_In style, Scribe is delicate and graceful, with an indescribable “charm,” as in his first manner, or lively and natural, as in his second; but he is not to be relied upon for the truth._ [Illustration] THE PRICE OF A LIFE BY EUGÈNE SCRIBE Translated by Linda de Kowalewska. Copyright, 1893, by The Current Literature Publishing Company. Joseph, opening the door of the salon, came to tell us that the post-chaise was ready. My mother and my sister threw themselves into my arms. “There is yet time,” said they. “It is not too late. Give up this journey and remain with us.” I replied: “My mother, I am a gentleman. I am twenty years old, my country needs me, I must win fame and renown; be it in the army, be it at court, I must be heard of, men must speak of me.” “And when you are far away, tell me, Bernard, what will become of me, your old mother?” “You will be happy and proud to hear of your son’s successes--” “And if you are killed in some battle?” “What matters it? What is life? Only a dream. One dreams only of glory at twenty, and when one is a gentleman; but do not fear, you will see me return to you in a few years, a colonel, a maréchal-de-camp, or, better still, with a fine position at Versailles.” “Indeed! When will that be?” “It will come, and I shall be respected and envied by all--and then--every one will take off his hat to me--and then--I will marry my cousin Henriette, and I will find good husbands for my sisters, and we shall all live together tranquil and happy on my estates in Brittany.” “Why not do all that to-day, my son? Has not your father left you the finest fortune in the country? Where is there, for ten leagues around, a richer domain, or a more beautiful château than that of Roche-Bernard? Are you not loved and respected by your vassals? When you walk through the village, is there a single one who fails to salute you and take off his hat? Do not leave us, my son; remain here with your friends, near your sisters, near your old mother, whom perhaps you will not find here when you return. Do not waste in search of vain glory or abridge by cares and torments of all kinds the days which already go so swiftly. Life is sweet, my child, and the sun of Brittany is so bright!” So saying she led me to the open window and pointed to the beautiful avenues of my park; the grand old chestnut trees were in full bloom, and the air was sweet with the fragrance of the lilacs and the honeysuckles, whose leaves sparkled in the sunlight.