Already, at this time, M. Favoral had in the neighborhood, and ever among his friends, the reputation to be worth at least a million. The Mutual Credit Society had considerably developed itself: he must, they thought, have benefitted largely by the circumstance; and the profits must have swelled rapidly in the hands of so able a man, and one so noted for his rigid economy. Such is the substance of what Maxence heard; and people did not fail to add ironically, that he need not rely upon the paternal fortune to amuse himself. M. Desormeaux himself, whom he had “pumped” rather cleverly, had told him, whilst patting him amicably on the shoulder, “If you ever need money for your frolics, young man, try and earn it; for I’ll be hanged if it’s the old man who’ll ever supply it.” Such answers complicated, instead of explaining, the problem which occupied Maxence. He observed, he watched; and at last he acquired the certainty that the money he spent was the fruit of the joint labor of his mother and sister. “Ah! why not have told me so?” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his mother’s neck. “Why have exposed me to the bitter regrets which I feel at this moment?” By this sole word the poor woman found herself amply repaid. She admired the _noblesse_ of her son’s feelings and the kindness of his heart. “Do you not understand,” she told him, shedding tears of joy, “do you not see, that the labor which can promote her son’s pleasure is a happiness for his mother?” But he was dismayed at his discovery. “No matter!” he said. “I swear that I shall no longer scatter to the winds, as I have been doing, the money that you give me.” For a few weeks, indeed, he was faithful to his pledge. But at fifteen resolutions are not very stanch. The impressions he had felt wore off. He became tired of the small privations which he had to impose upon himself. He soon came to take to the letter what his mother had told him, and to prove to his own satisfaction that to deprive himself of a pleasure was to deprive her. He asked for ten francs one day, then ten francs another, and gradually resumed his old habits. He was at this time about leaving school. “The moment has come,” said M. Favoral, “for him to select a career, and support himself.” X To think of a profession, Maxence Favoral had not waited for the paternal warnings. Modern schoolboys are precocious: they know the strong and the weak side of life; and, when they take their degree, they already have but few illusions left. And how could it be otherwise? In the interior of the colleges is fatally found the echo of the thoughts, and the reflex of the manners, of the time. Neither walls nor keepers can avail. At the same time, as the city mud that stains their boots, the scholars bring back on their return from holidays their stock of observations and of facts. And what have they seen during the day in their families, or among their friends?