ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES, VOLUME 11 (of 13)

By Guy De Maupassant

Translated by:

 ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B. A. A. E. HENDERSON, B. A. MME. QUESADA and Others

VOLUME XI. 

 THE UMBRELLA BELHOMME'S BEAST DISCOVERY THE ACCURSED BREAD THE DOWRY THE DIARY OF A MAD MAN THE MASK THE PENGUINS ROCK A FAMILY SUICIDES AN ARTIFICE DREAMS SIMON'S PAPA

THE UMBRELLA

Mme. Oreille was a very economical woman; she knew the value of acentime, and possessed a whole storehouse of strict principles withregard to the multiplication of money, so that her cook found thegreatest difficulty in making what the servants call their market-penny, and her husband was hardly allowed any pocket money at all. They were, however, very comfortably off, and had no children; but it reallypained Mme. Oreille to see any money spent; it was like tearing at herheartstrings when she had to take any of those nice crown-pieces outof her pocket; and whenever she had to spend anything, no matter hownecessary it might be, she slept badly the next night. 

Oreille was continually saying to his wife:

"You really might be more liberal, as we have no children, and neverspend our income. "

"You don't know what may happen, " she used to reply. "It is better tohave too much than too little. "

She was a little woman of about forty, very active, rather hasty, wrinkled, very neat and tidy, and with a very short temper. 

Her husband frequently complained of all the privations she made himendure; some of them were particularly painful to him, as they touchedhis vanity. 

He was one of the head clerks in the War Office, and only stayed onthere in obedience to his wife's wish, to increase their income whichthey did not nearly spend. 

For two years he had always come to the office with the same old patchedumbrella, to the great amusement of his fellow clerks. At last he gottired of their jokes, and insisted upon his wife buying him a new one. She bought one for eight francs and a half, one of those cheap articleswhich large houses sell as an advertisement. When the men in the officesaw the article, which was being sold in Paris by the thousand, theybegan their jokes again, and Oreille had a dreadful time of it. Theyeven made a song about it, which he heard from morning till night allover the immense building. 

Oreille was very angry, and peremptorily told his wife to get him a newone, a good silk one, for twenty francs, and to bring him the bill, sothat he might see that it was all right. 

She bought him one for eighteen francs, and said, getting red with angeras she gave it to her husband:

"This will last you for five years at least. "

Oreille felt quite triumphant, and received a small ovation at theoffice with his new acquisition. 

When he went home in the evening his wife said to him, looking at theumbrella uneasily:

"You should not leave it fastened up with the elastic; it will verylikely cut the silk. You must take care of it, for I shall not buy you anew one in a hurry. "

She took it, unfastened it, and remained dumfounded with astonishmentand rage; in the middle of the silk there was a hole as big as asix-penny-piece; it had been made with the end of a cigar. 

"What is that?" she screamed. 

Her husband replied quietly, without looking at it:

"What is it? What do you mean?"

She was choking with rage, and could hardly get out a word. 

"You--you--have--burned--your umbrella! Why--you must be--mad! Do youwish to ruin us outright?"

He turned round, and felt that he was growing pale. 

"What are you talking about?"

"I say that you have burned your umbrella. Just look here. "

And rushing at him, as if she were going to beat him, she violentlythrust the little circular burned hole under his nose. 

He was so utterly struck dumb at the sight of it that he could onlystammer out:

"What-what is it? How should I know? I have done nothing, I will swear. I don't know what is the matter with the umbrella. "

"You have been playing tricks with it at the office; you have beenplaying the fool and opening it, to show it off!" she screamed. 

"I only opened it once, to let them see what a nice one it was, that isall, I swear. "

But she shook with rage, and got up one of those conjugal scenes whichmake a peaceable man dread the domestic hearth more than a battlefieldwhere bullets are raining. 

She mended it with a piece of silk cut out of the old umbrella, whichwas of a different color, and the next day Oreille went off very humblywith the mended article in his hand. He put it into a cupboard, andthought no more of it than of some unpleasant recollection. 

But he had scarcely got home that evening when his wife took theumbrella from him, opened it, and nearly had a fit when she saw what hadbefallen it, for the disaster was irreparable. It was covered with smallholes, which evidently proceeded from burns, just as if some one hademptied the ashes from a lighted pipe on to it. It was done for utterly, irreparably. 

She looked at it without a word, in too great a passion to be ableto say anything. He, also, when he saw the damage, remained almostdumfounded, in a state of frightened consternation. 

They looked at each other, then he looked at the floor; and the nextmoment she threw the useless article at his head, screaming out in atransport of the most violent rage, for she had recovered her voice bythat time:

"Oh! you brute! you brute! You did it on purpose, but I will pay you outfor it. You shall not have another. "

And then the scene began again, and after the storm had raged for anhour, he at last was able to explain himself. He declared that he couldnot understand it at all, and that it could only proceed from malice orfrom vengeance. 

A ring at the bell saved him; it was a friend whom they were expectingto dinner. 

Mme. Oreille submitted the case to him. As for buying a new umbrella, that was out of the question; her husband should not have another. The friend very sensibly said that in that case his clothes would bespoiled, and they were certainly worth more than the umbrella. But thelittle woman, who was still in a rage, replied:

"Very well, then, when it rains he may have the kitchen umbrella, for Iwill not give him a new silk one. "

Oreille utterly rebelled at such an idea. 

"All right, " he said; "then I shall resign my post. I am not going tothe office with the kitchen umbrella. "

The friend interposed. 

"Have this one re-covered; it will not cost much. "

But Mme. Oreille, being in the temper that she was, said:

"It will cost at least eight francs to re-cover it. Eight and eighteenare twenty-six. Just fancy, twenty-six francs for an umbrella! It isutter madness!"

The friend, who was only a poor man of the middle classes, had aninspiration:

"Make your fire assurance pay for it. The companies pay for all articlesthat are burned, as long as the damage has been done in your own house. "

On hearing this advice the little woman calmed down immediately, andthen, after a moment's reflection, she said to her husband:

"To-morrow, before going to your office, you will go to the MaternelleAssurance Company, show them the state your umbrella is in, and makethem pay for the damage. "

M. Oreille fairly jumped, he was so startled at the proposal. 

"I would not do it for my life! It is eighteen francs lost, that is all. It will not ruin us. "

The next morning he took a walking-stick when he went out, and, luckily, it was a fine day. 

Left at home alone, Mme. Oreille could not get over the loss ofher eighteen francs by any means. She had put the umbrella on thedining-room table, and she looked at it without being able to come toany determination. 

Every moment she thought of the assurance company, but she did not dareto encounter the quizzical looks of the gentlemen who might receive her, for she was very timid before people, and blushed at a mere nothing, andwas embarrassed when she had to speak to strangers. 

But the regret at the loss of the eighteen francs pained her as if shehad been wounded. She tried not to think of it any more, and yet everymoment the recollection of the loss struck her painfully. What was sheto do, however? Time went on, and she could not decide; but suddenly, like all cowards, on making a resolve, she became determined. 

"I will go, and we will see what will happen. "

But first of all she was obliged to prepare the umbrella so that thedisaster might be complete, and the reason of it quite evident. She tooka match from the mantelpiece, and between the ribs she burned a hole asbig as the palm of her hand; then she delicately rolled it up, fastenedit with the elastic band, put on her bonnet and shawl, and went quicklytoward the Rue de Rivoli, where the assurance office was. 

But the nearer she got, the slower she walked. What was she going tosay, and what reply would she get?

She looked at the numbers of the houses; there were still twenty-eight. That was all right, so she had time to consider, and she walked slowerand slower. Suddenly she saw a door on which was a large brass platewith "La Maternelle Fire Assurance Office" engraved on it. Already!She waited a moment, for she felt nervous and almost ashamed; then shewalked past, came back, walked past again, and came back again. 

At last she said to herself:

"I must go in, however, so I may as well do it sooner as later. "

She could not help noticing, however, how her heart beat as she entered. She went into an enormous room with grated doors all round it, and abovethem little openings at which a man's head appeared, and as a gentlemancarrying a number of papers passed her, she stopped him and saidtimidly: "I beg your pardon, monsieur, but can you tell me where I mustapply for payment for anything that has been accidentally burned?"

He replied in a sonorous voice:

"The first door on the left; that is the department you want. "

This frightened her still more, and she felt inclined to run away, toput in no claim, to sacrifice her eighteen francs. But the idea of thatsum revived her courage, and she went upstairs, out of breath, stoppingat almost every other step. 

She knocked at a door which she saw on the first landing, and a clearvoice said, in answer:

"Come in!"

She obeyed mechanically, and found herself in a large room where threesolemn gentlemen, all with a decoration in their buttonholes, werestanding talking. 

One of them asked her: "What do you want, madame?"

