To evince these sentiments, however, required a thorough comprehension of his nature; and his nature was of an order rarely comprehended.
"How did you get on with Marie Broc ?" he asked, after some minutes' silence.
"Monsieur, I did my best; but it was terrible to be alone with her!" "You have, then, a weak heart! You lack courage; and, perhaps, charity.
Yours are not the qualities which might constitute a Sister of Mercy." [He was a religious little man, in his way: the self-denying and self-sacrificing part of the Catholic religion commanded the homage of his soul.] "I don't know, indeed: I took as good care of her as I could; but when her aunt came to fetch her away, it was a great relief." "Ah! you are an egotist.

There are women who have nursed hospitals-full of similar unfortunates.

You could not do that ?" "Could Monsieur do it himself ?" "Women who are worthy the name ought infinitely to surpass; our coarse, fallible, self-indulgent sex, in the power to perform such duties." "I washed her, I kept her clean, I fed her, I tried to amuse her; but she made mouths at me instead of speaking." "You think you did great things ?" "No; but as great as I _could_ do." "Then limited are your powers, for in tending one idiot you fell sick." "Not with that, Monsieur; I had a nervous fever: my mind was ill." "Vraiment! Vous valez peu de chose.

You are not cast in an heroic mould; your courage will not avail to sustain you in solitude; it merely gives you the temerity to gaze with sang-froid at pictures of Cleopatra." It would have been easy to show anger at the teasing, hostile tone of the little man.

I had never been angry with him yet, however, and had no present disposition to begin.
"Cleopatra!" I repeated, quietly.