If the contrast between the two sometimes caused a sort of generous irritability in the least patient of the two, the more tranquil soon recovered his influence and disclosed the power that was concealed within him and that made him, so to speak, superior to himself. Monsieur Cardonnet's raillery had wounded Emile deeply, and had almost driven him to the exaggeration of fanaticism. Monsieur de Boisguilbault's exalted good sense reconciled him to himself, and he felt proud to have the sanction of an old man so enlightened and so rigid in his deductions. As they were in perfect accord as to the fundamental points, their discussions could not last long, and as communism was the only subject capable of rousing the marquis from his usual taciturnity, it often happened that they were silent for a long while in a sort of reverie _à deux_. But Emile was never bored at Boisguilbault. The beauty of the park, the library, and, above all, the reserved but indubitable pleasure which the marquis derived from his society, made his visits agreeably restful and delightful to him as a relief from more intense emotions. He created for himself there, unconsciously, a second home, much more in conformity with his tastes than the noisy factory and his father's household, managed as it was with military strictness. Châteaubrun would have been a retreat even more after his heart. There he loved everything and everybody, without exception: the family, the old ruins, even the domestic animals and the plants. But to enjoy the happiness of passing his life there, he must scale the walls of heaven; and as he must needs fall back to the earth after his dream, Emile found that the fall was less severe at Boisguilbault than at Gargilesse. Boisguilbault was a sort of half-way station between the bottomless pit and heaven; the _limbo_ between purgatory and paradise. He was so warmly welcomed there, and so warmly urged to remain, that he became accustomed to the idea that he was at home there. He busied himself about the park, arranged the books, and took riding-lessons in the main courtyard. Gradually the old marquis yielded to the pleasures of companionship, and sometimes his smile indicated genuine cheerfulness. He did not realize the fact or did not choose to admit it: but the young man became necessary to him and brought life to him. For hours at a time he seemed to accept the boon indifferently, but when Emile was about to leave him that pale face would gradually change its expression, and the wheeze of asthma would become a sigh of affection and regret when the young man leaped upon his horse, impatient to descend the hill. At last it became evident to Emile, who was learning day by day to decipher that mysterious book, that the old man's heart was affectionate and sympathetic, that he regretted, secretly but constantly, that he had adopted a life of solitude, and that he had other reasons for taking that course than a misanthropic temperament simply.