The novelist was delivered from this school-book thraldom by a more learned friend, and introduced to Thierry's "Conquête des Normands." History became a passion with him, and the days of that tremendous historic-romance-cycle grew nearer and nearer.
In 1832 the cholera swept over Paris, emptying the theatres, filling the cemeteries, and carrying terror everywhere. Nevertheless it could not daunt our author's new-found gaiety: he wrote the dialogue of one of his wittiest plays—"Le Mari de la Veuve"—for an actress who was about to take a benefit, and who begged from Dumas some novelty to put on the bills. Every night a group of friends forgathered in Dumas's rooms. "We chatted; sometimes Hugo decided to recite us some of his poetry; Liszt thumped hard on a wretched piano, and the evening passed by without one of us thinking any more of the cholera than if it had been at Pekin."
But one evening, immediately after Dumas had watched his joyous friends depart, he himself was seized with the cholera. For five or six days he was prostrate and in great danger, but his wonderful physique withstood the attack of the terrible disease. The first person to greet him in his convalescence was Harel, the manager of the Odéon. The cholera, he cheerfully declared, had
