THE SLAVES OF PARIS. ¦ their ehief aa^ head, he made it a rule to refuse, sayin" distinctly; "That no man with self-re- spect would accept hospitalities which he could not return and that to return such cost a great deal of money." It was not poverty which compelled the Due de Champdoce. to this severe economy, for it was well known throughout the length and breadth of the district that his income from his lands alone brought in over ten thousand crowns per annum. And it was asserted, a8d with good founda tion, that his investments brought him as much more. As a matter of course, therefore, he was accused of avarice, and unjustly, for he was not avaricious in the sense which is usually attached to the word, and this headstrong nobleman simply carried out a plan on whieh he had long since determined. His past may in some degree explain this conduct. Born in 1780, the Duc de Champdoce had emigrated and served in Conde's army. An implacable enemy of the Revolution, he resided in London during the Empire, and then, under the pressure of stern necessity, gave lessons in fencing Returning to Paris with the Bourbons, he was indebted to a most extraordinary acci dent for the possession of even a portion of the immense domains of his family. But in his eyes this portion was miserable poverty com- pared to the princely opulence of his ancestors As an additional pang, he was forced to see, by the side of the old aristocracy, listless and en ervated, a new race arise, born of commerce and industry. This was the new aristocracy, ambitious and energetic, proud of its wealth and success, and clearly destined to eclipse all the honors and prestige of the old. Then it was that this man, whose pride of family amounted to absolute insanity, con ceived the project to which he thenceforward consecrated his life. He fancied that he had discovered a means of restoring to the ancient house of Champdoce all its splendor and former magnificence. But three or four generations must be sacrificed for the benefit of posterity. 'lean,' he said, to himself, "by living like a peasant, and refusing myself every gratifica tion that requires the expenditure of money, triple my capital in twenty years. If my sons and my grand-sons follow my example, the Champdoce family will resume, thanks to a royal fortune, the rank to which their birth en- titles them." About 1820, faithful to his plan, he married against his inclination a girl without beauty, but of noble family and magnificent dowry, and with her he came to live in the Chateau de Champdoce. Their union was far from happy, and people went so far as to accuse the due of unparalleled brutality toward a young woman who was unwilling to see the wisdom or justice of his ambition, and who could not understand how a man, to whom she had brought a dowry of five hundred thousand francs, could refuse her a dress she needed. After a year of unhappiness and discord, she gave birtli to a son, who was baptized under the name of Louis Norbert, and six months later died, in consequence of a fright caused her by her husband. Far from deploring this early death, the due in his heart rejoiced at it. He had a hearty, ro- bust heir, and his mother's fortune would help build up the Champdoce family. His widowhood was the pretext, moreover, for new economy. He closed all the upper floors of the chateau, and adopted the costume, as well as the manners, of the petty farmers in the neighborhood. Rising before it was light, he followed his laborers about the field, and worked with them. He went to market and to the fairs to sell his cattle and his grain, and was as keen and open-eyed to a bargain as any peas- ant he met there. He paid little heed to his son, only wonder- ing from time to time if he would be robust enough to keep the path he had marked out for him. Norbert was brought #p precisely like the farmers' children—neither better nor worse. He was allowed to roam through the woods and the fields, paddle in the brooks barefooted all the summer, and in the winter wearing galoshes stuffed with straw. When he was nine years old his rural educa- tion began. First, he was bidden to watch the sheep in the pasture land, and keep them away from the woods. To prevent them from brows- ing on the young shoots of the trees, he was armed with a stout goad. He started out each morning, with his allowance of food for the day in a basket, slung upon his back. Then, as he grew older, he learned to reap and to sow, to measure the value of a standing crop at a glance, and, finally, to make a good bargain. For a long time the due had hesitated as to the wisdom of allowing his son to learn to read. As he was to know no other life than this where was the good? And yet, on the other side, a man who cannot read, write, and calculate, is at a disadvantage in all matters of business. If he finally decided in favor of a certain amount of education, it was because he was in- fluenced by the observations of the cure on the day of Norbert's first communion. All went on calmly and quietly until the day that the youth was sixteen, or rather until the day that he went for the first time with his father t»town, that is to say to Poitiers. At sixteen Louis Norbert de Champdoce looked twenty, and was the handsomest young fellow imaginable. He had in some degree the pensive physiognomy of those tillers of the soil who are in the habit of spending much time in solitude, face to face with nature. The sun had imparted to his skin the rich tones of old bronze. He had black hair, slightly waving, and large, melancholy blue eyes—his mother's eyes. Poor woman! itwas her only beauty. The rude labor to which he had been accus- tomed had iaiparted to his limbs extraordinary vigor without taking anything from the lithe elegance of his form. He was a perfect sav- age, aud had been kept in such a slate of de- pendence by his father that he had never wan- dered a league from the chateau; to him, therefore, the small town of Bevron, with its sixty houses, its mayor's house, the church, and the great inn, was a spot of great excitement, noise, and confusion. He had never, in the whole course of his life, spoke to three strangers, aud the numerous workmen who were employed by the due feared him too much to utter a word in his son's hear- ing which could in any way excite his curiosity or interest. Brought up in this strange way, it was