"My dear sir," said he to him, "your last words show a singular forgetfulness on your part of our reciprocal agreements.You had engaged, if you remember, not to take any interest in any one here but yourself and myself.After that, what difference can it make to you, whether my son is happy or unhappy? Since, however, you have raised this question, I consent to an explanation; but let it be fully understood, that you are never, never, to revive the subject again.You can readily perceive, that if your society is agreeable to me, it is because I have the pleasure of forgetting with you the petty annoyances of domestic life.And now speak frankly, and tell me what makes you conclude that my son is unhappy."Gilbert had a thousand things to reply, but they were difficult to say.So he hesitated to answer for a moment, and the Count anticipated him:

"Mon Dieu! I must needs proceed in advance of your accusations, a concession which I dare to hope you will appreciate.Perhaps you reproach me with not showing sufficient affection for my son in daily life.But what can you expect? The Leminofs are not affectionate.I don't remember ever to have received a single caress from my father.I have seen him sometimes pat his hounds, or give sugar to his horse; but I assure you that I never partook of his sweetmeats or his smiles, and at this hour I thank him for it.The education which he gave me hardened the affections, and it is the best service which a father can render his son.Life is a hard stepmother, my dear Gilbert; how many smiles have you seen pass over her brazen lips! Besides, I have particular reasons for not treating Stephane with too much tenderness.He seems to you to be unhappy, he will be so forever if I do not strive to discipline his inclinations and to break his intractable disposition.The child was born under an evil star.At once feeble and violent, he unites with very ardent passions a deplorable puerility of mind;incapable of serious thought, the merest trivialities move him to fever heat, and he talks childish prattle with all the gestures of great passion.And what is worse, interesting himself greatly in himself, he thinks it very natural that this interest should be shared by all the world.Do not imagine that his is a loving heart that feels a necessity of spending itself on others.He likes to make his emotions spectacular, and as his impressions are events for him, he would like to display them, even to the inhabitants of Sirius.His soul is like a lake swept by a gale of wind that would drive a man-of-war at the rate of twenty-five knots an hour; and on this lake Stephane sails his squadrons of nutshells, and he sees them come, go, tack, run around, and capsize.He keeps his log-book very accurately, pompously registers all the shipwrecks, and as these spectacles transport him with admiration, he is indignant to find that he alone is moved by them.This is what makes him unhappy; and you will agree with me that it is not my fault.The regime which I prescribe for my invalid may appear to you a little severe, but it's the only way by which I can hope to cure him.