He also
was a child of nature--and Adam. He thought he had the courage of his
convictions, but it was only the courage of his emotions. His philosophy
was but the bent or inclination of a mind with a capacity to feel things
rather than to think them. He had feeling, the first essential of the
philosopher, but there he stayed, an undeveloped chrysalis.
His look was abstracted still as he took the hand of the widow of Palass
Poucette; but he spoke cheerfully. "It is a pleasure, madame, to welcome
you among my friends," he said.
He made a little flourish with the book which had so long been his bosom
friend, and added: "But I hope you are in no trouble that you come to
me--so many come to me in their troubles," he continued with an air of
satisfaction.
"Come to you--why, you have enough troubles of your own!" she made
answer. "It's because you have your own troubles that I'm here."
"Why you are here," he remarked vaguely.
There was something very direct and childlike in Virginie Poucette. She
could not pretend; she wore her heart on her sleeve. She travelled a long
distance in a little while.
"I've got no trouble myself," she responded. "But, yes, I have," she
added. "I've got one trouble--it's yours. It's that you've been having
hard times--the flour-mill, your cousin Auguste Charron, the lawsuits,
and all the rest.
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