“Perhaps you may,” answered he; “and as a commencement you must entirely forget the past. Daylight dispels the hideous visions of the night. I offer you a fresh lease of life; will you become a new man?” Paul heaved a deep sigh. “Rose,” he murmured; “I cannot forget her.” Mascarin frowned. “What,” said he, “do you still let your thoughts dwell on that woman? There are people who cringe to the hand that strikes them, and the more they are duped and deceived, the more they love. If you are made of this kind of stuff, we shall never get on. Go and find your faithless mistress, and beg her to come back and share your poverty, and see what she will say.” These sarcasms roused Paul. “I will be even with her some day,” muttered he. “Forget her; that is the easiest thing for you to do.” Even now Paul seemed to hesitate. “What,” said his patron reproachfully, “have you no pride?” “I have, sir.” “You have not, or you would never wish to hamper yourself with a woman like Rose. You should keep your hands free, if you want to fight your way through the battle of life.” “I will follow your advice, sir,” said Paul hurriedly. “Very soon you will thank Rose deeply for having left you. You will climb high, I can tell you, if you will work as I bid you.” “Then,” stammered Paul, “this situation at twelve thousand francs a year----” “There never has been such a situation.” A ghastly pallor overspread Paul’s countenance, as he saw himself again reduced to beggary. “But, sir,” he murmured, “will you not permit me to hope--” “For twelve thousand francs! Be at ease, you shall have that and much more. I am getting old. I have no ties in the world--you shall be my adopted son.” A cloud settled on Paul’s brow, for the idea that his life was to be passed in this office was most displeasing to him. Mascarin divined his inmost thoughts with perfect ease. “And the young fool does not know where to go for a crust of bread,” thought he. “Ah, if there were no Flavia, no Champdoce;” then, speaking aloud, he resumed, “don’t fancy, my dear boy, that I wish to condemn you to the treadmill that I am compelled to pass my life in. I have other views for you, far more worthy of your merits. I have taken a great liking to you, and I will do all I can to further your ambitious views. I was thinking a great deal of you, and in my head I raised the scaffolding of your future greatness. ‘He is poor,’ said I, ‘and at his age, and with his tastes, this is a cruel thing. Why, pray, should I not find a wife for him among those heiresses who have a million or two to give the man they marry? When I talk like this, it is because I know of an heiress, and my friend, Dr. Hortebise, shall introduce her to you. She is nearly, if not quite, as pretty as Rose, and has the advantage of her in being well-born, well-educated, and wealthy. She has influential relatives, and if her husband should happen to be a poet, or a composer, she could assist him in becoming famous.”