God grant that your affection for me has not misled you. Who can tell?
--the future; which you, I hope, will see, though not, perhaps.

Your uncle,
De Balzac.




URSULA



CHAPTER I

THE FRIGHTENED HEIRS

Entering Nemours by the road to Paris, we cross the canal du Loing,
the steep banks of which serve the double purpose of ramparts to the
fields and of picturesque promenades for the inhabitants of that
pretty little town. Since 1830 several houses had unfortunately been
built on the farther side of the bridge. If this sort of suburb
increases, the place will lose its present aspect of graceful
originality.

In 1829, however, both sides of the road were clear, and the master of
the post route, a tall, stout man about sixty years of age, sitting
one fine autumn morning at the highest part of the bridge, could take
in at a glance the whole of what is called in his business a "ruban de
queue." The month of September was displaying its treasures; the