was really a beautiful one, such as does not often arise between two young men; for they did not understand friendship as binding the one to bear everything at the hands of the other, but seemed rather to vie with each other in mutual considerateness.

If, however, Alphonse in his relation to Charles showed any high degree of considerateness, he himself was ignorant of it; and if any one had told him of it he would doubtless have laughed loudly at such a mistaken compliment.

For as life on the whole appeared to him very simple and straightforward, the idea that his friendship should in any way fetter him was the last thing that could enter his head.  That Charles was his best friend seemed to him as entirely natural as that he himself danced best, rode best, was the best shot, and that the whole world was ordered entirely to his mind.

Alphonse was in the highest degree a spoilt child of fortune; he acquired everything without effort; existence fitted him like an elegant dress, and he wore it with such unconstrained amiability that people forgot to envy him.

And then he was so handsome.  He was tall and slim, with brown hair and big open eyes; his complexion was clear and smooth, and his teeth shone when he laughed.  He was quite conscious of his beauty, but, as everybody had petted him from his earliest days, his vanity was of a cheerful, good-natured sort, which, after all, was not so offensive.  He was exceedingly fond of his friend.  He amused himself and sometimes others by teasing him and making fun of him; but he knew Charles’s face so thoroughly that he saw at once when the jest was going too far.  Then he would resume his natural, kindly tone, until he made the serious and somewhat melancholy Charles laugh till he was ill.

From his boyhood Charles had admired Alphonse beyond measure.  He himself was small and insignificant, quiet and shy.  His friend’s brilliant qualities cast a lustre over him as well, and gave a certain impetus to his life.

His mother often said:  “This friendship between the boys is a real blessing for my poor Charles, for without it he would certainly have been a melancholy creature.”