"And that, madame, is what surprises and charms me. In this dear child everything obeys the same impulse, everything develops visibly, and nothing is injured. I read to you yesterday his last efforts, which were really eloquent, really beautiful." "The fact is, M. David, that there is a striking difference between this last production and the best things he wrote before this terrible malady, which, thanks to you will lead to Frederick's regeneration. All that I now dread for him is excess of work." "And for that reason, I moderate, as much as I can, his eagerness to learn, his impatient and jealous enthusiasm, his passionate longing for the future which he wishes to make illustrious and glorious, and that future will be his." "Ah, M. David, what joy, what transport for us, if our anticipations are realised!" It is impossible to reproduce the tenderness Marie expressed in those words, "we--our anticipations," which in themselves revealed the secret projects for happiness, tacitly formed by Marie and David. The latter continued: "Believe me, madame, we will see him great in heart and in intellect. There is in him an extraordinary energy, which has developed twofold through this dreaded envy which has so much alarmed us." "Indeed, on yesterday, M. David, he said to me, cheerfully: "'Mother, now when I see the castle of Pont Brillant rising in the distance,--that once made me so unhappy,--I throw upon it only a glance of friendly regard and defiance.'" "And you will see, madame, if, in eight or ten years, the name of Frederick Bastien will not resound more gloriously than that of the young marquis." "I have the pride to share your hope, M. David. Guided by us, I do not know to what height my son may not attain." "Then after a short silence Marie added: "But do you know it all seems like a dream? When I think that it is scarcely two months ago, the evening of your arrival, you were there at that table, looking over Frederick's exercises, and deploring, like me, the veil which lay over the mind of this unhappy child." "Do you recollect, madame, that gloomy, frozen silence, against which all our efforts proved unavailing?" "And that might when, crazy with terror, I ran up-stairs to you, to beseech you not to abandon my son, as if you could have abandoned him." "Say, madame, is there not a sort of charm in these painful memories, now that we are in perfect security and happiness?" "Yes, there is a sad charm in them, but how much I prefer certain hopes! So, M. David, I will tell you that I have made many plans to-night." "Let us hear them, madame." "There is one, very foolish,--really impossible." "So much the better, they are usually the most charming." "When our Frederick enters the Polytechnic School, we must be separated from him. Oh, make yourself easy, I will be brave, on one condition." "And what is that condition?"