The delightful personal intercourse of the young brother came to an end for a considerable time, when at the age of eleven Maurice was sent to school at Toulouse. "Then commenced," says Eugénie, "between us that intimate correspondence that ended only with his death." Two fragments of his letters at that time she gives: "Dear Eugénie, I am much touched by the sorrow that you feel on account of my absence. I also regret you and I should wish much that it were possible to have a sister at the school. But do not disquiet yourself; I am very content here. My masters love me, my companions are excellent…. I am advancing with full sails into the Latin country. You shall have a better master at the vacations. Take care of my turtle-doves. I sing at the chapel. Adieu. I embrace you, and pray you to embrace my father and all the family. Tell them I am quite content to be here."
Again:
"Hélas, le monde entier sans toi.
N'a rien qui m'attache à la vie."
"Dear Eugénie,—You will perhaps be astonished to see these two lines at the beginning of my letter. It is, so to speak, the text from which I wish to draw in order to better express the tender love that I bear you. The sentiment which inspired in Paul those words towards Virginia was not more sincere than mine. It is particularly to you that I give the Life of Voltaire. You will see there the genius and the perversity of that man, this coryphée of impiety, who put at the end of each letter: Let us crush the infamous thing, that is to say the Catholic religion. For me, I shall not cease to put there: 'I love you, I love you.'"
Both at Toulouse and at the College Stanislas at Paris, where he was removed a few years later, Maurice was remarkable for his ability and good conduct. "He attained the most brilliant success and formed distinguished and deep attachments."
During these school and college days Maurice was away from Le Cayla for five years, during which Eugénie passed from her seventeenth to her twenty-second year—the beautiful blossoming time of her life. Less dreamy and without the profound melancholy which became developed in her brother, and the fluctuations of spirit consequent thereon, she was contemplative, poetic, and decidedly religious. She delighted in committing her thoughts to paper. Nothing was too minute or insignificant for her felicitous description. The pleasure she derived from this occupation made her almost feel that it was of a character not to be encouraged. But she had also sweet household cares, which were never neglected, and loved the still repose of the country life where her lot was cast. Though not caring for society she had many friends and became a great correspondent, delighting those who received them with the charming and graceful style of her letters. It was about this time that she made the acquaintance of the most interesting family of Mons. de Bayne, who lived at Rayssac among the mountains, with one of whose daughters, Louise, she formed a close and lasting friendship.
A letter from Maurice to his sister, written from Paris, and dated October, 1828, shows so much of his inner life and of his feeling towards her that it should be given entire:—
"My Dear Eugénie,—Certainly much time has elapsed since I received any news from you or you from me; I ought to confess that I am very culpable, and that upon me should rest the fault of the silence which ought never to exist between us. It is time at last to break it, and to repair our forgetfulness, or rather mine, by an assiduous correspondence which should place us in that intimate relationship which ought always to exist between a brother and a sister; that is to say, that we come near to each other, notwithstanding the distance which separates us, and make ourselves enjoy a conversation all the more sweet that distance throws a double interest on what we tell to the cherished object.
"My dear Eugénie, the lines which I am going to write will astonish you without doubt; the conduct which I have maintained towards you up to the present presaged nothing like what you are going to read, but be persuaded that I speak to you sincerely; your surprise, I believe, will be agreeable. Up to now I have shown you little confidence; but why, you will say? The reason of it is not in my heart; woe to me that there was ever the least éloignement for you! It is the fickleness of the age, it is this continual distraction, heritage of infancy, which follows us to that age where reflection takes the place of sports, and casts the first clouds on the face where there have shone, up to that time only, the candour of innocence and the expression of happiness. But here I am arrived at an age where childhood is for me only a dream; all the illusions of life have disappeared, and sad realities have taken their place. It is then that one is no longer sufficient for himself; it is then that the man who grows pale with dread, and who feels, so to speak, his knees to sink under him in view of the path of life, of that rough road where 'they climb rather than march'; it is then, say I, that man has need of a support, of a helpful arm which sustains him in the trials that he is about to undergo. This want manifested itself to me as soon as, casting a look upon the future, I saw myself alone ready to face so many dangers. Then my heart immediately fixed upon you; and can one indeed find a better friend than a sister such as you are? Be willing, then, henceforth to be a great deal my confidant, and help me with your advice and your friendship. But you will say, 'Ought you to have any other confidant than a father? Is it not he who ought to be the depository of all your secrets?' You may well believe that I have made this reflection; but papa is so sensitive, he is affected with so little a thing that I would never dare tell him all that passes within me. Then you are the one of all the family whose character is the most conformed to mine, so much I have been able to judge by your pieces of verse, all stamped with a sweet reverie, with a sensitiveness, with a tinge of melancholy in fine which makes, I believe, the foundation of my character.