"That is because nobody knows you," rejoined Emile. "People look upon you as very different from what you are. You are thought to be proud and obstinately attached to the chimera of ancient privileges. You have evidently taken care, with great cruelty toward yourself, not to allow your real character to be divined by any one."
"Why should I have explained myself? What does it matter what people think of me? for, in the society in which I vegetate, my real opinions would seem even more ridiculous than those commonly attributed to me. If the cause which my mind has embraced would derive any benefit from a public declaration of my homage or my adhesion, no ridicule would turn me from it; but such adhesion on the part of a man so little loved as I am would be more harmful than useful to the progress of the truth. I cannot lie, and if any one had ever taken the trouble to come and question me, during these latter years since my opinions became fixed, it is probable that I should have said to him what I have said to you; but the circle of solitude grows wider about me every day and I have no right to complain. One must be amiable, in order to please, and I do not know how to make myself amiable, God having denied me certain gifts, which it is impossible for me to feign."
Emile strove earnestly and affectionately to allay, so far as he could, the secret bitterness concealed beneath Monsieur de Boisguilbault's resignation.
"It is very easy for me to be content with the present," said the old man with a sad smile. "I have very few years to live; although I am neither very old nor very ill, I feel that my vital thread is worn out, and my blood congeals and thickens every day. I might perhaps complain of having had no joys in the past; but when the past has fled, what does it matter what it was?—bliss or despair, strength or weakness, it has all vanished like a dream."
"But not without leaving traces behind," said Emile. "Even if memory itself should disappear, our emotions, according as they were pleasant or painful, will have deposited their balm or their poison, and our hearts will be tranquil or broken according to the experience they have had. I think that you must have suffered terribly in the past, although your brave heart refuses to descend to lamentation, and that suffering, which you conceal with too much pride, perhaps, increases my respect and my sympathy for you."
"I have suffered more from the absence of happiness than from what is commonly called unhappiness. I agree that a sort of pride has already prevented me from seeking a remedy in the sympathy of others. Friendship must needs come to seek me out, for I could not run after it."
"But in that case, would you have accepted it?"
"Oh! certainly," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, still in a cold tone, but with a sigh that went to Emile's heart.
"And is it too late now?" asked the young man, with profound and respectful pity.
"Now—why, I should have to believe in it," replied the marquis, "or dare to ask for it—and from whom, pray?"