The Man With The Broken Ear | Page 2

old Gothon: it lacks nothing, not even a four-horse-power
steam engine. Alas! what can I do with it? I am confident, nevertheless,
that the expenditure will not be altogether lost to the world. You are not
going to sleep upon your laurels. Oh, if I had only had your fortune
when I had your youth! I would have dedicated my days to pure science,
instead of losing the best part of them among those poor young men
who got nothing from my lectures but an opportunity to read Paul de
Kock. I would have been ambitious!--I would have striven to connect
my name with the discovery of some great general law, or at least with
the invention of some very useful apparatus. It is too late now; my eyes
are worn out, and the brain itself refuses to work. Take your turn, my
boy! You are not yet twenty-six, the Ural mines have given you the
wherewithal to live at ease, and, for yourself alone, you have no further
wants to satisfy; the time has come to work for humanity. That you will
do so, is the strongest wish and dearest hope of your doting old father,
who loves you and who waits for you with open arms.
"J. RENAULT.
"P. S. According to my calculations, this letter ought to reach Berlin
two or three days before you. You have been already informed by the
papers of the 7th inst. of the death of the illustrious Humboldt. It is a
cause of mourning to science and to humanity. I have had the honor of
writing to that great man several times in my life, and he once deigned
to reply, in a letter which I piously cherish. If you happen to have an

opportunity to buy some personal souvenir of him, a bit of his
handwriting or some fragment of his collections, you will bring me a
real pleasure."
A month after the departure of this letter, the son so eagerly looked for
returned to the paternal mansion. M. and Mme. Renault, who went to
meet him at the depot, found him taller, stouter, and better-looking in
every way. In fact, he was no longer merely a remarkable boy, but a
man of good and pleasing proportions. Leon Renault was of medium
height, light hair and complexion, plump and well made. His large blue
eyes, sweet voice, and silken beard indicated a nature sensitive rather
than powerful. A very white, round, and almost feminine neck
contrasted singularly with a face bronzed by exposure. His teeth were
beautiful, very delicate, a little inclined backward, and very evenly
shaped. When he pulled off his gloves, he displayed two small and
rather pudgey hands, quite firm and yet pleasantly soft, neither hot nor
cold, nor dry nor damp, but agreeable to the touch and cared-for to
perfection.
As he was, his father and mother would not have exchanged him for the
Apollo Belvedere. They embraced him rapturously, overwhelming him
with a thousand questions, most of which he, of course, failed to
answer. Some old friends of the family, a doctor, an architect, and a
notary, had run to the depot with the good old people; each one of them
in turn gave him a hug, and asked him if he was well, and if he had had
a pleasant journey. He listened patiently and even joyfully to this
common-place music whose words did not signify much, but whose
melody went to the heart because it came from the heart.
They had been there a good quarter of an hour, the train had gone
puffing on its way, the omnibuses of the various hotels had started one
after another at a good trot up the street leading to the city, and the June
sun seemed to enjoy lighting up this happy group of excellent people.
But Madame Renault cried out all at once that the poor child must be
dying of hunger, and that it was barbarous to keep him waiting for his
dinner any longer. There was no use in his protesting that he had
breakfasted at Paris, and that the voice of hunger appealed to him less

strongly than that of joy. They all got into two carriages, the son beside
his mother, the father opposite, as if he could not keep his eyes off his
boy. A wagon came behind with the trunks, long boxes, chests, and the
rest of the traveller's baggage. At the entrance of the town, the hackmen
cracked their whips, the baggage-men followed the example, and this
cheerful clatter drew the people to their doors and woke up for an
instant the quietude of the streets. Madame Renault threw her glances
right and left, searching out the spectators of her triumph, and saluting
with most cordial affability people she