‘Yes! I was very unhappy at that period,’ continued the Baron. ‘It seemed to me that Heaven was unjust in so unequally dividing its favours. I had every luxury, because my father was rich, but I would have exchanged them all for a caress when I went to bed at night, or for the touch of a soft hand upon my head. I saw other fathers proud of their sons, and I wondered what I had done that mine should never care to see or hear from me, and scarcely took the trouble to write home to ask if I were dead or alive. Such thoughts embittered my mind and made it callous, and after I entered the _Athénée_ and joined the wild band of students assembled within its walls, I soon became the wildest of them all, and well known to the authorities as a dangerous leader into all sorts of mischief. Why should I not be? what was there to restrain me? No mother’s look of pain—no father’s frown—nothing but a remonstrance from Monsieur de Beaupré, that my allowance did not last long enough, and that if I could not moderate my expenses he should be obliged to inform his brother-in-law. So things went on till I was twenty-one, when the news reached Paris of my father’s death. I came into my title and my fortune, and was considered to be one of the best matches in Paris. But, mademoiselle, I am fatiguing you. Why should I be so vain as to imagine that all these paltry details can hold any interest for you?’ ‘Indeed, monsieur, I am deeply interested. Pray believe me when I say so.’ ‘Why should I tell this tale of folly and dissipation to you?’ he went on, musingly; ‘I knew I should have to confess it some day, to the woman I should make my wife—if such an event ever happens—but I never thought to disclose it before. _Hélas!_ this world brings strange things to pass! As soon as my uncle Beaupré heard of my father’s death, he tried to persuade me to complete the marriage with his daughter at once, but I was averse to the idea of tying myself down so soon, and refused to do so until the time named in the contract, which was on the attainment of my twenty-fourth year. I left the _Athénée_, of course, and, settling in my own _hôtel_, on the Boulevards des Tuileries, plunged, with the aid of my old college companions, into every sort of dissipation. Will mademoiselle pardon me for mentioning such a thing?’ ‘We are better used to the mention of it in England, monsieur, than your ladies are in Paris, although we recognise its necessity less, and deplore its existence more. We Englishwomen are permitted to know that our men lead very different lives from ourselves, but we are taught at the same time that, for that very reason, it behoves us to be all the purer and more discreet, in order to win them back to a right and virtuous living.’ ‘And you do so win them! In all the world there are no such lovers of domestic life as there are in England.’