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The French Immortals Series — Complete by Various
page 31 of 2783 (01%)

"What a mistake!" cried Marechal, quickly. "I have heard Madame
Desvarennes say more than twenty times how she regretted your being
unemployed. Come into the firm, you will have a good berth in the
counting-house."

"In the counting-house!" cried Savinien, bitterly; "there's the sore
point. Now look here; my friend, do you think that an organization like
mine is made to bend to the trivialities of a copying clerk's work? To
follow the humdrum of every-day routine? To blacken paper? To become a
servant?--me! with what I have in my brain?"

And, rising abruptly, Savinien began to walk hurriedly up and down the
room, disdainfully shaking his little head with its low forehead on which
were plastered a few fair curls (made with curling-irons), with the
indignant air of an Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

"Oh, I know very well what is at the bottom of the business--my aunt is
jealous of me because I am a man of ideas. She wishes to be the only one
of the family who possesses any. She thinks of binding me down to a
besotting work," continued he, "but I won't have it. I know what I want!
It is independence of thought, bent on the solution of great
problems--that is, a wide field to apply my discoveries. But a fixed
rule, common law, I could not submit to it."

"It is like the examinations," observed Marechal, looking slyly at young
Desvarennes, who was drawing himself up to his full height; "examinations
never suited you."

"Never," said Savinien, energetically. "They wished to get me into the
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