“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. Do you know the end of them? At the end of ten years--I give them no longer--nine out of ten die of starvation and disappointment, and the other joins the criminal army.” Paul had often repeated this to himself, and could, therefore, make no reply. “But,” went on Mascarin, “you did not leave Poitiers alone; you carried off with you a young girl named Rose Pigoreau.” “Pray, let me explain.” “It would be useless. The fact speaks for itself. In six months your little store had disappeared; then came poverty and starvation, and at last, in the Hotel de Perou, your thoughts turned to suicide, and you were only saved by my old friend Tantaine.” Paul felt his temper rising, for these plain truths were hard to bear; but fear lest he should lose his protector kept him silent. “I admit everything, sir,” said he calmly. “I was a fool, and almost mad, but experience has taught me a bitter lesson. I am here to-day, and this fact should tell you that I have given up all my vain hallucinations.” “Will you give up Rose Pigoreau?” As this abrupt question was put to him, Paul turned pale with anger. “I love Rose,” answered he coldly; “she believes in me, and has shared my troubles with courage, and one day she shall be my wife.” Raising his velvet cap from his head, Mascarin bowed with an ironical air, saying, “Is that so? Then I beg a thousand pardons. It is urgent that you should have immediate employment. Pray, what can you do? Not much of anything, I fancy;--like most college bred boys, you can do a little of everything, and nothing well. Had I a son, and an enormous income, I would have him taught a trade.” Paul bit his lip; but he knew the portrait was a true one. “And now,” continued Mascarin, “I have come to your aid, and what do you say to a situation with a salary of twelve thousand francs?” This sum was so much greater than Paul had dared to hope, that he believed Mascarin was amusing himself at his expense. “It is not kind of you to laugh at me, under the present circumstances,” remarked he. Mascarin was not laughing at him; but it was fully half an hour before he could prove this to Paul. “You would like more proof of what I say,” said he, after a long conversation. “Very well, then; shall I advance your first month’s salary?” And as he spoke, he took a thousand-franc note from his desk, and offered it to Paul. The young man rejected the note; but the force of the argument struck him; and he asked if he was capable of carrying out the duties which such a salary doubtless demanded.