She could hardly get out her words, but stammered: "I have come--I havecome on account of an accident, something--". 

He very politely pointed out a seat to her, "If you will kindly sit down I will attend to you in a moment. "

And, returning to the other two, he went on with the conversation. 

"The company, gentlemen, does not consider that it is under anyobligation to you for more than four hundred thousand francs, and we canpay no attention to your claim to the further sum of a hundred thousand, which you wish to make us pay. Besides that, the surveyor's valuation--"

One of the others interrupted him:

"That is quite enough, monsieur; the law courts will decide between us, and we have nothing further to do than to take our leave. " And they wentout after mutual ceremonious bows. 

Oh! if she could only have gone away with them, how gladly she wouldhave done it; she would have run away and given up everything. But itwas too late, for the gentleman came back, and said, bowing:

"What can I do for you, madame?"

She could scarcely speak, but at last she managed to say:

"I have come-for this. "

The manager looked at the object which she held out to him in muteastonishment. 

With trembling fingers she tried to undo the elastic, and succeeding, after several attempts, she hastily opened the damaged remains of theumbrella. 

"It looks to me to be in a very bad state of health, " he saidcompassionately. 

"It cost me twenty francs, " she said, with some hesitation. 

He seemed astonished. "Really! As much as that?"

"Yes, it was a capital article, and I wanted you to see the condition itis in. "

"Yes, yes, I see; very well. But I really do not understand what it canhave to do with me. "

She began to feel uncomfortable; perhaps this company did not pay forsuch small articles, and she said:

"But--it is burned. "

He could not deny it. 

"I see that very well, " he replied. 

She remained open-mouthed, not knowing what to say next; then, suddenlyrecollecting that she had left out the main thing, she said hastily:

"I am Mme. Oreille; we are assured in La Maternelle, and I have come toclaim the value of this damage. "

"I only want you to have it re-covered, " she added quickly, fearing apositive refusal. 

The manager was rather embarrassed, and said: "But, really, madame, wedo not sell umbrellas; we cannot undertake such kinds of repairs. "

The little woman felt her courage reviving; she was not going to give upwithout a struggle; she was not even afraid any more, and said:

"I only want you to pay me the cost of repairing it; I can quite wellget it done myself. "

The gentleman seemed rather confused. 

"Really, madame, it is such a very small matter! We are never asked togive compensation for such trivial losses. You must allow that we cannotmake good pocket-handkerchiefs, gloves, brooms, slippers, all the smallarticles which are every day exposed to the chances of being burned. "

She got red in the face, and felt inclined to fly into a rage. 

"But, monsieur, last December one of our chimneys caught fire, andcaused at least five hundred francs' damage; M. Oreille made no claim onthe company, and so it is only just that it should pay for my umbrellanow. "

The manager, guessing that she was telling a lie, said, with a smile:

"You must acknowledge, madame, that it is very surprising that M. Oreille should have asked no compensation for damages amounting to fivehundred francs, and should now claim five or six francs for mending anumbrella. "

She was not the least put out, and replied:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, the five hundred francs affected M. Oreille's pocket, whereas this damage, amounting to eighteen francs, concerns Mme. Oreille's pocket only, which is a totally differentmatter. "

As he saw that he had no chance of getting rid of her, and that he wouldonly be wasting his time, he said resignedly:

"Will you kindly tell me how the damage was done?"

She felt that she had won the victory, and said:

"This is how it happened, monsieur: In our hall there is a bronze stickand umbrella stand, and the other day, when I came in, I put my umbrellainto it. I must tell you that just above there is a shelf for thecandlesticks and matches. I put out my hand, took three or four matches, and struck one, but it missed fire, so I struck another, which ignited, but went out immediately, and a third did the same. "

The manager interrupted her to make a joke. 

"I suppose they were government matches, then?"

She did not understand him, and went on:

"Very likely. At any rate, the fourth caught fire, and I lit my candle, and went into my room to go to bed; but in a quarter of an hour Ifancied that I smelt something burning, and I have always been terriblyafraid of fire. If ever we have an accident it will not be my fault, Iassure you. I am terribly nervous since our chimney was on fire, as Itold you; so I got up, and hunted about everywhere, sniffing like a dogafter game, and at last I noticed that my umbrella was burning. Mostlikely a match had fallen between the folds and burned it. You can seehow it has damaged it. "

The manager had taken his cue, and asked her: "What do you estimate thedamage at?"

She did not know what to say, as she was not certain what value to puton it, but at last she replied:

"Perhaps you had better get it done yourself. I will leave it to you. "

He, however, naturally refused. 

"No, madame, I cannot do that. Tell me the amount of your claim, that isall I want to know. "

"Well, I think that--Look here, monsieur, I do not want to make anymoney out of you, so I will tell you what we will do. I will take myumbrella to the maker, who will re-cover it in good, durable silk, and Iwill bring the bill to you. Will that suit you, monsieur?"

"Perfectly, madame; we will settle it so. Here is a note for thecashier, who will repay you whatever it costs you. "

He gave Mme. Oreille a slip of paper, who took it, got up and went out, thanking him, for she was in a hurry to escape lest he should change hismind. 

She went briskly through the streets, looking out for a really goodumbrella maker, and when she found a shop which appeared to be afirst-class one, she went in, and said, confidently:

"I want this umbrella re-covered in silk, good silk. Use the very bestand strongest you have; I don't mind what it costs. "

BELHOMME'S BEAST

The coach for Havre was ready to leave Criquetot, and all the passengerswere waiting for their names to be called out, in the courtyard of theCommercial Hotel kept by Monsieur Malandain, Jr. 

It was a yellow wagon, mounted on wheels which had once been yellow, butwere now almost gray through the accumulation of mud. The front wheelswere very small, the back ones, high and fragile, carried the large bodyof the vehicle, which was swollen like the belly of an animal. Threewhite horses, with enormous heads and great round knees, were the firstthings one noticed. They were harnessed ready to draw this coach, whichhad something of the appearance of a monster in its massive structure. The horses seemed already asleep in front of the strange vehicle. 

The driver, Cesaire Horlaville, a little man with a big paunch, supplenevertheless, through his constant habit of climbing over the wheels tothe top of the wagon, his face all aglow from exposure to the brisk airof the plains, to rain and storms, and also from the use of brandy, hiseyes twitching from the effect of constant contact with wind and hail, appeared in the doorway of the hotel, wiping his mouth on the back ofhis hand. Large round baskets, full of frightened poultry, were standingin front of the peasant women. Cesaire Horlaville took them one afterthe other and packed them on the top of his coach; then more gently, heloaded on those containing eggs; finally he tossed up from below severallittle bags of grain, small packages wrapped in handkerchiefs, pieces ofcloth, or paper. Then he opened the back door, and drawing a list fromhis pocket he called:

"Monsieur le cure de Gorgeville. "

The priest advanced. He was a large, powerful, robust man with a redface and a genial expression. He hitched up his cassock to lift hisfoot, just as the women hold up their skirts, and climbed into thecoach. 

"The schoolmaster of Rollebose-les-Grinets. "

The man hastened forward, tall, timid, wearing a long frock coat whichfell to his knees, and he in turn disappeared through the open door. 

"Maitre Poiret, two seats. "

Poiret approached, a tall, round-shouldered man, bent by the plow, emaciated through abstinence, bony, with a skin dried by a sparing useof water. His wife followed him, small and thin, like a tired animal, carrying a large green umbrella in her hands. 

"Maitre Rabot, two seats. "

Rabot hesitated, being of an undecided nature. He asked:

"You mean me?"

The driver was going to answer with a jest, when Rabot dived head firsttowards the door, pushed forward by a vigorous shove from his wife, atall, square woman with a large, round stomach like a barrel, and handsas large as hams. 

Rabot slipped into the wagon like a rat entering a hole. 

"Maitre Caniveau. "

A large peasant, heavier than an ox, made the springs bend, and was inturn engulfed in the interior of the yellow chest. 

"Maitre Belhomme. "

Belhomme, tall and thin, came forward, his neck bent, his head hanging, a handkerchief held to his ear as if he were suffering from a terribletoothache. 

All these people wore the blue blouse over quaint and antique coats of ablack or greenish cloth, Sunday clothes which they would only uncover inthe streets of Havre. Their heads were covered by silk caps at highas towers, the emblem of supreme elegance in the small villages ofNormandy. 

Cesaire Horlaville closed the door, climbed up on his box and snappedhis whip. 

The three horses awoke and, tossing their heads, shook their bells. 

The driver then yelling "Get up!" as loud as he could, whipped up hishorses. They shook themselves, and, with an effort, started off at aslow, halting gait. And behind them came the coach, rattling its shakywindows and iron springs, making a terrible clatter of hardware andglass, while the passengers were tossed hither and thither like so manyrubber balls. 

