exalting them in their struggle with men and things; although at their
start in life it is an obstacle to their advancement. Genius proceeds
in two ways: either it takes its opportunity--like Napoleon, like
Moliere--the moment that it sees it, or it waits to be sought when it
has patiently revealed itself. Young Granson belonged to that class of
men of talent who distrust themselves and are easily discouraged. His
soul was contemplative. He lived more by thought than by action.
Perhaps he might have seemed deficient or incomplete to those who
cannot conceive of genius without the sparkle of French passion; but
he was powerful in the world of mind, and he was liable to reach,
through a series of emotions imperceptible to common souls, those
sudden determinations which make fools say of a man, "He is mad."

The contempt which the world pours out on poverty was death to
Athanase; the enervating heat of solitude, without a breath or current
of air, relaxed the bow which ever strove to tighten itself; his soul
grew weary in this painful effort without results. Athanase was a man
who might have taken his place among the glories of France; but, eagle
as he was, cooped in a cage without his proper nourishment, he was
about to die of hunger after contemplating with an ardent eye the
fields of air and the mountain heights where genius soars. His work in
the city library escaped attention, and he buried in his soul his
thoughts of fame, fearing that they might injure him; but deeper than
all lay buried within him the secret of his heart,--a passion which
hollowed his cheeks and yellowed his brow. He loved his distant
cousin, this very Mademoiselle Cormon whom the Chevalier de Valois and
du Bousquier, his hidden rivals, were stalking. This love had had its
origin in calculation. Mademoiselle Cormon was thought to be one of
the richest persons in the town: the poor lad had therefore been led
to love her by desires for material happiness, by the hope, long