If, however, Alphonse in his relation to Charles showed any high
degree of considerateness, he himself was ignorant of it; and if
any one had told him of it he would doubtless have laughed loudly
at such a mistaken compliment.

For as life on the whole appeared to him very simple and
straightforward, the idea that his friendship should in any way
fetter him was the last thing that could enter his head. That
Charles was his best friend seemed to him as entirely natural as
that he himself danced best, rode best, was the best shot, and
that the whole world was ordered entirely to his mind.

Alphonse was in the highest degree a spoilt child of fortune; he
acquired everything without effort; existence fitted him like an
elegant dress, and he wore it with such unconstrained amiability
that people forgot to envy him.

And then he was so handsome. He was tall and slim, with brown hair
and big open eyes; his complexion was clear and smooth, and his
teeth shone when he laughed. He was quite conscious of his beauty,
but, as everybody had petted him from his earliest days, his
vanity was of a cheerful, good-natured sort, which, after all, was
not so offensive. He was exceedingly fond of his friend. He amused
himself and sometimes others by teasing him and making fun of him;
but he knew Charles's face so thoroughly that he saw at once when
the jest was going too far. Then he would resume his natural,
kindly tone, until he made the serious and somewhat melancholy
Charles laugh till he was ill.

From his boyhood Charles had admired Alphonse beyond measure. He