Jacques’ only resource then was a small income of 150 francs a month allowed him by his only relative, an old grandmother, who lived in the Provinces, and to whom he behaved like a grateful grandson. I saw him weep real tears when she died, and then he put her into a book. Strange to say, that was the only one of his books which was really bad. Could it be that talent of writing is only nourished by imaginative sensibility, which, to be realized, has need of expression, whereas real sensibility exhausts itself and comes to an end through its own reality? Happily for him, in the early years of his literary life he only depicted sentiments which he had not. His first volume, so elegant and yet so brutal, was, strange to say, scrawled in this Latin Quarter garret. His joining the staff of a Boulevard paper and a change of residence showed that the writer did not intend to vegetate in the same narrow circle. He took rooms in the Rue de Bellechasse still on the left bank of the river, but now very close to the right bank. The portrait of Baudelaire still remained, to proclaim his fidelity to his early artistic convictions; but now it was framed in velvet and hung upon red Adrianople tapestry, which gave to this retreat an air of a padded shelter. This counter-balanced the lack of artistic character in the furniture, which was on the hire system and very solid and commonplace, without any other pretension than the quality of its old oak. The noted trader in literary wares, which Molan was, betrayed himself by his choice of durable furniture and a well made desk never likely to need repair. His success still increased, and the period of the little house at Passy came, though directly afterwards the house became unsuitable. Jacques had not been there eighteen months when the opulent and final abode of the successful man took its place. The anteroom where I was received by a little page in livery was sufficient to convince me. A commissionaire, whom I seemed to have seen stationed in my own neighbourhood, was in attendance. I was shown into a large smoking-room which adjoined a small study and contained a case full of rare curios, consisting of old Chinese lacquer-work, admirable sixteenth century bronzes, polished boxes, statuettes from Saxony, and old sweetmeat boxes. The dissimilarity of the objects expressed Molan’s utilitarian ideas. He studied the possibility of sale in case of misfortune. A few pictures decorated the walls, but they were all modern with the most excessive and extravagant modernity. Paintings by an obscure contemporary sometimes turn out a good investment, for he may be a Millet or a Corot. It is a ticket in a lottery, but the prize is a good one. Molan bought these pictures for a few pounds from young painters in distress, and received them as a return for a little advertisement.