At first all kept silent out of respect for the priest, that they mightnot shock him. Being of a loquacious and genial disposition, he startedthe conversation. 

"Well, Maitre Caniveau, " said he, "how are you getting along?"

The enormous farmer who, on account of his size, girth and stomach, felta bond of sympathy for the representative of the Church, answered with asmile:

"Pretty well, Monsieur le cure, pretty well. And how are you?"

"Oh! I'm always well and healthy. "

"And you, Maitre Poiret?" asked the abbe. 

"Oh! I'd be all right only the colzas ain't a-goin' to give much thisyear, and times are so hard that they are the only things worth whileraisin'. "

"Well, what can you expect? Times are hard. "

"Hub! I should say they were hard, " sounded the rather virile voice ofRabot's big consort. 

As she was from a neighboring village, the priest only knew her by name. 

"Is that you, Blondel?" he said. 

"Yes, I'm the one that married Rabot. "

Rabot, slender, timid, and self-satisfied, bowed smilingly, bendinghis head forward as though to say: "Yes, I'm the Rabot whom Blondelmarried. "

Suddenly Maitre Belhomme, still holding his handkerchief to his ear, began groaning in a pitiful fashion. He was going "Oh-oh-oh!" andstamping his foot in order to show his terrible suffering. 

"You must have an awful toothache, " said the priest. 

The peasant stopped moaning for a minute and answered:

"No, Monsieur le cure, it is not the teeth. It's my ear-away down at thebottom of my ear. "

"Well, what have you got in your ear? A lump of wax?"

"I don't know whether it's wax; but I know that it is a bug, a big bug, that crawled in while I was asleep in the haystack. "

"A bug! Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? As sure as I am of heaven, Monsieur le cure! I can feelit gnawing at the bottom of my ear! It's eating my head for sure! It'seating my head! Oh-oh-oh!" And he began to stamp his foot again. 

Great interest had been aroused among the spectators. Each one gave hisbit of advice. Poiret claimed that it was a spider, the teacher, thoughtit might be a caterpillar. He had already seen such a thing once, atCampemuret, in Orne, where he had been for six years. In this case thecaterpillar had gone through the head and out at the nose. But the manremained deaf in that ear ever after, the drum having been pierced. 

"It's more likely to be a worm, " said the priest. 

Maitre Belhomme, his head resting against the door, for he had been thelast one to enter, was still moaning. 

"Oh--oh--oh! I think it must be an ant, a big ant--there it is bitingagain. Oh, Monsieur le cure, how it hurts! how it hurts!"

"Have you seen the doctor?" asked Caniveau. 

"I should say not!"

"Why?"

The fear of the doctor seemed to cure Belhomme. He straightened upwithout, however, dropping his handkerchief. 

"What! You have money for them, for those loafers? He would havecome once, twice, three times, four times, five times! That means twofive-franc pieces, two five-franc pieces, for sure. And what would hehave done, the loafer, tell me, what would he have done? Can you tellme?"

Caniveau was laughing. 

"No, I don't know. Where are you going?"

"I am going to Havre, to see Chambrelan. "

"Who is Chambrelan?"

"The healer, of course. "

"What healer?"

"The healer who cured my father. "

"Your father?"

"Yes, the healer who cured my father years ago. "

"What was the matter with your father?"

"A draught caught him in the back, so that he couldn't move hand orfoot. "

"Well, what did your friend Chambrelan do to him?"

"He kneaded his back with both hands as though he were making bread! Andhe was all right in a couple of hours!"

Belhomme thought that Chambrelan must also have used some charm, but hedid not dare say so before the priest. Caniveau replied, laughing:

"Are you sure it isn't a rabbit that you have in your ear? He might havetaken that hole for his home. Wait, I'll make him run away. "

Whereupon Caniveau, making a megaphone of his hands, began to mimic thebarking of hounds. He snapped, howled, growled, barked. And everybody inthe carriage began to roar, even the schoolmaster, who, as a rule, neverever smiled. 

However, as Belhomme seemed angry at their making fun of him, the priestchanged the conversation and turning to Rabot's big wife, said:

"You have a large family, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur le cure--and it's a pretty hard matter to bring themup!"

Rabot agreed, nodding his head as though to say: "Oh, yes, it's a hardthing to bring up!"

"How many children?"

She replied authoritatively in a strong, clear voice:

"Sixteen children, Monsieur le cure, fifteen of them by my husband!"

And Rabot smiled broadly, nodding his head. He was responsible forfifteen, he alone, Rabot! His wife said so! Therefore there could be nodoubt about it. And he was proud!

And whose was the sixteenth? She didn't tell. It was doubtless thefirst. Perhaps everybody knew, for no one was surprised. Even Caniveaukept mum. 

But Belhomme began to moan again:

"Oh-oh-oh! It's scratching about in the bottom of my ear! Oh, dear, oh, dear!"

The coach just then stopped at the Cafe Polyto. The priest said:

"If someone were to pour a little water into your ear, it might perhapsdrive it out. Do you want to try?"

"Sure! I am willing. "

And everybody got out in order to witness the operation. The priestasked for a bowl, a napkin and a glass of water, then he told theteacher to hold the patient's head over on one side, and, as soon as theliquid should have entered the ear, to turn his head over suddenly onthe other side. 

But Caniveau, who was already peering into Belhomme's ear to see if hecouldn't discover the beast, shouted:

"Gosh! What a mess! You'll have to clear that out, old man. Your rabbitcould never get through that; his feet would stick. "

The priest in turn examined the passage and saw that it was too narrowand too congested for him to attempt to expel the animal. It was theteacher who cleared out this passage by means of a match and a bit ofcloth. Then, in the midst of the general excitement, the priest pouredinto the passage half a glass of water, which trickled over the facethrough the hair and down the neck of the patient. Then the schoolmasterquickly twisted the head round over the bowl, as though he were tryingto unscrew it. A couple of drops dripped into the white bowl. All thepassengers rushed forward. No insect had come out. 

However, Belhomme exclaimed: "I don't feel anything any more. " Thepriest triumphantly exclaimed: "Certainly it has been drowned. "Everybody was happy and got back into the coach. 

But hardly had they started when Belhomme began to cry out again. Thebug had aroused itself and had become furious. He even declared that ithad now entered his head and was eating his brain. He was howling withsuch contortions that Poirat's wife, thinking him possessed by thedevil, began to cry and to cross herself. Then, the pain abating alittle, the sick man began to tell how it was running round in his ear. With his finger he imitated the movements of the body, seeming tosee it, to follow it with his eyes: "There is goes up again!Oh--oh--oh--what torture!"

Caniveau was getting impatient. "It's the water that is making the bugangry. It is probably more accustomed to wine. "

Everybody laughed, and he continued: "When we get to the Cafe Bourbeux, give it some brandy, and it won't bother you any more, I wager. "

But Belhomme could contain himself no longer; he began howling as thoughhis soul were being torn from his body. The priest was obliged to holdhis head for him. They asked Cesaire Horlaville to stop at the nearesthouse. It was a farmhouse at the side of the road. Belhomme was carriedinto it and laid on the kitchen table in order to repeat the operation. Caniveau advised mixing brandy and water in order to benumb and perhapskill the insect. But the priest preferred vinegar. 

They poured the liquid in drop by drop this time, that it mightpenetrate down to the bottom, and they left it several minutes in theorgan that the beast had chosen for its home. 

A bowl had once more been brought; Belhomme was turned over bodilyby the priest and Caniveau, while the schoolmaster was tapping on thehealthy ear in order to empty the other. 

Cesaire Horlaville himself, whip in hand, had come in to observe theproceedings. 

Suddenly, at the bottom of the bowl appeared a little brown spot, nobigger than a tiny seed. However, it was moving. It was a flea! Firstthere were cries of astonishment and then shouts of laughter. A flea!Well, that was a good joke, a mighty good one! Caniveau was slapping histhigh, Cesaire Horlaville snapped his whip, the priest laughed like abraying donkey, the teacher cackled as though he were sneezing, and thetwo women were giving little screams of joy, like the clucking of hens. 

Belhomme had seated himself on the table and had taken the bowl betweenhis knees; he was observing, with serious attention and a vengeful angerin his eye, the conquered insect which was twisting round in the water. He grunted, "You rotten little beast!" and he spat on it. 

The driver, wild with joy, kept repeating: "A flea, a flea, ah! thereyou are, damned little flea, damned little flea, damned little flea!"Then having calmed down a little, he cried: "Well, back to the coach!We've lost enough time. "

DISCOVERY

The steamer was crowded with people and the crossing promised to begood. I was going from Havre to Trouville. 

The ropes were thrown off, the whistle blew for the last time, the wholeboat started to tremble, and the great wheels began to revolve, slowlyat first, and then with ever-increasing rapidity. 

