ing some comfort in the eyes of a companion in misfortune.... Comedy! But would it be so much of a comedy? Have I found in life all that I looked for? If I had found it, should I be here dreaming of the capture of a young girl? It's my right, to do that, since I love; all means will be fair which put the resources of my imagination at the service of my heart."
But the opportunity of striking a melancholy, disenchanted attitude never presented itself. Rose considered him more and more as an architect, praised his skill in managing the workmen, and paid no attention to his youth, his cleverness or even to the way he looked at her—and his glances were often penetrating. There were moments when he became discouraged. The memory of Hortense came back to him. They had exchanged a few anodyne letters. She called him to her, but in a weak voice, and it was in uncertain terms that he announced his next visit.
"Dying love is always melancholy," he thought. "The poem would have been beautiful if we had said good-bye after Compiègne. We tried to add a verse, and it has been a fail-
