Such were my studious and retired habits in my little room. I wished
for nothing more; my desire to enter on some career was in truth but my
mother's ambition for me, and the regret of expending the price of her
diamond, without some compensation in my bettered condition. If at that
time I had been offered an embassy to quit Paris, and a palace to leave
my truckle-bed in the ante-room, I would have closed my eyes not to
see, and my ears not to listen to Fortune. I was too happy in my
obscurity, thanks to the ray, invisible to others, which warmed and
illumined my darkness.
My happiness dawned as the day declined. I habitually dined at home
alone in my cell, and my repast generally consisted of a slice of
boiled meat, some salad, and bread. I drank water only, to save the
expense of even a little wine, so necessary to correct the insipid and
often unwholesome water of Paris. By this means, twenty sous a day paid
for my dinner, and this meal was sufficient not only for myself but to
feed the dog who had adopted me. After dinner, I used to throw myself
on my bed, overcome by the application and solitude of the day, and
strove thus to abridge by sleep the long, dark hours which yet divided
me from the moment when time commenced for me. These were hours which
young men of my age spend in theatres, public places, or the expensive
amusements of a capital, as I had done before my transformation. I
generally awaked about eleven, and then dressed with the simplicity of
a young man whose good looks and figure set off his plain attire. I was
always neatly shod, besides having white linen and a black coat,
carefully brushed by my own hands, which I buttoned up to the throat,
after the fashion of the young disciples of the schools of the Middle
Ages. A military cloak, whose ample folds were thrown over my left
shoulder, preserved my dress from being splashed in the streets, and,
on the whole, my plain and unpretending costume, which neither aspired
to elegance nor betrayed my distress, admitted of my passing from my
solitude to a drawing-room without either attracting or offending the
eye of the indifferent. I always went on foot; for the price of one
evening's coach-hire would have cost me a day of my life of love. I
walked on the pavement, keeping close along the walls to avoid the
contact of carriage-wheels, and proceeded slowly on tip-toe for fear of
the mud, which in a well-lighted drawing-room would have betrayed the
humble pedestrian. I was in no hurry, for I knew that Julie received
every evening some of her husband's friends, and I preferred waiting
till the last carriage had driven away before I knocked. This reserve
on my part arose not only from the fear of the remarks which might be
made concerning my constant presence in the house of so young and
lovely a woman, but, above all, from my dislike to share with others
her looks and words. It seemed to me that each of those with whom she
was obliged to keep up a conversation robbed me of some part of her
presence or her mind. To see her, to hear her, and not to possess her
alone, were often a harder trial to me than not to see her at all.