We were gliding along the pier, black with people. Those on board werewaving their handkerchiefs, as though they were leaving for America, andtheir friends on shore were answering in the same manner. 

The big July sun was shining down on the red parasols, the lightdresses, the joyous faces and on the ocean, barely stirred by a ripple. When we were out of the harbor, the little vessel swung round the bigcurve and pointed her nose toward the distant shore which was barelyvisible through the early morning mist. On our left was the broadestuary of the Seine, her muddy water, which never mingles with thatof the ocean, making large yellow streaks clearly outlined against theimmense sheet of the pure green sea. 

As soon as I am on a boat I feel the need of walking to and fro, like asailor on watch. Why? I do not know. Therefore I began to thread my wayalong the deck through the crowd of travellers. Suddenly I heard my namecalled. I turned around. I beheld one of my old friends, Henri Sidoine, whom I had not seen for ten years. 

We shook hands and continued our walk together, talking of one thingor another. Suddenly Sidoine, who had been observing the crowd ofpassengers, cried out angrily:

"It's disgusting, the boat is full of English people!"

It was indeed full of them. The men were standing about, looking overthe ocean with an all-important air, as though to say: "We are theEnglish, the lords of the sea! Here we are!"

The young girls, formless, with shoes which reminded one of the navalconstructions of their fatherland, wrapped in multi-colored shawls, weresmiling vacantly at the magnificent scenery. Their small heads, plantedat the top of their long bodies, wore English hats of the strangestbuild. 

And the old maids, thinner yet, opening their characteristic jaws to thewind, seemed to threaten one with their long, yellow teeth. On passingthem, one could notice the smell of rubber and of tooth wash. 

Sidoine repeated, with growing anger:

"Disgusting! Can we never stop their coming to France?"

I asked, smiling:

"What have you got against them? As far as I am concerned, they don'tworry me. "

He snapped out:

"Of course they don't worry you! But I married one of them. "

I stopped and laughed at him. 

"Go ahead and tell me about it. Does she make you very unhappy?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"No, not exactly. "

"Then she--is not true to you?"

"Unfortunately, she is. That would be cause for a divorce, and I couldget rid of her. "

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand!"

"You don't understand? I'm not surprised. Well, she simply learned howto speak French--that's all! Listen. 

"I didn't have the least desire of getting married when I went to spendthe summer at Etretat two years ago. There is nothing more dangerousthan watering-places. You have no idea how it suits young girls. Parisis the place for women and the country for young girls. 

"Donkey rides, surf-bathing, breakfast on the grass, all these thingsare traps set for the marriageable man. And, really, there is nothingprettier than a child about eighteen, running through a field or pickingflowers along the road. 

"I made the acquaintance of an English family who were stopping at thesame hotel where I was. The father looked like those men you see overthere, and the mother was like all other Englishwomen. 

"They had two sons, the kind of boys who play rough games with balls, bats or rackets from morning till night; then came two daughters, theelder a dry, shrivelled-up Englishwoman, the younger a dream of beauty, a heavenly blonde. When those chits make up their minds to be pretty, they are divine. This one had blue eyes, the kind of blue which seems tocontain all the poetry, all the dreams, all the hopes and happiness ofthe world!

"What an infinity of dreams is caused by two such eyes! How well theyanswer the dim, eternal question of our heart!

"It must not be forgotten either that we Frenchmen adore foreign women. As soon as we meet a Russian, an Italian, a Swede, a Spaniard, or anEnglishwoman with a pretty face, we immediately fall in love with her. We enthuse over everything which comes from outside--clothes, hats, gloves, guns and--women. But what a blunder!

"I believe that that which pleases us in foreign women is their accent. As soon as a woman speaks our language badly we think she is charming, if she uses the wrong word she is exquisite and if she jabbers in anentirely unintelligible jargon, she becomes irresistible. 

"My little English girl, Kate, spoke a language to be marvelled at. At the beginning I could understand nothing, she invented so many newwords; then I fell absolutely in love with this queer, amusing dialect. All maimed, strange, ridiculous terms became delightful in her mouth. Every evening, on the terrace of the Casino, we had long conversationswhich resembled spoken enigmas. 

"I married her! I loved her wildly, as one can only love in a dream. Fortrue lovers only love a dream which has taken the form of a woman. 

"Well, my dear fellow, the most foolish thing I ever did was to givemy wife a French teacher. As long as she slaughtered the dictionary andtortured the grammar I adored her. Our conversations were simple. Theyrevealed to me her surprising gracefulness and matchless elegance; theyshowed her to me as a wonderful speaking jewel, a living doll made tobe kissed, knowing, after a fashion, how to express what she loved. Shereminded me of the pretty little toys which say 'papa' and 'mamma' whenyou pull a string. 

"Now she talks--badly--very badly. She makes as many mistakes asever--but I can understand her. 

"I have opened my doll to look inside--and I have seen. And now I haveto talk to her!

"Ah! you don't know, as I do, the opinions, the ideas, the theories ofa well-educated young English girl, whom I can blame in nothing, andwho repeats to me from morning till night sentences from a French readerprepared in England for the use of young ladies' schools. 

"You have seen those cotillon favors, those pretty gilt papers, whichenclose candies with an abominable taste. I have one of them. I tore itopen. I wished to eat what was inside and it disgusted me so that I feelnauseated at seeing her compatriots. 

"I have married a parrot to whom some old English governess might havetaught French. Do you understand?"

The harbor of Trouville was now showing its wooden piers covered withpeople. 

I said:

"Where is your wife?"

He answered:

"I took her back to Etretat. "

"And you, where are you going?"

"I? Oh, I am going to rest up here at Trouville. "

Then, after a pause, he added:

"You have no idea what a fool a woman can be at times!"

THE ACCURSED BREAD

Daddy Taille had three daughters: Anna, the eldest, who was scarcelyever mentioned in the family; Rose, the second girl, who was eighteen, and Clara, the youngest, who was a girl of fifteen. 

Old Taille was a widower and a foreman in M. Lebrument's buttonmanufactory. He was a very upright man, very well thought of, abstemious; in fact, a sort of model workman. He lived at Havre, in theRue d'Angouleme. 

When Anna ran away from home the old man flew into a fearful rage. Hethreatened to kill the head clerk in a large draper's establishment inthat town, whom he suspected. After a time, when he was told by variouspeople that she was very steady and investing money in governmentsecurities, that she was no gadabout, but was a great friend of MonsieurDubois, who was a judge of the Tribunal of Commerce, the father wasappeased. 

He even showed some anxiety as to how she was getting on, and asked someof her old friends who had been to see her, and when told that she hadher own furniture, and that her mantelpiece was covered with vases andthe walls with pictures, that there were clocks and carpets everywhere, he gave a broad contented smile. He had been working for thirty yearsto get together a wretched five or six thousand francs. This girl wasevidently no fool. 

One fine morning the son of Touchard, the cooper, at the other end ofthe street, came and asked him for the hand of Rose, the second girl. The old man's heart began to beat, for the Touchards were rich and in agood position. He was decidedly lucky with his girls. 

The marriage was agreed upon, and it was settled that it should be agrand affair, and the wedding dinner was to be held at Sainte-Adresse, at Mother Jusa's restaurant. It would cost a lot certainly, but nevermind, it did not matter just for once in a way. 

But one morning, just as the old man was going home to luncheon with histwo daughters, the door opened suddenly, and Anna appeared. She was welldressed and looked undeniably pretty and nice. She threw her armsround her father's neck before he could say a word, then fell into hersisters' arms with many tears and then asked for a plate, so that shemight share the family soup. Taille was moved to tears in his turn andsaid several times:

"That is right, dear, that is right. "

Then she told them about herself. She did not wish Rose's wedding totake place at Sainte-Adresse--certainly not. It should take place at herhouse and would cost her father nothing. She had settled everythingand arranged everything, so it was "no good to say any more aboutit--there!"

"Very well, my dear! very well!" the old man said; "we will leave itso. " But then he felt some doubt. Would the Touchards consent? But Rose, the bride-elect, was surprised and asked: "Why should they object, Ishould like to know? Just leave that to me; I will talk to Philip aboutit. "

She mentioned it to her lover the very same day, and he declared itwould suit him exactly. Father and Mother Touchard were naturallydelighted at the idea of a good dinner which would cost them nothing andsaid:

"You may be quite sure that everything will be in first-rate style. "

They asked to be allowed to bring a friend, Madame Florence, the cook onthe first floor, and Anna agreed to everything. 

The wedding was fixed for the last Tuesday of the month. 

After the civil formalities and the religious ceremony the wedding partywent to Anna's house. Among those whom the Tailles had brought wasa cousin of a certain age, a Monsieur Sauvetanin, a man given tophilosophical reflections, serious, and always very self-possessed, andMadame Lamondois, an old aunt. 

