Florian for a moment stayed silent. He could see yonder the little tree from the East, already budding in the spring. He was remembering how, a quarter of a century ago, another boy had asked just this question just here. And living seemed to Florian a quite futile business. Men’s trials and flounderings got them nowhither. A wheel turned, that was all. Too large to be thought about, a wheel turned, without haste and irresistibly. Men clung a while, like insects, to that wheel. The wheel had come full circle. Now it was not Florian but Florian’s son who was asking of his father, “What is this great law of living?” And no response was possible except the old, evasive and cowardly answer. So Florian gave it. One must be logical, and voice what logic taught. “Thou shalt not offend against the notions of thy neighbor,” Florian replied,—“or not, at least, too often or too openly. I do not say, mark you, my son, but that in private, and with the exercise of discretion, one may cultivate one’s faculties.” “Yes, but, monsieur, I do not see—” “No,” Florian conceded, with a smiling toward his tall son which was friendly but a little sad, “no, naturally you do not. How should you, infamous seducer of the peasantry, when this is a law which no young person anywhere is able to believe? Yet it is certain, dear child, that if you openly offend against these notions you will be crushed: and it is certain that if you honor them,—with, I am presupposing, a suitable appreciation of the charms of privacy and sympathetic companions,—then all things are permitted, and nobody will really bother about your discreet pursuing of your desires. A wise man will avoid, though, for his comfort’s health, all over-high and over-earnest desires.... This is the knowledge, Gaston, which every father longs to communicate to his son, without caring to confess that his own life has been such as to permit the acquiring of this knowledge.” And the boy shook his head. “I understand your words. But your meaning, monsieur, I do not see....” PART THREE _THE END OF LEAN WISDOM_ _“Ne point aller chercher ce qu’on fait dans la lune, Et vous mesler un peu de ce qu’on fait chez vous, Où nous voyons aller tout sans-dessus-dessous.”_ _21._ _Of Melior Married_ Now Florian returned to Bellegarde to face the disillusion appointed for every husband in passing from infatuation to paternity. His disenchanted princess now was hardly recognizable. Her face was like dough, her nose seemed oddly swollen; under and about the blood-shot eyes were repulsive yellow splotches. As for the bloated body, he could not bear to look at it. He was shaken with hot and sick disgust when he saw this really perfectly dreadful looking creature.