During this period of resolute study, in which religion supported and
maintained her mind, she obtained the friendship of Monsieur
Grossetete, one of those old men whose mental superiority grows rusty
in provincial life, but who, when they come in contact with an eager
mind, recover something of their former brilliancy. The good man took
an earnest interest in Veronique, who, to reward him for the
flattering warmth of heart which old men show to those they like,
displayed before him, and for the first time in her life, the
treasures of her soul and the acquirements of her mind, cultivated so
secretly, and now full of blossom. An extract from a letter written by
her about this time to Monsieur Grossetete will show the condition of
the mind of a woman who was later to give signal proofs of a firm and
lofty nature:--

"The flowers you sent me for the ball were charming, but they
suggested harsh reflections. Those pretty creatures gathered by
you, and doomed to wilt upon my bosom to adorn a fete, made me
think of others that live and die unseen in the depths of your
woods, their fragrance never inhaled by any one. I asked myself
why I was dancing there, why I was decked with flowers, just as I
ask God why he has placed me to live in this world.

"You see, my friend, all is a snare to the unhappy; the smallest
matter brings the sick mind back to its woes; but the greatest
evil of certain woes is the persistency which makes them a fixed
idea pervading our lives. A constant sorrow ought rather to be a
divine inspiration. You love flowers for themselves, whereas I
love them as I love to listen to fine music. So, as I was saying,
the secret of a mass of things escapes me. You, my old friend, you
have a passion,--that of the horticulturist. When you return to