Monsieur Sautevanin had been told off to give Anna his arm, as they werelooked upon as the two most important persons in the company. 

As soon as they had arrived at the door of Anna's house she let go hercompanion's arm, and ran on ahead, saying: "I will show you the way, "and ran upstairs while the invited guests followed more slowly; and, when they got upstairs, she stood on one side to let them pass, and theyrolled their eyes and turned their heads in all directions to admirethis mysterious and luxurious dwelling. 

The table was laid in the drawing-room, as the dining-room had beenthought too small. Extra knives, forks and spoons had been hired from aneighboring restaurant, and decanters stood full of wine under the raysof the sun which shone in through the window. 

The ladies went into the bedroom to take off their shawls and bonnets, and Father Touchard, who was standing at the door, made funny andsuggestive signs to the men, with many a wink and nod. Daddy Taille, who thought a great deal of himself, looked with fatherly pride at hischild's well-furnished rooms and went from one to the other, holding hishat in his hand, making a mental inventory of everything, and walkinglike a verger in a church. 

Anna went backward and forward, ran about giving orders and hurrying onthe wedding feast. Soon she appeared at the door of the dining-room andcried: "Come here, all of you, for a moment, " and as the twelve guestsentered the room they saw twelve glasses of Madeira on a small table. 

Rose and her husband had their arms round each other's waists and werekissing each other in every corner. Monsieur Sauvetanin never took hiseyes off Anna. 

They sat down, and the wedding breakfast began, the relations sitting atone end of the table and the young people at the other. Madame Touchard, the mother, presided on the right and the bride on the left. Anna lookedafter everybody, saw that the glasses were kept filled and theplates well supplied. The guests evidently felt a certain respectfulembarrassment at the sight of all the sumptuousness of the rooms and atthe lavish manner in which they were treated. They all ate heartily ofthe good things provided, but there were no jokes such as are prevalent. At weddings of that sort; it was all too grand, and it made them feeluncomfortable. Old Madame Touchard, who was fond of a bit of fun, triedto enliven matters a little, and at the beginning of the dessert sheexclaimed: "I say, Philip, do sing us something. " The neighbors in theirstreet considered that he had the finest voice in all Havre. 

The bridegroom got up, smiled, and, turning to his sister-in-law, frompoliteness and gallantry, tried to think of something suitable forthe occasion, something serious and correct, to harmonize with theseriousness of the repast. 

Anna had a satisfied look on her face, and leaned back in her chair tolisten, and all assumed looks of attention, though prepared to smileshould smiles he called for. 

The singer announced "The Accursed Bread, " and, extending his right arm, which made his coat ruck up into his neck, he began. 

It was decidedly long, three verses of eight lines each, with the lastline and the last but one repeated twice. 

All went well for the first two verses; they were the usual commonplacesabout bread gained by honest labor and by dishonesty. The aunt and thebride wept outright. The cook, who was present, at the end of the firstverse looked at a roll which she held in her hand, with streaming eyes, as if it applied to her, while all applauded vigorously. At the end ofthe second verse the two servants, who were standing with their backs tothe wall, joined loudly in the chorus, and the aunt and the bride weptoutright. 

Daddy Taille blew his nose with the noise of a trombone, and oldTouchard brandished a whole loaf half over the table, and the cook shedsilent tears on the crust which she was still holding. 

Amid the general emotion Monsieur Sauvetanin said:

"That is the right sort of song; very different from the nasty, riskythings one generally hears at weddings. "

Anna, who was visibly affected, kissed her hand to her sister andpointed to her husband with an affectionate nod, as if to congratulateher. 

Intoxicated by his success, the young man continued, and unfortunatelythe last verse contained words about the "bread of dishonor" gained byyoung girls who had been led astray. No one took up the refrain aboutthis bread, supposed to be eaten with tears, except old Touchard and thetwo servants. Anna had grown deadly pale and cast down her eyes, whilethe bridegroom looked from one to the other without understanding thereason for this sudden coldness, and the cook hastily dropped the crustas if it were poisoned. 

Monsieur Sauvetanin said solemnly, in order to save the situation: "Thatlast couplet is not at all necessary;" and Daddy Taille, who had got redup to his ears, looked round the table fiercely. 

Then Anna, her eyes swimming in tears, told the servants in thefaltering voice of a woman trying to stifle her sobs, to bring thechampagne. 

All the guests were suddenly seized with exuberant joy, and all theirfaces became radiant again. And when old Touchard, who had seen, feltand understood nothing of what was going on, and pointing to the guestsso as to emphasize his words, sang the last words of the refrain:

"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread, " the whole company, when they saw the champagne bottles, with their necks covered with goldfoil, appear, burst out singing, as if electrified by the sight:

"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread. "

THE DOWRY

The marriage of Maitre Simon Lebrument with Mademoiselle Jeanne Cordierwas a surprise to no one. Maitre Lebrument had bought out the practiceof Maitre Papillon; naturally, he had to have money to pay for it; andMademoiselle Jeanne Cordier had three hundred thousand francs clear incurrency, and in bonds payable to bearer. 

Maitre Lebrument was a handsome man. He was stylish, although in aprovincial way; but, nevertheless, he was stylish--a rare thing atBoutigny-le-Rebours. 

Mademoiselle Cordier was graceful and fresh-looking, although a trifleawkward; nevertheless, she was a handsome girl, and one to be desired. 

The marriage ceremony turned all Boutigny topsy-turvy. Everybody admiredthe young couple, who quickly returned home to domestic felicity, having decided simply to take a short trip to Paris, after a few days ofretirement. 

This tete-a-tete was delightful, Maitre Lebrument having shown just theproper amount of delicacy. He had taken as his motto: "Everythingcomes to him who waits. " He knew how to be at the same time patient andenergetic. His success was rapid and complete. 

After four days, Madame Lebrument adored her husband. She could not getalong without him. She would sit on his knees, and taking him by theears she would say: "Open your mouth and shut your eyes. " He would openhis mouth wide and partly close his eyes, and he would try to nip herfingers as she slipped some dainty between his teeth. Then she wouldgive him a kiss, sweet and long, which would make chills run up and downhis spine. And then, in his turn, he would not have enough caresses toplease his wife from morning to night and from night to morning. 

When the first week was over, he said to his young companion:

"If you wish, we will leave for Paris next Tuesday. We will be like twolovers, we will go to the restaurants, the theatres, the concert halls, everywhere, everywhere!"

She was ready to dance for joy. 

"Oh! yes, yes. Let us go as soon as possible. "

He continued:

"And then, as we must forget nothing, ask your father to have your dowryready; I shall pay Maitre Papillon on this trip. "

She answered:

"All right: I will tell him to-morrow morning. "

And he took her in his arms once more, to renew those sweet games oflove which she had so enjoyed for the past week. 

The following Tuesday, father-in-law and mother-in-law went to thestation with their daughter and their son-in-law who were leaving forthe capital. 

The father-in-law said:

"I tell you it is very imprudent to carry so much money about in apocketbook. " And the young lawyer smiled. 

"Don't worry; I am accustomed to such things. You understand that, inmy profession, I sometimes have as much as a million about me. In thismanner, at least we avoid a great amount of red tape and delay. Youneedn't worry. "

The conductor was crying:

"All aboard for Paris!"

They scrambled into a car, where two old ladies were already seated. 

Lebrument whispered into his wife's ear:

"What a bother! I won't be able to smoke. "

She answered in a low voice

"It annoys me too, but not an account of your cigar. "

The whistle blew and the train started. The trip lasted about an hour, during which time they did not say very much to each other, as the twoold ladies did not go to sleep. 

As soon as they were in front of the Saint-Lazare Station, MaitreLebrument said to his wife:

"Dearie, let us first go over to the Boulevard and get something to eat;then we can quietly return and get our trunk and bring it to the hotel. "

She immediately assented. 

"Oh! yes. Let's eat at the restaurant. Is it far?"

He answered:

"Yes, it's quite a distance, but we will take the omnibus. "

She was surprised:

"Why don't we take a cab?"

He began to scold her smilingly:

"Is that the way you save money? A cab for a five minutes' ride at sixcents a minute! You would deprive yourself of nothing. "

"That's so, " she said, a little embarrassed. 

A big omnibus was passing by, drawn by three big horses, which weretrotting along. Lebrument called out:

"Conductor! Conductor!"

The heavy carriage stopped. And the young lawyer, pushing his wife, saidto her quickly:

"Go inside; I'm going up on top, so that I may smoke at least onecigarette before lunch. "

She had no time to answer. The conductor, who had seized her by the armto help her up the step, pushed her inside, and she fell into a seat, bewildered, looking through the back window at the feet of her husbandas he climbed up to the top of the vehicle. 

