His decision was irrevocable. But as he was by nature fond of work he could not remain idle or aimless, and accordingly three months later he began the study of painting. After four years in this pursuit he abandoned it to study law. Whatever he undertook he did well, and his brilliant attainments won for him the respect of every one. But he spoiled everything by always and at every step exacting of himself perfection. The men with whom he came in contact must be irreproachable. To see wickedness and immorality on all sides was terrible to him. The means which men employed to succeed in life disgusted him. Here and there he saw that men of brains often fell short of success, while dull and irresponsible men were on the top wave of prosperity, and these glimpses of life shocked his too sensitive nature. It is a decided mistake not to take humanity for what it is worth, without stopping to speculate and to moralize. But poor Eugène could not understand the frailty of mankind, and so one day at the age of thirty-five, disillusioned, not knowing what to do, regretting his own unworthiness, but convinced that a man truly honest and pure-minded will strive to make his own life unimpeachable before criticising the foibles of others, he realized how little real good he had done in the world. Visions of the fields and hedges of Morvan came to his mind, and finally he returned to his native town to put all his knowledge and acquirements at the service of his unsophisticated neighbors. Twenty years later he still dwelt at St. Benoit, where a fellow-citizen could not construct a house, fell a tree, marry a girl, make a will, buy a meadow or undertake a lawsuit without consulting Monsieur Eugène. Always good-natured and generous, he gave himself up unreservedly to all their interests. He cured their wounds, settled their disputes, and advised them in their conduct, and only asked in return a little gratitude. To say that Monsieur Eugène did not nourish vague regrets would hardly be true. But he had acquired, with years, a certain indifference to what might have been, which contributed greatly to his tranquillity of mind. When Catherine entered he asked her to sit down for a moment while he wrote a few lines. Monsieur Eugène’s library was an artistic, beautiful room. Rare volumes filled the shelves and exquisite _objets d’art_ and unique _vertu_ were scattered about in profusion. All these things, however, were quite lost upon the ordinary peasant who came to him for advice. Only a few, like Catherine and Savin, could appreciate his taste, the rest declaring that Monsieur Eugène was _bizarre_ and eccentric in this particular. Catherine was too much excited to contain herself, and stepping up to his desk she simply said: “Monsieur Eugène, I want to procure a separation.” “What! Has Savin been unkind to you?”