Madame Granson, widow of a lieutenant-colonel of artillery killed a Jena, possessed, as her whole means of livelihood, a meagre pension o nine hundred francs a year, and three hundred francs from property o her own, plus a son whose support and education had eaten up all he savings. She occupied, in the rue du Bercail, one of those melanchol ground-floor apartments which a traveller passing along the principa street of a little provincial town can look through at a glance. Th street door opened at the top of three steep steps; a passage led to a interior courtyard, at the end of which was the staircase covered by wooden gallery. On one side of the passage was the dining-room and th kitchen; on the other side, a salon put to many uses, and the widow' bedchamber

Athanase Granson, a young man twenty-three years of age, who slept in a attic room above the second floor of the house, added six hundred franc to the income of his poor mother, by the salary of a little place whic the influence of his relation, Mademoiselle Cormon, had obtained for hi in the mayor's office, where he was placed in charge of the archives

From these indications it is easy to imagine Madame Granson in he cold salon with its yellow curtains and Utrecht velvet furniture, als yellow, as she straightened the round straw mats which were place before each chair, that visitors might not soil the red-tiled floo while they sat there; after which she returned to her cushione armchair and little work-table placed beneath the portrait of th lieutenant-colonel of artillery between two windows,--a point from whic her eye could rake the rue du Bercail and see all comers. She was a goo woman, dressed with bourgeois simplicity in keeping with her wan fac furrowed by grief. The rigorous humbleness of poverty made itself fel in all the accessories of this household, the very air of which wa charged with the stern and upright morals of the provinces. At thi moment the son and mother were together in the dining-room, wher they were breakfasting with a cup of coffee, with bread and butter an radishes. To make the pleasure which Suzanne's visit was to give t Madame Granson intelligible, we must explain certain secret interests o the mother and son

Athanase Granson was a thin and pale young man, of medium height, wit a hollow face in which his two black eyes, sparkling with thoughts, gav the effect of bits of coal. The rather irregular lines of his face, th curve of his lips, a prominent chin, the fine modelling of his forehead his melancholy countenance, caused by a sense of his poverty warrin with the powers that he felt within him, were all indications o repressed and imprisoned talent. In any other place than the town o Alencon the mere aspect of his person would have won him the assistanc of superior men, or of women who are able to recognize genius i obscurity. If his was not genius, it was at any rate the form and aspec of it; if he had not the actual force of a great heart, the glow of suc a heart was in his glance. Although he was capable of expressing th highest feeling, a casing of timidity destroyed all the graces of hi youth, just as the ice of poverty kept him from daring to put forth al his powers. Provincial life, without an opening, without appreciation without encouragement, described a circle about him in which languishe and died the power of thought,--a power which as yet had scarcel reached its dawn. Moreover, Athanase possessed that savage pride whic poverty intensifies in noble minds, exalting them in their struggle wit men and things; although at their start in life it is an obstacle t their advancement. Genius proceeds in two ways: either it takes it opportunity--like Napoleon, like Moliere--the moment that it sees it or it waits to be sought when it has patiently revealed itself. Youn Granson belonged to that class of men of talent who distrust themselve and are easily discouraged. His soul was contemplative. He lived mor by thought than by action. Perhaps he might have seemed deficient o incomplete to those who cannot conceive of genius without the sparkl of French passion; but he was powerful in the world of mind, and he wa liable to reach, through a series of emotions imperceptible to commo souls, those sudden determinations which make fools say of a man, "He i mad.