And she sat there motionless, between a fat man who smelled of cheaptobacco and an old woman who smelled of garlic. 

All the other passengers were lined up in silence--a grocer's boy, ayoung girl, a soldier, a gentleman with gold-rimmed spectacles and abig silk hat, two ladies with a self-satisfied and crabbed look, whichseemed to say: "We are riding in this thing, but we don't have to, " twosisters of charity and an undertaker. They looked like a collection ofcaricatures. 

The jolting of the wagon made them wag their heads and the shaking ofthe wheels seemed to stupefy them--they all looked as though they wereasleep. 

The young woman remained motionless. 

"Why didn't he come inside with me?" she was saying to herself. Anunaccountable sadness seemed to be hanging over her. He really need nothave acted so. 

The sisters motioned to the conductor to stop, and they got off oneafter the other, leaving in their wake the pungent smell of camphor. Thebus started tip and soon stopped again. And in got a cook, red-faced andout of breath. She sat down and placed her basket of provisions on herknees. A strong odor of dish-water filled the vehicle. 

"It's further than I imagined, " thought Jeanne. 

The undertaker went out, and was replaced by a coachman who seemed tobring the atmosphere of the stable with him. The young girl had asa successor a messenger, the odor of whose feet showed that he wascontinually walking. 

The lawyer's wife began to feel ill at ease, nauseated, ready to crywithout knowing why. 

Other persons left and others entered. The stage went on throughinterminable streets, stopping at stations and starting again. 

"How far it is!" thought Jeanne. "I hope he hasn't gone to sleep! He hasbeen so tired the last few days. "

Little by little all the passengers left. She was left alone, all alone. The conductor cried:

"Vaugirard!"

Seeing that she did not move, he repeated:

"Vaugirard!"

She looked at him, understanding that he was speaking to her, as therewas no one else there. For the third time the man said:

"Vaugirard!"

Then she asked:

"Where are we?"

He answered gruffly:

"We're at Vaugirard, of course! I have been yelling it for the last halfhour!"

"Is it far from the Boulevard?" she said. 

"Which boulevard?"

"The Boulevard des Italiens. "

"We passed that a long time ago!"

"Would you mind telling my husband?"

"Your husband! Where is he?"

"On the top of the bus. "

"On the top! There hasn't been anybody there for a long time. "

She started, terrified. 

"What? That's impossible! He got on with me. Look well! He must bethere. "

The conductor was becoming uncivil:

"Come on, little one, you've talked enough! You can find ten menfor every one that you lose. Now run along. You'll find another onesomewhere. "

Tears were coming to her eyes. She insisted:

"But, monsieur, you are mistaken; I assure you that you must bemistaken. He had a big portfolio under his arm. "

The man began to laugh:

"A big portfolio! Oh, yes! He got off at the Madeleine. He got rid ofyou, all right! Ha! ha! ha!"

The stage had stopped. She got out and, in spite of herself, she lookedup instinctively to the roof of the bus. It was absolutely deserted. 

Then she began to cry, and, without thinking that anybody was listeningor watching her, she said out loud:

"What is going to become of me?"

An inspector approached:

"What's the matter?"

The conductor answered, in a bantering tone of voice:

"It's a lady who got left by her husband during the trip. "

The other continued:

"Oh! that's nothing. You go about your business. "

Then he turned on his heels and walked away. 

She began to walk straight ahead, too bewildered, too crazed even tounderstand what had happened to her. Where was she to go? What couldshe do? What could have happened to him? How could he have made such amistake? How could he have been so forgetful?

She had two francs in her pocket. To whom could she go? Suddenly sheremembered her cousin Barral, one of the assistants in the offices ofthe Ministry of the Navy. 

She had just enough to pay for a cab. She drove to his house. He met herjust as he was leaving for his office. He was carrying a large portfoliounder his arm, just like Lebrument. 

She jumped out of the carriage. 

"Henry!" she cried. 

He stopped, astonished:

"Jeanne! Here--all alone! What are you doing? Where have you come from?"

Her eyes full of tears, she stammered:

"My husband has just got lost!"

"Lost! Where?"

"On an omnibus. "

"On an omnibus?"

Weeping, she told him her whole adventure. 

He listened, thought, and then asked:

"Was his mind clear this morning?"

"Yes. "

"Good. Did he have much money with him?"

"Yes, he was carrying my dowry. "

"Your dowry! The whole of it?"

"The whole of it--in order to pay for the practice which he bought. "

"Well, my dear cousin, by this time your husband must be well on his wayto Belgium. "

She could not understand. She kept repeating:

"My husband--you say--"

"I say that he has disappeared with your--your capital--that's all!"

She stood there, a prey to conflicting emotions, sobbing. 

"Then he is--he is--he is a villain!"

And, faint from excitement, she leaned her head on her cousin's shoulderand wept. 

As people were stopping to look at them, he pushed her gently into thevestibule of his house, and, supporting her with his arm around herwaist, he led her up the stairs, and as his astonished servant openedthe door, he ordered:

"Sophie, run to the restaurant and get a luncheon for two. I am notgoing to the office to-day. "

THE DIARY OF A MADMAN

He was dead--the head of a high tribunal, the upright magistratewhose irreproachable life was a proverb in all the courts of France. Advocates, young counsellors, judges had greeted him at sight of hislarge, thin, pale face lighted up by two sparkling deep-set eyes, bowinglow in token of respect. 

He had passed his life in pursuing crime and in protecting the weak. Swindlers and murderers had no more redoubtable enemy, for he seemed toread the most secret thoughts of their minds. 

He was dead, now, at the age of eighty-two, honored by the homage andfollowed by the regrets of a whole people. Soldiers in red trousers hadescorted him to the tomb and men in white cravats had spoken words andshed tears that seemed to be sincere beside his grave. 

But here is the strange paper found by the dismayed notary in the deskwhere he had kept the records of great criminals! It was entitled: WHY?

20th June, 1851. I have just left court. I have condemned Blondel todeath! Now, why did this man kill his five children? Frequently onemeets with people to whom the destruction of life is a pleasure. Yes, yes, it should be a pleasure, the greatest of all, perhaps, for is notkilling the next thing to creating? To make and to destroy! These twowords contain the history of the universe, all the history of worlds, all that is, all! Why is it not intoxicating to kill?

25th June. To think that a being is there who lives, who walks, whoruns. A being? What is a being? That animated thing, that bears in itthe principle of motion and a will ruling that motion. It is attached tonothing, this thing. Its feet do not belong to the ground. It is a grainof life that moves on the earth, and this grain of life, coming I knownot whence, one can destroy at one's will. Then nothing--nothing more. It perishes, it is finished. 

26th June. Why then is it a crime to kill? Yes, why? On the contrary, itis the law of nature. The mission of every being is to kill; he killsto live, and he kills to kill. The beast kills without ceasing, all day, every instant of his existence. Man kills without ceasing, to nourishhimself; but since he needs, besides, to kill for pleasure, he hasinvented hunting! The child kills the insects he finds, the littlebirds, all the little animals that come in his way. But this does notsuffice for the irresistible need to massacre that is in us. It is notenough to kill beasts; we must kill man too. Long ago this need wassatisfied by human sacrifices. Now the requirements of social lifehave made murder a crime. We condemn and punish the assassin! But as wecannot live without yielding to this natural and imperious instinct ofdeath, we relieve ourselves, from time to time, by wars. Then a wholenation slaughters another nation. It is a feast of blood, a feast thatmaddens armies and that intoxicates civilians, women and children, whoread, by lamplight at night, the feverish story of massacre. 

One might suppose that those destined to accomplish these butcheries ofmen would be despised! No, they are loaded with honors. They are cladin gold and in resplendent garments; they wear plumes on their heads andornaments on their breasts, and they are given crosses, rewards, titlesof every kind. They are proud, respected, loved by women, cheered by thecrowd, solely because their mission is to shed human blood; They dragthrough the streets their instruments of death, that the passer-by, cladin black, looks on with envy. For to kill is the great law set by naturein the heart of existence! There is nothing more beautiful and honorablethan killing!

30th June. To kill is the law, because nature loves eternal youth. Sheseems to cry in all her unconscious acts: "Quick! quick! quick!" Themore she destroys, the more she renews herself. 

2d July. A human being--what is a human being? Through thought it is areflection of all that is; through memory and science it is an abridgededition of the universe whose history it represents, a mirror of thingsand of nations, each human being becomes a microcosm in the macrocosm. 

3d July. It must be a pleasure, unique and full of zest, to kill; tohave there before one the living, thinking being; to make therein alittle hole, nothing but a little hole, to see that red thing flow whichis the blood, which makes life; and to have before one only a heap oflimp flesh, cold, inert, void of thought!