almost impossible for Norbert to conceive an existence other than his own. To rise at cock-crow, to labor until nightfall, to sleep with folded arms after a good supper, appeared to him the sole end of man here below. His only idea of hap- piness was an abundant harvest, and the only misfortune he could imagine was seeing his har- vest blighted or his vineyards frosted. High mass each Sunday morning was his only fete, and he took great pleasure in seeing on the square, as he came out from the church, groups scattered here and there in their Sunday clothes. For more than a year the young peasant girls had watched him cut of the corners of their eyes, and blushed to the tips of their ears when he spoke to them. He, however, was far too in- nocent to find this out. After mass he generally strolled with his father through the fields to see what had been done during the week, or he obtained permission to set snares for the birds. He had not the smallest notion of the world, of real life, of society, or of the value of money. A little startled at his quickness, his father at last determined to do something to cultivate his mind, and one morning told Norbert that he was to accompany him the next day to Poitiers. The due had received the evening before a large sum of money, which he was anxious to invest, for he never allowed his capital to lie idle. They started very early in one of the low wagons which are the common vehicles for that part of the district; aud under their feet were bags containing more than forty thousand francs in silver—so heavy a burthen that the springs bent, and it was found necessary for the two men to walk up the hills and relieve the horse. Norbert was in great delight: he bad been anxious for a long time to visit Poitiers, which, however, was only five leagues away. The youth had heard so much of " this beautiful city," as the old Hugenot song called it, that he felt a vague tremor as he approached it. Poitiers is not one of the gayest or most brill- iant cities in France. More than one law student there sighs and yawns as he thinks of Paris. The sidewalks are old and dilapidated, the streets narrow and crooked, and the houses high and dark : all date from the tenth century. Nevertheless, Norbert was dazzled, and thought, as the wagon wound slowly along the streets, that he beheld all the wonders of the Arabian Nights. It was Fair day, and he was simply stupefied at the noise and excitement. Apparently he had never before imagined that there were so> many people in the world. Such was his pre- occupation that he did not notice that the horse had stopped of himself before a house on which was a notary's sign. His father shook him by the shoulder, as if he had been asleep. " Come, come, Norbert!" he said, " we have arrived!" "~ He slowly jumped out, and as slowly and almost mechanically helped take out the bags. He paid no attention to the obsequious manner in wliich the man of law received them, nor did he hear one word of the conversation that followed between his father and his man of business. Finally the due left the office, accompanied by his son. They took the horse and wagon to an inn near the Fair grounds, and breakfasted very simply on a corner of the common table, between two quarrelsome drivers and several intoxicated butchers. Monsieur de Champdoce, however, had gone to Poitiers on other business than the invest- ment of his cash. He wanted to find a miller who had been in his debt for more than a year. When their meal was over, therefore, he bade his son wait for him and disappeared. Norbert lounged for a time in front of the inn,, a little disturbed at being left alone among so many strangers, when all at once some one touched him on his shoulder. He turned hastily, and found himself face to face with a youtli of his own age, who said, with a shout of laughter: " What! Forgotten your old friends?" Norbert was at a loss for a moment, but pres- ently exclaimed : " Montlouisl" This Montlouis, the son of one of the the due's tenants, had been a play-fellow of Norbert's. They had driven their cows to the same past- ure, and had spent long days together fishing in the brooks and looking for birds' nests; but for five years they had not met. Norbert's first hesitation arose from the cos- tume worn by Montlouis: a coat with bright buttons, and a hat of peculiar form—the uni- form of the college at which he bad been placed! by his father, who wished to make "a gentle- man " of his son, while the due was doing his best to transform his from a nobleman to a peasant. " What are you doing here?" said Norbert. " Nothing—waiting for my father." " Just as I am for mine! Let us take a cup of coffee together." And without waiting for a reply, he dragged the young man into a little wine shop, a few steps from the inn. Montlouii seemed disposed to presume on his superior knowledge of the world, for he said: " If there were a billiard-table here I should propose a game. To be sure, it is pretty ex- pensive. Perhaps, though, your father gives you more than he did once." Norbert had eever bad-more money in his life than ten centimes at a time, and he colored and was bitterly mortified. " My father," continued the young collegian, " never refuses me anything. I work like a dog, and am sure of a prize at the examination, or of two prizes, in fact. When I have received my degree, the Comte de Mussidan has prom- ised to take me as secretary, and then I shall go to Paris and amuse myself. And what do you mean to do?" " I—I don't know." " Well, I do, then. You will delve and toil in the fields like your father. Does that amuse you? You are the son of a great lord, the richest man in the province, and yet you are not as happy as I!" They parted, and when tbe Duc de Champ- doce came back to the inn, he found his son where he had left him, and detected nothing extraordinary in his manner. "Come, hurry up!" was the due's exclama- tion. The return to Champdoce was silent. The words uttered by Montlouis bad fallen into Norbert's mind like a drop of subtile poison into a pitcher of fresh water. Twenty careless words dropped by an inconsiderate boy had de- stroyed the results of sixteen years of patience and obstinacy. From this day, .forth a complete revolution took place in Norbert's character; a revolution which was absolutely unsuspected by those about him, for this youth,who ki