Your mother, whom you justly say was a thoroughly good woman, pinched herself in order to keep you at college at Poitiers.

You entered a solicitor's office at eighteen, I think ?" "Yes, sir." "But your mother's desire was to see you established at Loudon or Cevray.

Perhaps she hoped that her wealthy friend would aid you still further.

Unluckily, however, you had no inclination for the law." Paul smiled, but Mascarin went on with some little severity.
"I repeat, unfortunately; and I think that by this time you have gone through enough to be of my opinion.

What did you do instead of studying law?
You did--what?
You wasted your time over music, and composed songs, and, I know, an opera, and thought yourself a perfect genius." Paul had listened up to this time with patience, but at this sarcasm he endeavored to protest; but it was in vain, for Mascarin went on pitilessly,-- "One day you abandoned the study of the law, and told your mother that until you had made your name as a musical composer you would give lessons on the piano; but you could obtain no pupils, and--well, just look in the glass yourself, and say if you think that your age and appearance would justify parents in intrusting their daughters to your tuition ?" Mascarin stopped for a moment and consulted his notes afresh.
"Your departure from Poitiers," he went on, "was your last act of folly.
The very day after your poor mother's death you collected together all her scanty savings, and took the train to Paris." "Then, sir, I had hoped----" "What, to arrive at fortune by the road of talent?
Foolish boy! Every year a thousand poor wretches have been thus intoxicated by their provincial celebrity, and have started for Paris, buoyed up by similar hopes.