cigarettes. He possessed a certain brilliancy of mind and a keen
wit that amused his companions, whose superior he was in gifts
of imagination.

His last vacation was passed in tolerable content. His father,
thinking him looking pale, sent him on a visit to relatives living
in a village near Chartres. Jean, the tedious farm dinner ended,
would go and sit under a tree and bury himself in a novel.
Occasionally he would ride to the city in the miller's cart.
Often he would be drenched all the way by the rain that fell
drearily at nightfall. Then he would enjoy the fun of drying
himself before the huge fireplace of some inn on the outskirts
of the town, beside the savoury roast on the turning spit. He
even had a day's shooting with an old flint-lock fowling-piece
under the auspices of his cousin the miller. In short, he could
boast on his return of having had a country holiday.




IX

At eighteen he took his bachelor's degree. The evening after the
examination Monsieur Servien uncorked a bottle with a special
seal, which he had hoarded for years in anticipation of this
domestic solemnity, and the contents of which had turned from
red to pink as they slowly fined.

"A young man who carries his diploma in his pocket can enter
every door," Monsieur Servien observed, as he imbibed the wine