But Urbain had learned enough; and while directing his steps toward the Rue Montmartre, where he dwelt, our lover cogitated thus:-- "She's not the barber's daughter; he has stood to her in place of a father, but he has no rights over her except those accorded to a benefactor by a grateful heart. She's the daughter of a gentleman, which is much better; my father was a gentleman also, who valiantly fought under King Henry. The old soldiers still remember Captain Dorgeville, and the name which he has transmitted to me is pure and without stain. I am alone in the world; I am my own master. Like her I have no parents, for a year ago death deprived me of my good mother. My fortune is very moderate,--twelve hundred livres income and a little house by the seaside. That is all my father left me; but she has nothing more, and by working I could render her happy. I am about to take my bachelor's degree, but I shall now leave this unfruitful career; science brings fortune too slowly. I don't know, however, if I could please her. Yes, that's the first task with which I should occupy myself. If she loves me, I will ask her hand of the barber. He will wish to assure her happiness; he could not refuse me unless he himself---- If these women said rightly he is in love with her. The hard tone with which he answered me this morning, his refusal to lodge me in his house, make me believe it. And that wretch who dared to say that she was ugly!--when object more enchanting never met my eyes. Ah, it wasn't of her he was speaking. If such a thing could happen, I should like to see her, to tell her of the love which she has inspired; and, if I could manage to please her, nothing then could prevent me from becoming her husband." These were, somebody will say, very foolish plans concerning a young girl whose face one had only perceived through some very dim window-panes; and it was on the possession of this almost ideal object that Urbain already based the happiness of his life. But let us look back on our own lives. We were hardly more reasonable,--happy if between us and the chimeras which enchanted us there was nothing thicker than a pane of glass. CHAPTER VII INTRIGUES THICKEN Chaudoreille now started off at a great pace towards the city. The ten crowns which he felt in his purse, on which he prudently kept his hand while walking, caused him to hold his head even more arrogantly than he usually did. He had placed his little hat over his left eye in such a manner that the old red feather with which it was adorned fell precisely over his right eye, and as he walked mincingly along, at each step that he took the chevalier could thus enjoy the waving of his ridiculous plume.