"I am growing old," said he. "I have no children. I looked upon you almost as a child of mine. I made plans for your future, a magnificent future; I took pleasure to introduce you to my friends, in seeing you well dressed. With the Emperor at your right hand you would have made a very great figure in society, monsieur. Ah, yes, you might have been what you would! And now, in a moment, this has all vanished. Excuse me if I complain. Of course, as you are not of full age I could compel you not to take this step. I could, as a matter of fact, sequestrate you; but I know your spirit, and I am not a believer in brute force. Well, well, what can I say? You come and tell me this thing--your suicide would sadden me less than this marriage which will be your social death. You are a man, and it is not for me to treat you as though you were a child. Think once again on the matter, and then---- Why, then act as your will directs." He rang the bell for Beril to complete his toilet, and I left the room smitten to the heart. His unaffected sadness, his kindness, his straightforwardness would have moved me from my course if anything mortal could have done so. Yet I left the room with my determination unshaken. I was coming down the stairs when a footman accosted me on the first landing. "A person has called to see you, monsieur, and I have shown him into the library." I turned to the library, opened the door, and found myself engulfed in the arms of Franzius. "Mind the violin, mind the violin!" I cried, for he was carrying it, and I felt the bridge snapping against my chest. Then I held him at arm's length. He was radiant, laughing like a boy. He had come from Etiolles, all the way on foot, and all the joy that had been bottled up in him during the twenty-four miles' tramp had burst loose. "And now," I said, laughing, too, from the infection of his gaiety, "what is it?" "Oh, my friend," said Franzius, "she loves me!" "Good heavens! Who?" But you might just as well have questioned the Sud Express going full speed. "Yesterday you saw me--I was in despair. I had not understood aright. She had not understood me. She thought I cared for nothing but my music; she did not know that my music was herself--that her soul had entered into me, that she was me----" "But stay!" I cried, recalling to mind all the women at Etiolles, from Madame Fauchard to Elise, the station-master's pretty daughter; recalling to my mind all but the right one. "But, stay!" "That she was me, that my music was her--that every strand of her golden hair, every motion of her lips, every----" Ah, then it began to dawn on me! "Franzius," I cried, suddenly seizing him by the shoulders, "Franzius, is it Mademoiselle Eloise?" "They call her that," replied the stricken one, "but for me she is my soul."