the dates written on their finger nails; he had watched them
consulting books under cover of their desks, he had heard them
whispering to one another! But, he concluded, what is one to do?
Unless one closes an eye to these things, the supply of students is
bound to come to an end. During the summer Theodore remained at home,
spending much of his time in the garden. He brooded over the problem
of his future; what profession was he to choose? He had gained so much
insight into the methods of the huge Jesuitical community which, under
the name of the upper classes, constituted society, that he felt
dissatisfied with the world and decided to enter the Church to save
himself from despair. And yet the world beckoned to him. It lay before
him, fair and bright, and his young, fermenting blood yearned for
life. He spent himself in the struggle and his idleness added to his
torments.

Theodore's increasing melancholy and waning health began to alarm his
father. He had no doubt about the cause, but he could not bring
himself to talk to his son on such a delicate subject.

One Sunday afternoon the Professor's brother who was an officer in the
Pioneers, called. They were sitting in the garden, sipping their coffee.

"Have you noticed the change in Theodore?" asked the Professor.

"Yes, his time has come," answered the Captain.

"I believe it has come long ago."

"I wish you'd talk to him, I can't do it."