The grain of gold dropped by his mother into his
heart was beaten thin in the smithy of Parisian society; he had spread
it superficially, and it was worn away by the friction of life.
Charles was only twenty-one years old. At that age the freshness of
youth seems inseparable from candor and sincerity of soul. The voice,
the glance, the face itself, seem in harmony with the feelings; and
thus it happens that the sternest judge, the most sceptical lawyer,
the least complying of usurers, always hesitate to admit decrepitude
of heart or the corruption of worldly calculation while the eyes are
still bathed in purity and no wrinkles seam the brow. Charles, so far,
had had no occasion to apply the maxims of Parisian morality; up to
this time he was still endowed with the beauty of inexperience. And
yet, unknown to himself, he had been inoculated with selfishness. The
germs of Parisian political economy, latent in his heart, would
assuredly burst forth, sooner or later, whenever the careless
spectator became an actor in the drama of real life.
Nearly all young girls succumb to the tender promises such an outward
appearance seems to offer: even if Eugenie had been as prudent and
observing as provincial girls are often found to be, she was not
likely to distrust her cousin when his manners, words, and actions
were still in unison with the aspirations of a youthful heart. A mere
chance--a fatal chance--threw in her way the last effusions of real
feeling which stirred the young man's soul; she heard as it were the
last breathings of his conscience.
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