I had got so far with my inventory when Maria left the room, and I was enabled to push my investigation a little closer.
I opened the book-case, and found within a collection of the works of our greatest poets. I noticed Corneille, Racine, Molière, La Fontaine, Ronsard, Victor Hugo, and Lamartine.
Our moralists—Montaigne, Pascal, Labruyère.
Our historians—Mezeray, Chateaubriand, Augustin Thierry.
Our philosophers—Cuvier, Beudant, Elie de Beaumont.
Besides these there were several volumes of romances and other books, amongst which I recognized, with a certain pride, my own “Impression of Travel.”
The keys were in the drawer of the bureau. I opened one of them.
Here I found fragments of a history of Corsica, a work upon the best means of abolishing the Vendetta, some French verses, and some Italian sonnets, all in manuscript. This was more than I expected, and I had the presumption to conclude that I need not seek much farther to form my opinion of the character of Monsieur Louis de Franchi.
He appeared to be a quiet, studious young man, a partizan of the French reformers, and then I understood why he had gone to Paris to become an advocate.
There was, without doubt, a great future for him in this course. I made all these reflections as I was dressing. My toilette, as I had hinted to Madame de Franchi, although not wanting in a certain picturesqueness, demanded that some allowance should be made for it.