"I shall always have Count de Marçais." M. Thierry smiled, a smile which recalled Ribeyre's words: "He's not much good at getting out of a hole." "Well," he said, "I see your mind is absolutely made up. After all, my apprehensions are possibly exaggerated. You are young and without dependents. You have resolution and strength of mind. I don't know whether I have any right to blame your thirst for adventure. From that point of view I'm possibly too much the slave to my academic outlook. Give me peace and a library. For instance," he concluded, "at Lautenburg you will have one of the finest libraries in the world at your disposal. The Grand Duke's collection is famous. It contains the manuscripts of Erasmus and most of Luther's. So go, my boy. "One minute, though," he added. "Come back after you have seen Count Marçais. I may be able to give you some practical hints on the best way of performing your tutorial functions." A note, with a dainty purple seal, was waiting for me at my lodgings. Count Marçais wrote that he would be delighted to see me that day at three o'clock. As I walked to the house of the French Minister at Lautenburg in the Rue Alphonse de Neuville, I reviewed the details of my conversation with M. Thierry. He knows a good deal more than he likes to say, I thought. Was I really being a fool? Well, it remained to be seen. After all, there is no greater folly than letting 12,000 a year go at twenty-five for the pleasure of leading a dull, cul-de-sac existence. In the light of after events my opinion remains the same. * * * * * * Count Mathieu de Marçais had much the same appearance and presence as those with which tradition endows Melarclus, notably the reserved, knowing air of the diplomatist. With such a mask a man can afford the luxury of an empty head. No one can ever find anything to challenge there. A pleasant-looking woman in her forties, surrounded by elaborate implements, was engaged in manicuring the nails of the Minister Plenipotentiary when I was shown up. "I cannot apologize enough, sir," he said in his very best style, "for the unceremonious manner in which I have to receive you. But time, dear sir, you know what a precious gift time is in Paris. You can imagine how I, who only spend a fortnight a year in this delightful city, have to economize it." He poured out half a dozen commonplaces of the same species, looking at himself in the mirror, and stealing sidelong glances at me. I guessed intuitively that this preliminary survey, so important for a man of his stamp, was not altogether unfavourable. But I also gathered that I should not exactly shake his poor opinion of the way in which University men dressed. When one of his hands had been finished, and was dangling in a bowl of warm rosewater, he decided to get to the point.