"Because I discharged the duties of friend--remonstrated, advised, and warned. However, let bygones be bygones. I entreated you not to quit the safe shelter of the paternal roof. You insisted on doing so. I entreated you not to send to one of the most ferocious of the Red, or rather, the Communistic, journals, articles, very eloquent, no doubt, but which would most seriously injure you in the eyes of quiet, orderly people, and compromise your future literary career for the sake of a temporary flash in the pan during a very evanescent period of revolutionary excitement. You scorned my adjurations, but at all events you had the grace not to append your true name to those truculent effusions. In literature, if literature revive in France, we two are henceforth separated. But I do not forego the friendly interest I took in you in the days when you were so continually in my house. My wife, who liked you so cordially, implored me to look after you during her absence from Paris, and, _enfin, mon pauvre garcon_, it would grieve me very much if, when she comes back, I had to say to her, 'Gustave Rameau has thrown away the chance of redemption and of happiness which you deemed was secure to him.' _A l'oeil malade, la lumiere nuit_." So saying, he held out his hand kindly. Gustave, who was far from deficient in affectionate or tender impulses, took the hand respectfully, and pressed it warmly. "Forgive me if I have been ungracious, M. Savarin, and vouchsafe to hear my explanation." "Willingly, _mon garcon_." "When I became convalescent, well enough to leave my father's house, there were circumstances which compelled me to do so. A young man accustomed to the life of a _garcon_ can't be always tied to his mother's apron-strings." "Especially if the apron-pocket does not contain a bottle of absinthe," said Savarin, drily. "You may well colour and try to look angry; but I know that the doctor strictly forbade the use of that deadly _liqueur_, and enjoined your mother to keep strict watch on your liability to its temptations. And hence one cause of your ennui under the paternal roof. But if there you could not imbibe absinthe, you were privileged to enjoy a much diviner intoxication. There you could have the foretaste of domestic bliss,--the society of the girl you loved, and who was pledged to become your wife. Speak frankly. Did not that society itself begin to be wearisome?" "No," cried Gustave, eagerly, "it was not wearisome--" "Yes, but--" "But it could not be all-sufficing to a soul of fire like mine." "Hem," murmured Savarin--"a soul of fire! This is very interesting; pray go on."