The contempt which the world pours out on poverty was death to Athanase the enervating heat of solitude, without a breath or current of air relaxed the bow which ever strove to tighten itself; his soul grew wear in this painful effort without results. Athanase was a man who migh have taken his place among the glories of France; but, eagle as he was cooped in a cage without his proper nourishment, he was about to die o hunger after contemplating with an ardent eye the fields of air an the mountain heights where genius soars. His work in the city librar escaped attention, and he buried in his soul his thoughts of fame fearing that they might injure him; but deeper than all lay burie within him the secret of his heart,--a passion which hollowed hi cheeks and yellowed his brow. He loved his distant cousin, this ver Mademoiselle Cormon whom the Chevalier de Valois and du Bousquier his hidden rivals, were stalking. This love had had its origin i calculation. Mademoiselle Cormon was thought to be one of the riches persons in the town: the poor lad had therefore been led to love her b desires for material happiness, by the hope, long indulged, of gildin with comfort his mother's last years, by eager longing for the ease o life so needful to men who live by thought; but this most innocent poin of departure degraded his passion in his own eyes. Moreover, he feare the ridicule the world would cast upon the love of a young man o twenty-three for an old maid of forty

And yet his passion was real; whatever may seem false about such a lov elsewhere, it can be realized as a fact in the provinces, where, manner and morals being without change or chance or movement or mystery marriage becomes a necessity of life. No family will accept a young ma of dissolute habits. However natural the liaison of a young man, lik Athanase, with a handsome girl, like Suzanne, for instance, might see in a capital, it alarms provincial parents, and destroys the hopes o marriage of a poor young man when possibly the fortune of a rich on might cause such an unfortunate antecedent to be overlooked. Between th depravity of certain liaisons and a sincere love, a man of honor and n fortune will not hesitate: he prefers the misfortunes of virtue to th evils of vice. But in the provinces women with whom a young man cal fall in love are rare. A rich young girl he cannot obtain in a regio where all is calculation; a poor young girl he is prevented from loving it would be, as provincials say, marrying hunger and thirst. Suc monkish solitude is, however, dangerous to youth

These reflections explain why provincial life is so firmly based o marriage. Thus we find that ardent and vigorous genius, forced to rel on the independence of its own poverty, quits these cold regions wher thought is persecuted by brutal indifference, where no woman is willin to be a sister of charity to a man of talent, of art, of science

Who will really understand Athanase Granson's love for Mademoisell Cormon? Certainly neither rich men--those sultans of society who fil their harems--nor middle-class men, who follow the well-beaten high-roa of prejudices; nor women who, not choosing to understand the passions o artists, impose the yoke of their virtues upon men of genius, imaginin that the two sexes are governed by the same laws

Here, perhaps, we should appeal to those young men who suffer from th repression of their first desires at the moment when all their force are developing; to artists sick of their own genius smothering under th pressure of poverty; to men of talent, persecuted and without influence often without friends at the start, who have ended by triumphing ove that double anguish, equally agonizing, of soul and body. Such me will well understand the lancinating pains of the cancer which wa now consuming Athanase; they have gone through those long and bitte deliberations made in presence of some grandiose purpose they had no the means to carry out; they have endured those secret miscarriages i which the fructifying seed of genius falls on arid soil. Such men kno that the grandeur of desires is in proportion to the height and breadt of the imagination. The higher they spring, the lower they fall; and ho can it be that ties and bonds should not be broken by such a fall Their piercing eye has seen--as did Athanase--the brilliant future whic awaited them, and from which they fancied that only a thin gauze parte them; but that gauze through which their eyes could see is changed b Society into a wall of iron. Impelled by a vocation, by a sentiment o art, they endeavor again and again to live by sentiments which societ as incessantly materializes. Alas! the provinces calculate and arrang marriage with the one view of material comfort, and a poor artist or ma of science is forbidden to double its purpose and make it the saviour o his genius by securing to him the means of subsistence

Moved by such ideas, Athanase Granson first thought of marriage wit Mademoiselle Cormon as a means of obtaining a livelihood which woul be permanent. Thence he could rise to fame, and make his mother happy knowing at the same time that he was capable of faithfully loving hi wife. But soon his own will created, although he did not know it, genuine passion. He began to study the old maid, and, by dint of th charm which habit gives, he ended by seeing only her beauties an ignoring her defects