5th August. I, who have passed my life in judging, condemning, killingby the spoken word, killing by the guillotine those who had killed bythe knife, I, I, if I should do as all the assassins have done whom Ihave smitten, I--I--who would know it?

10th August. Who would ever know? Who would ever suspect me, me, me, especially if I should choose a being I had no interest in doing awaywith?

15th August. The temptation has come to me. It pervades my whole being;my hands tremble with the desire to kill. 

22d August. I could resist no longer. I killed a little creature as anexperiment, for a beginning. Jean, my servant, had a goldfinch in acage hung in the office window. I sent him on an errand, and I took thelittle bird in my hand, in my hand where I felt its heart beat. It waswarm. I went up to my room. From time to time I squeezed it tighter; itsheart beat faster; this was atrocious and delicious. I was near chokingit. But I could not see the blood. 

Then I took scissors, short-nail scissors, and I cut its throat withthree slits, quite gently. It opened its bill, it struggled to escapeme, but I held it, oh! I held it--I could have held a mad dog--and I sawthe blood trickle. 

And then I did as assassins do--real ones. I washed the scissors, Iwashed my hands. I sprinkled water and took the body, the corpse, to thegarden to hide it. I buried it under a strawberry-plant. It will neverbe found. Every day I shall eat a strawberry from that plant. How onecan enjoy life when one knows how!

My servant cried; he thought his bird flown. How could he suspect me?Ah! ah!

25th August. I must kill a man! I must--

30th August. It is done. But what a little thing! I had gone for a walkin the forest of Vernes. I was thinking of nothing, literally nothing. A child was in the road, a little child eating a slice of bread andbutter. 

He stops to see me pass and says, "Good-day, Mr. President. "

And the thought enters my head, "Shall I kill him?"

I answer: "You are alone, my boy?"

"Yes, sir. "

"All alone in the wood?"

"Yes, sir. "

The wish to kill him intoxicated me like wine. I approached him quitesoftly, persuaded that he was going to run away. And, suddenly, I seizedhim by the throat. He looked at me with terror in his eyes--such eyes!He held my wrists in his little hands and his body writhed like afeather over the fire. Then he moved no more. I threw the body in theditch, and some weeds on top of it. I returned home, and dined well. What a little thing it was! In the evening I was very gay, light, rejuvenated; I passed the evening at the Prefect's. They found me witty. But I have not seen blood! I am tranquil. 

31st August. The body has been discovered. They are hunting for theassassin. Ah! ah!

1st September. Two tramps have been arrested. Proofs are lacking. 

2d September. The parents have been to see me. They wept! Ah! ah!

6th October. Nothing has been discovered. Some strolling vagabond musthave done the deed. Ah! ah! If I had seen the blood flow, it seems to meI should be tranquil now! The desire to kill is in my blood; it is likethe passion of youth at twenty. 

20th October. Yet another. I was walking by the river, after breakfast. And I saw, under a willow, a fisherman asleep. It was noon. A spade wasstanding in a potato-field near by, as if expressly, for me. 

I took it. I returned; I raised it like a club, and with one blow of theedge I cleft the fisherman's head. Oh! he bled, this one! Rose-coloredblood. It flowed into the water, quite gently. And I went away with agrave step. If I had been seen! Ah! ah! I should have made an excellentassassin. 

25th October. The affair of the fisherman makes a great stir. Hisnephew, who fished with him, is charged with the murder. 

26th October. The examining magistrate affirms that the nephew isguilty. Everybody in town believes it. Ah! ah!

27th October. The nephew makes a very poor witness. He had gone to thevillage to buy bread and cheese, he declared. He swore that his unclehad been killed in his absence! Who would believe him?

28th October. The nephew has all but confessed, they have badgered himso. Ah! ah! justice!

15th November. There are overwhelming proofs against the nephew, who washis uncle's heir. I shall preside at the sessions. 

25th January. To death! to death! to death! I have had him condemnedto death! Ah! ah! The advocate-general spoke like an angel! Ah! ah! Yetanother! I shall go to see him executed!

10th March. It is done. They guillotined him this morning. He died verywell! very well! That gave me pleasure! How fine it is to see a man'shead cut off!

Now, I shall wait, I can wait. It would take such a little thing to letmyself be caught. 

The manuscript contained yet other pages, but without relating any newcrime. 

Alienist physicians to whom the awful story has been submitted declarethat there are in the world many undiscovered madmen as adroit and asmuch to be feared as this monstrous lunatic. 

THE MASK

There was a masquerade ball at the Elysee-Montmartre that evening. It was the 'Mi-Careme', and the crowds were pouring into the brightlylighted passage which leads to the dance ball, like water flowingthrough the open lock of a canal. The loud call of the orchestra, bursting like a storm of sound, shook the rafters, swelled through thewhole neighborhood and awoke, in the streets and in the depths of thehouses, an irresistible desire to jump, to get warm, to have fun, whichslumbers within each human animal. 

The patrons came from every quarter of Paris; there were people of allclasses who love noisy pleasures, a little low and tinged with debauch. There were clerks and girls--girls of every description, some wearingcommon cotton, some the finest batiste; rich girls, old and covered withdiamonds, and poor girls of sixteen, full of the desire to revel, tobelong to men, to spend money. Elegant black evening suits, in searchof fresh or faded but appetizing novelty, wandering through the excitedcrowds, looking, searching, while the masqueraders seemed moved aboveall by the desire for amusement. Already the far-famed quadrilles hadattracted around them a curious crowd. The moving hedge which encircledthe four dancers swayed in and out like a snake, sometimes nearer andsometimes farther away, according to the motions of the performers. Thetwo women, whose lower limbs seemed to be attached to their bodies byrubber springs, were making wonderful and surprising motions with theirlegs. Their partners hopped and skipped about, waving their arms about. One could imagine their panting breath beneath their masks. 

One of them, who had taken his place in the most famous quadrille, assubstitute for an absent celebrity, the handsome "Songe-au-Gosse, "was trying to keep up with the tireless "Arete-de-Veau" and was makingstrange fancy steps which aroused the joy and sarcasm of the audience. 

He was thin, dressed like a dandy, with a pretty varnished mask on hisface. It had a curly blond mustache and a wavy wig. He looked like a waxfigure from the Musee Grevin, like a strange and fantastic caricatureof the charming young man of fashion plates, and he danced with visibleeffort, clumsily, with a comical impetuosity. He appeared rusty besidethe others when he tried to imitate their gambols: he seemed overcomeby rheumatism, as heavy as a great Dane playing with greyhounds. Mockingbravos encouraged him. And he, carried away with enthusiasm, jiggedabout with such frenzy that suddenly, carried away by a wild spurt, hepitched head foremost into the living wall formed by the audience, which opened up before him to allow him to pass, then closed around theinanimate body of the dancer, stretched out on his face. 

Some men picked him up and carried him away, calling for a doctor. Agentleman stepped forward, young and elegant, in well-fitting eveningclothes, with large pearl studs. "I am a professor of the Faculty ofMedicine, " he said in a modest voice. He was allowed to pass, and heentered a small room full of little cardboard boxes, where the stilllifeless dancer had been stretched cut on some chairs. The doctor atfirst wished to take off the mask, and he noticed that it was attachedin a complicated manner, with a perfect network of small metal wireswhich cleverly bound it to his wig and covered the whole head. Even theneck was imprisoned in a false skin which continued the chin and waspainted the color of flesh, being attached to the collar of the shirt. 

All this had to be cut with strong scissors. When the physician had slitopen this surprising arrangement, from the shoulder to the temple, heopened this armor and found the face of an old man, worn out, thin andwrinkled. The surprise among those who had brought in this seeminglyyoung dancer was so great that no one laughed, no one said a word. 

All were watching this sad face as he lay on the straw chairs, his eyesclosed, his face covered with white hair, some long, falling from theforehead over the face, others short, growing around the face and thechin, and beside this poor head, that pretty little, neat varnished, smiling mask. 

The man regained consciousness after being inanimate for a long time, but he still seemed to be so weak and sick that the physician fearedsome dangerous complication. He asked: "Where do you live?"

The old dancer seemed to be making an effort to remember, and then hementioned the name of the street, which no one knew. He was asked formore definite information about the neighborhood. He answered with agreat slowness, indecision and difficulty, which revealed his upsetstate of mind. The physician continued:

"I will take you home myself. "

Curiosity had overcome him to find out who this strange dancer, thisphenomenal jumper might be. Soon the two rolled away in a cab to theother side of Montmartre. 

They stopped before a high building of poor appearance. They went up awinding staircase. The doctor held to the banister, which was so grimythat the hand stuck to it, and he supported the dizzy old man, whoseforces were beginning to return. They stopped at the fourth floor. 

