"'Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable.'[A] That maxim is earnestly denied by those poets who have never succeeded in being natural. They put a conventional jargon in the mouths of all their characters, and call that style! In their works, the peasant talks just like the noble; the man of the people uses as fine phrases as the advocate; the maid-servant indulges in metaphors like the _grande dame;_ and they call that style! Posterity will do justice to all such stuff. Bathos sinks and is drowned, while the natural sails smoothly along and always rides out the storm." "What! are all these fine books for me?" "Yes; make a bundle of them and take them away." "Oh! thanks, Charles!" "When you have read them with profit, I will give you more." "You are too kind! But I mean to make myself worthy of----. Well, you will see. Meanwhile, I've brought this back to you." He took from his pocket a small paper-covered package. "What is there inside?" "Twenty-nine francs." "Why do you want to give me that?" "Because I saw Piaulard and tried to pay him; but he was already paid; a--person had settled with him. You probably know that person, and I would like the twenty-nine francs to be returned." "Well done, my friend! This act of yours proves the return of worthy sentiments. But you need not worry; the person in question was paid long ago. So, keep the money, and if you need any more to buy anything come to me." "Oh! I am not short of funds now. I have never been so rich. I don't know how it happens." "You don't know? Why, it's very easy to understand; you spend vastly less, and earn vastly more; that's the whole secret of living in comfort." Ballangier tied up his books, we shook hands affectionately, and he went away content, leaving me very happy. What a contrast to our previous interviews! The next day, I was still resting from my peregrinations of the previous afternoon, and stoically making up my mind to wear mourning for Mademoiselle Rosette, when the pretty brunette suddenly burst into my room, vivacious, sprightly, and gay as always. She came to me and held out her hand. "Bonjour, monsieur! Are you still angry with me?" "Angry? Why, it wasn't I who was angry; it was yourself." "Oh! that's all over; let's not say any more about that; I don't bear any malice, and I don't know how to sulk. I say, did you go and ask for me at Aunt Falourdin's?" "At Aunt Falourdin's? You put it mildly. If you should say at all seven of your aunts', that would be nearer the truth!" "Oh! that's impossible! You went to the whole seven? you saw the whole assortment? Ha! ha! ha! Well, you must have had a merry time!" Rosette was seized with a paroxysm of frantic laughter, during which she could only repeat: "He saw my seven aunts! Poor, dear boy! he saw my seven aunts!" "Yes, I saw them all; and all in one day!"