In a young man of twenty-three the senses count for much in love; thei fire produces a sort of prism between his eyes and the woman. Fro this point of view the clasp with which Beaumarchis' Cherubin seize Marceline is a stroke of genius. But when we reflect that in the utte isolation to which poverty condemned poor Athanase, Mademoiselle Cormo was the only figure presented to his gaze, that she attracted his ey incessantly, that all the light he had was concentrated on her, surel his love may be considered natural

This sentiment, so carefully hidden, increased from day to day. Desires sufferings, hopes, and meditations swelled in quietness and silence th lake widening ever in the young man's breast, as hour by hour added it drop of water to the volume. And the wider this inward circle, draw by the imagination, aided by the senses, grew, the more imposin Mademoiselle Cormon appeared to Athanase, and the more his own timidit increased

The mother had divined the truth. Like all provincial mothers, sh calculated candidly in her own mind the advantages of the match. Sh told herself that Mademoiselle Cormon would be very lucky to secure husband in a young man of twenty-three, full of talent, who would alway be an honor to his family and the neighborhood; at the same time th obstacles which her son's want of fortune and Mademoiselle Cormon's ag presented to the marriage seemed to her almost insurmountable; she coul think of nothing but patience as being able to vanquish them. Like d Bousquier, like the Chevalier de Valois, she had a policy of her own she was on the watch for circumstances, awaiting the propitious momen for a move with the shrewdness of maternal instinct. Madame Granso had no fears at all as to the chevalier, but she did suppose that d Bousquier, although refused, retained certain hopes. As an able an underhand enemy to the latter, she did him much secret harm in th interests of her son; from whom, by the bye, she carefully concealed al such proceedings

After this explanation it is easy to understand the importance whic Suzanne's lie, confided to Madame Granson, was about to acquire. What weapon put into the hands of this charitable lady, the treasurer of th Maternity Society! How she would gently and demurely spread the new while collecting assistance for the chaste Suzanne

At the present moment Athanase, leaning pensively on his elbow a the breakfast table, was twirling his spoon in his empty cup an contemplating with a preoccupied eye the poor room with its red bric floor, its straw chairs, its painted wooden buffet, its pink and whit curtains chequered like a backgammon board, which communicated with th kitchen through a glass door. As his back was to the chimney which hi mother faced, and as the chimney was opposite to the door, his palli face, strongly lighted from the window, framed in beautiful black hair the eyes gleaming with despair and fiery with morning thoughts, was th first object which met the eyes of the incoming Suzanne. The grisette who belonged to a class which certainly has the instinct of misery an the sufferings of the heart, suddenly felt that electric spark, dartin from Heaven knows where, which can never be explained, which some stron minds deny, but the sympathetic stroke of which has been felt by man men and many women. It is at once a light which lightens the darknes of the future, a presentiment of the sacred joys of a shared love, th certainty of mutual comprehension. Above all, it is like the touch o a firm and able hand on the keyboard of the senses. The eyes ar fascinated by an irresistible attraction; the heart is stirred; th melodies of happiness echo in the soul and in the ears; a voice crie out, "It is he!" Often reflection casts a douche of cold water on thi boiling emotion, and all is over

In a moment, as rapid as the flash of the lightning, Suzanne receive the broadside of this emotion in her heart. The flame of a real lov burned up the evil weeds fostered by a libertine and dissipated life She saw how much she was losing of decency and value by accusing hersel falsely. What had seemed to her a joke the night before became to he eyes a serious charge against herself. She recoiled at her own success But the impossibility of any result; the poverty of the young man; vague hope of enriching herself, of going to Paris, and returning wit full hands to say, "I love you! here are the means of happiness! or mere fate, if you will have it so, dried up the next moment thi beneficent dew

