the end did not crown the work, as will be seen.
After the death of my mother, my father did not revisit Paris, but lived in his old castle, and hoarded up the revenues of his vast domains. I passed, I believe, two or three years at Juilly, under the more or less affectionate care of my uncle, the second husband of a second wife. I picked up some learning,—very much against my will,—under the reverend fathers of the Oratory, but, when I left them, I was not precisely what would be termed a good scholar. If I had shown an inclination to learn anything, it was certainly not Greek or Latin, nor had I much cultivated the flowers of rhetoric.
I then went to college, but resided in my uncle's house, and he was supposed to watch over me. As a matter of fact no one troubled his head about me. To the outside world I appeared to be in the bosom of my own family, and under the watchful eyes of affectionate relatives, but in reality I was left to my own devices, and at sixteen was under no control whatever.
At this critical period of my existence, no one had said what they wanted me to be, nor had I been consulted on the subject. For my own part I neither knew, nor cared. I was sixteen years old, was in Paris, and my own master. I was youthful, vigorous, warm-hearted, inquisitive, and inexperienced, and was fated, like everyone else, to acquire experience at my own expense. With no friends, and no one to guide me, it would have been a miracle
