"
Monsieur de Watteville, eager to obey his dear Rosalie, who for the
last five months had given him so many proofs of filial affection,
--Monsieur de Watteville went in person to subscribe for a year to
the _Eastern Review_, and lent the four numbers already out to his
daughter. In the course of the night Rosalie devoured the tale--the
first she had ever read in her life--but she had only known life for
two months past. Hence the effect produced on her by this work must
not be judged by ordinary rules. Without prejudice of any kind as to
the greater or less merit of this composition from the pen of a
Parisian who had thus imported into the province the manner, the
brilliancy, if you will, of the new literary school, it could not fail
to be a masterpiece to a young girl abandoning all her intelligence
and her innocent heart to her first reading of this kind.
Also, from what she had heard said, Rosalie had by intuition conceived
a notion of it which strangely enhanced the interest of this novel.
She hoped to find in it the sentiments, and perhaps something of the
life of Albert. From the first pages this opinion took so strong a
hold on her, that after reading the fragment to the end she was
certain that it was no mistake. Here, then, is this confession, in
which, according to the critics of Madame de Chavoncourt's
drawing-room, Albert had imitated some modern writers who, for lack
of inventiveness, relate their private joys, their private griefs, or
the mysterious events of their own life.
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