The ambitious grisette asked with a timid air for a moment's intervie with Madame Granson, who took her at once into her bedchamber. Whe Suzanne came out she looked again at Athanase; he was still in the sam position, and the tears came into her eyes. As for Madame Granson, sh was radiant with joy. At last she had a weapon, and a terrible one against du Bousquier; she could now deal him a mortal blow. She ha of course promised the poor seduced girl the support of all charitabl ladies and that of the members of the Maternity Society in particular she foresaw a dozen visits which would occupy her whole day, and brew u a frightful storm on the head of the guilty du Bousquier. The Chevalie de Valois, while foreseeing the turn the affair would take, had reall no idea of the scandal which would result from his own action

"My dear child," said Madame Granson to her son, "we are to dine you know, with Mademoiselle Cormon; do take a little pains with you appearance. You are wrong to neglect your dress as you do. Put on tha handsome frilled shirt and your green coat of Elbeuf cloth. I have m reasons," she added slyly. "Besides, Mademoiselle Cormon is going t Prebaudet, and many persons will doubtless call to bid her good-bye When a young man is marriageable he ought to take every means to mak himself agreeable. If girls would only tell the truth, heavens! m dear boy, you'd be astonished at what makes them fall in love. Ofte it suffices for a man to ride past them at the head of a company o artillery, or show himself at a ball in tight clothes. Sometimes a mer turn of the head, a melancholy attitude, makes them suppose a man' whole life; they'll invent a romance to match the hero--who is ofte a mere brute, but the marriage is made. Watch the Chevalier de Valois study him; copy his manners; see with what ease he presents himself he never puts on a stiff air, as you do. Talk a little more; one woul really think you didn't know anything,--you, who know Hebrew by heart.

Athanase listened to his mother with a surprised but submissive air then he rose, took his cap, and went off to the mayor's office, sayin to himself, "Can my mother suspect my secret?

He passed through the rue du Val-Noble, where Mademoiselle Cormo lived,--a little pleasure which he gave himself every morning, thinking as usual, a variety of fanciful things:-

"How little she knows that a young man is passing before her house wh loves her well, who would be faithful to her, who would never caus her any grief; who would leave her the entire management of her fortun without interference. Good God! what fatality! here, side by side, i the same town, are two persons in our mutual condition, and yet nothin can bring them together. Suppose I were to speak to her this evening?

During this time Suzanne had returned to her mother's house thinking o Athanase; and, like many other women who have longed to help an adore man beyond the limit of human powers, she felt herself capable of makin her body a stepping-stone on which he could rise to attain his throne

It is now necessary to enter the house of this old maid toward whom s many interests are converging, where the actors in this scene, wit the exception of Suzanne, were all to meet this very evening. As fo Suzanne, that handsome individual bold enough to burn her ships lik Alexander at her start in life, and to begin the battle by a falsehood she disappears from the stage, having introduced upon it a violen element of interest. Her utmost wishes were gratified. She quitted he native town a few days later, well supplied with money and good clothes among which was a fine dress of green reps and a charming green bonne lined with pink, the gift of Monsieur de Valois,--a present which sh preferred to all the rest, even the money. If the chevalier had gon to Paris in the days of her future brilliancy, she would certainly hav left every one for him. Like the chaste Susannah of the Bible, whom th Elders hardly saw, she established herself joyously and full of hope i Paris, while all Alencon was deploring her misfortunes, for which th ladies of two Societies (Charity and Maternity) manifested the livelies sympathy. Though Suzanne is a fair specimen of those handsome Norma women whom a learned physician reckons as comprising one third of he fallen class whom our monstrous Paris absorbs, it must be stated tha she remained in the upper and more decent regions of gallantry. At a epoch when, as Monsieur de Valois said, Woman no longer existed, she wa simply "Madame du Val-Noble"; in other days she would have rivalle the Rhodopes, the Imperias, the Ninons of the past. One of the mos distinguished writers of the Restoration has taken her under hi protection; perhaps he may marry her. He is a journalist, an consequently above public opinion, inasmuch as he manufactures it afres every year or two