open to a charge of extravagance, M. Paul half apologized; he half regretted too the fitfulness of his moods at all times, yet he hinted that some allowance ought to be made for him. "But", said he, "I can hardly expect it at your hands, Miss Lucy; you know neither me, nor my position, nor my history".
His history. I took up the word at once; I pursued the idea.
"No, monsieur", I rejoined. "Of course, as you say, I know neither your history, nor your position, nor your sacrifices, nor any of your sorrows, or trials, or affections, or fidelities. Oh, no! I know nothing about you; you are for me altogether a stranger".
"Hein?" he murmured, arching his brows in surprise.
"You know, monsieur, I only see you in classe—stern, dogmatic, hasty, imperious. I only hear of you in town as active and willful, quick to originate, hasty to lead, but slow to persuade, and hard to bend. A man like you, without ties, can have no attachments; without dependants, no duties. All we, with whom you come in contact, are machines, which you thrust here and there, inconsiderate of their feelings. You seek your recreations in public, by the light of the evening chandelier: this school and yonder college are your workshops, where you fabricate the ware called pupils. I don't so much as know where you live; it is natural to take it for granted that you have no home, and need none".
"I am judged", said he. "Your opinion of me is just what I thought it was. For you—I am neither a man nor a Christian. You see me void of affection and religion, unattached by friend or family, unpiloted by principle or faith. It is well, mademoiselle; such is our reward in this life".
"You are a philosopher, monsieur; a cynic philosopher" (and I looked at his paletôt, of which he straightway brushed the dim sleeve with his hand), "despising the foibles of humanity—above its luxuries,—independent of its comforts".
"Et vous, mademoiselle? vous êtes proprette et douillette, et affreusement insensible, par-dessus le marché".
"But, in short, monsieur, now I think of it, you must live somewhere? Do tell me where; and what establishment of servants do you keep?"
With a fearful projection of the under-lip, implying an impetus of scorn the most decided, he broke out—
