Henceforward friendless and alone, I explored the beach which had borne my sand-castles: _campos ubi Troja fuit._ I walked on the shore deserted by the sea. The strand abandoned by the rising tide offered me the picture of those desolate places which our illusions leave around us when they go. Abailard, my fellow-Breton[174], like myself watched these rollers eight hundred years ago, thinking of his Héloïse; like me, he saw some vessel speed (_ad horizontis undas_), and his ear, like mine, was lulled with the monotone of the waves. I exposed myself to the breakers while indulging in the baleful imaginings which I had brought with me from the woods at Combourg. A head called Cap Lavarde was the limit of my walks: seated at the extremity of this head, I remembered with the bitterest reflections that these same rocks had served to hide me as a child during the fairs; I had there gulped down my tears, while my playmates elated themselves with joy. I felt neither better loved nor happier than at that time. Soon I was to leave the country of my birth to crumble away my days in various climes. These reflections wounded me to death, and I was tempted to let myself fall into the waves. A letter called me back to Combourg: I arrived, I supped with my family, monsieur my father did not speak a word, my mother sighed, Lucile appeared dismayed. At ten o'clock we retired. I questioned my sister; she knew nothing. At eight o'clock the next morning I was sent for. I went downstairs: my father was waiting for me in his study. "Monsieur le chevalier," he said, "you must renounce your follies. Your brother has procured you a sub-lieutenant's commission in the Navarre Regiment. You will go first to Rennes, and thence to Cambrai. Here are a hundred louis: be sparing with them. I am old and ill; I have not long to live. Conduct yourself as a good man and never disgrace your name." He kissed me. I felt that severe, wrinkled face press with emotion against mine: it was the last paternal embrace I was to receive. At that moment the Comte de Chateaubriand, a man so formidable in my eyes, appeared to me only as a father most worthy of my affection. I flung myself upon his emaciated hand and wept. He was threatened with an approaching attack of paralysis, which brought him to the grave; his left arm had a convulsive movement which he was obliged to check with his right hand. He was thus holding his arm when, after giving me his old sword, without leaving me time to recover myself, he led me to the cabriolet which was waiting for me in the Cour Verte. He made me get in before him. The post-boy drove off, while I with my eyes bade farewell to my mother and sister, who dissolved into tears on the steps. I drove along the road by the pond; I saw the reeds of my swallows, the mill-stream and the meadow; I cast a look at the castle. Then, like Adam after his sin, I proceeded towards unknown ground, and "the world was all before me[175]." *