I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor;
everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical
instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but
everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble.
As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On
the mantel, I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at
it, and he said it was his mother.
I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him
since childhood. Before I came to the country, she used to see him
occasionally at N-----, but at the time of her last visit there he was
away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some
particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest
employment that enabled him to support his sister and mother.
His treatment of these two women deserved the highest praise; he deprived
himself of everything for them, but, although he possessed musical
talents that would have enabled him to make a fortune, the immediate
needs of those dependent on him, and an extreme reserve, had always led
him to prefer an assured income to the uncertain chances of success in
larger ventures. In a word, he belonged to that small class who live
quietly, and who are worth more to the world than those who do not
appreciate them. I had learned of certain traits in his character which
will serve to paint the man: he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl
in the neighborhood, and, after a year of devotion to her, secured her
parents' consent to their union.
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