From that moment Maurice's attachment assumed a more serious character.

Educated in a Parisian lyceum, his teachers sometimes had occasion to
complain of his want of application.

"If your professors are not satisfied with you," said his mother, "you
shall not accompany me to Escorval on the coming of your vacation, and
you will not see your little friend."

And this simple threat was always sufficient to make the school-boy
resume his studies with redoubled diligence.

So each year, as it passed, strengthened the _grande passion_ which
preserved Maurice from the restlessness and the errors of adolescence.

The two children were equally timid and artless, and equally infatuated
with each other.

Long walks in the twilight under the eyes of their parents, a glance
that revealed their delight at meeting each other, flowers exchanged
between them--which were religiously preserved--such were their simple
pleasures.

But that magical and sublime word, love--so sweet to utter, and so sweet
to hear--had never once dropped from their lips.

The audacity of Maurice had never gone beyond a furtive pressure of the
hand.

The parents could not be ignorant of this mutual affection; and if they