complain. His life was noble and happy! He smiled with pleasure as he
thought of his good friends; his heart beat in great throbs as he thought
of love; he wept with rapture over beautiful verses. The spectacle of
life, through hope and the ideal, seemed to him transfigured. Happy
Amedee! He was not yet twenty years old!




CHAPTER VII

A GENTLE COUNSELLOR

One sombre, misty, winter morning, as Amedee lingered in his bed, his
father entered, bringing him a letter that the wife of the concierge had
just brought up. The letter was from Maurice, inviting his friend to
dinner that evening at seven o'clock at Foyots, to meet some of his
former companions at the Lycee Henri IV.

"Will you excuse me for not dining with you this evening, papa?" said
Amedee, joyfully. "Maurice Roger entertains us at a restaurant."

The young man's gayety left him suddenly when he looked at his father,
who had seated himself on the side of the bed. He had become almost
frightful to look at; old before his time, livid of complexion, his eyes
bloodshot, the rebellious lock of hair straggling over his right temple.
Nothing was more heartbreaking than his senile smile when he placed his
bony trembling hands upon his thighs. Amedee, who knew, alas, why his
father had reached such a pass, felt his heart moved with pity and shame.