The door at which they had knocked was opened by an old woman, neatlooking, with a white nightcap enclosing a thin face with sharpfeatures, one of those good, rough faces of a hard-working and faithfulwoman. She cried out:

"For goodness sake! What's the matter?"

He told her the whole affair in a few words. She became reassured andeven calmed the physician himself by telling him that the same thing hadhappened many times. She said: "He must be put to bed, monsieur, that isall. Let him sleep and tomorrow he will be all right. "

The doctor continued: "But he can hardly speak. "

"Oh! that's just a little drink, nothing more; he has eaten no dinner, in order to be nimble, and then he took a few absinthes in order to workhimself up to the proper pitch. You see, drink gives strength to hislegs, but it stops his thoughts and words. He is too old to dance as hedoes. Really, his lack of common sense is enough to drive one mad!"

The doctor, surprised, insisted:

"But why does he dance like that at his age?"

She shrugged her shoulders and turned red from the anger which wasslowly rising within her and she cried out:

"Ah! yes, why? So that the people will think him young under his mask;so that the women will still take him for a young dandy and whispernasty things into his ears; so that he can rub up against all theirdirty skins, with their perfumes and powders and cosmetics. Ah! it's afine business! What a life I have had for the last forty years! But wemust first get him to bed, so that he may have no ill effects. Wouldyou mind helping me? When he is like that I can't do anything with himalone. "

The old man was sitting on his bed, with a tipsy look, his long whitehair falling over his face. His companion looked at him with tender yetindignant eyes. She continued:

"Just see the fine head he has for his age, and yet he has to go anddisguise himself in order to make people think that he is young. It's aperfect shame! Really, he has a fine head, monsieur! Wait, I'll show itto you before putting him to bed. "

She went to a table on which stood the washbasin a pitcher of water, soap and a comb and brush. She took the brush, returned to the bed andpushed back the drunkard's tangled hair. In a few seconds she made himlook like a model fit for a great painter, with his long white locksflowing on his neck. Then she stepped back in order to observe him, saying: "There! Isn't he fine for his age?"

"Very, " agreed the doctor, who was beginning to be highly amused. 

She added: "And if you had known him when he was twenty-five! But wemust get him to bed, otherwise the drink will make him sick. Do youmind drawing off that sleeve? Higher-like that-that's right. Now thetrousers. Wait, I will take his shoes off--that's right. Now, hold himupright while I open the bed. There--let us put him in. If you thinkthat he is going to disturb himself when it is time for me to get inyou are mistaken. I have to find a little corner any place I can. Thatdoesn't bother him! Bah! You old pleasure seeker!"

As soon as he felt himself stretched out in his sheets the old manclosed his eyes, opened them closed them again, and over his whole faceappeared an energetic resolve to sleep. The doctor examined him with anever-increasing interest and asked: "Does he go to all the fancy ballsand try to be a young man?" "To all of them, monsieur, and he comes backto me in the morning in a deplorable condition. You see, it's regretthat leads him on and that makes him put a pasteboard face over his own. Yes, the regret of no longer being what he was and of no longer makingany conquests!"

He was sleeping now and beginning to snore. She looked at him with apitying expression and continued: "Oh! how many conquests that manhas made! More than one could believe, monsieur, more than the finestgentlemen of the world, than all the tenors and all the generals. "

"Really? What did he do?"

"Oh! it will surprise you at first, as you did not know him in his palmydays. When I met him it was also at a ball, for he has always frequentedthem. As soon as I saw him I was caught--caught like a fish on a hook. Ah! how pretty he was, monsieur, with his curly raven locks and blackeyes as large as saucers! Indeed, he was good looking! He took me awaythat evening and I never have left him since, never, not even for a day, no matter what he did to me! Oh! he has often made it hard for me!"

The doctor asked: "Are you married?"

She answered simply: "Yes, monsieur, otherwise he would have dropped meas he did the others. I have been his wife and his servant, everything, everything that he wished. How he has made me cry--tears which I didnot show him; for he would tell all his adventures to me--to me, monsieur--without understanding how it hurt me to listen. "

"But what was his business?"

"That's so. I forgot to tell you. He was the foreman at Martel's--aforeman such as they never had had--an artist who averaged ten francs anhour. "

"Martel?--who is Martel?"

"The hairdresser, monsieur, the great hairdresser of the Opera, who hadall the actresses for customers. Yes, sir, all the smartest actresseshad their hair dressed by Ambrose and they would give him tips that madea fortune for him. Ah! monsieur, all the women are alike, yes, all ofthem. When a man pleases their fancy they offer themselves to him. Itis so easy--and it hurt me so to hear about it. For he would tell meeverything--he simply could not hold his tongue--it was impossible. Those things please the men so much! They seem to get even moreenjoyment out of telling than doing. 

"When I would see him coming in the evening, a little pale, with apleased look and a bright eye, would say to myself: 'One more. I am surethat he has caught one more. ' Then I felt a wild desire to question himand then, again, not to know, to stop his talking if he should begin. And we would look at each other. 

"I knew that he would not keep still, that he would come to the point. Icould feel that from his manner, which seemed to laugh and say: 'I had afine adventure to-day, Madeleine. ' I would pretend to notice nothing, to guess nothing; I would set the table, bring on the soup and sit downopposite him. 

"At those times, monsieur, it was as if my friendship for him had beencrushed in my body as with a stone. It hurt. But he did not understand;he did not know; he felt a need to tell all those things to some one, toboast, to show how much he was loved, and I was the only one he had towhom he could talk-the only one. And I would have to listen and drink itin, like poison. 

"He would begin to take his soup and then he would say: 'One more, Madeleine. '

"And I would think: 'Here it comes! Goodness! what a man! Why did I evermeet him?'

"Then he would begin: 'One more! And a beauty, too. ' And it would besome little one from the Vaudeville or else from the Varietes, and someof the big ones, too, some of the most famous. He would tell me theirnames, how their apartments were furnished, everything, everything, monsieur. Heartbreaking details. And he would go over them and tell hisstory over again from beginning to end, so pleased with himself that Iwould pretend to laugh so that he would not get angry with me. 

"Everything may not have been true! He liked to glorify himself and wasquite capable of inventing such things! They may perhaps also have beentrue! On those evenings he would pretend to be tired and wish to go tobed after supper. We would take supper at eleven, monsieur, for he couldnever get back from work earlier. 

"When he had finished telling about his adventure he would walk roundthe room and smoke cigarettes, and he was so handsome, with his mustacheand curly hair, that I would think: 'It's true, just the same, whathe is telling. Since I myself am crazy about that man, why should notothers be the same?' Then I would feel like crying, shrieking, runningaway and jumping out of the window while I was clearing the table andhe was smoking. He would yawn in order to show how tired he was, and hewould say two or three times before going to bed: 'Ah! how well I shallsleep this evening!'

"I bear him no ill will, because he did not know how he was hurtingme. No, he could not know! He loved to boast about the women just as apeacock loves to show his feathers. He got to the point where he thoughtthat all of them looked at him and desired him. 

"It was hard when he grew old. Oh, monsieur, when I saw his first whitehair I felt a terrible shock and then a great joy--a wicked joy--butso great, so great! I said to myself: 'It's the end-it's the end. ' Itseemed as if I were about to be released from prison. At last I couldhave him to myself, all to myself, when the others would no longer wanthim. 

"It was one morning in bed. He was still sleeping and I leaned overhim to wake him up with a kiss, when I noticed in his curls, over histemple, a little thread which shone like silver. What a surprise! Ishould not have thought it possible! At first I thought of tearing itout so that he would not see it, but as I looked carefully I noticedanother farther up. White hair! He was going to have white hair! Myheart began to thump and perspiration stood out all over me, but awaydown at the bottom I was happy. 

"It was mean to feel thus, but I did my housework with a light heartthat morning, without waking him up, and, as soon as he opened his eyesof his own accord, I said to him: 'Do you know what I discovered whileyou were asleep?'

"'No. '

"'I found white hairs. '

"He started up as if I had tickled him and said angrily: 'It's nottrue!'

"'Yes, it is. There are four of them over your left temple. '

"He jumped out of bed and ran over to the mirror. He could not findthem. Then I showed him the first one, the lowest, the little curly one, and I said: 'It's no wonder, after the life that you have been leading. In two years all will be over for you. '

"Well, monsieur, I had spoken true; two years later one could notrecognize him. How quickly a man changes! He was still handsome, but hehad lost his freshness, and the women no longer ran after him. Ah! whata life I led at that time! How he treated me! Nothing suited him. Heleft his trade to go into the hat business, in which he ate up all hismoney. Then he unsuccessfully tried to be an actor, and finally he beganto frequent public balls. Fortunately, he had had common sense enough tosave a little something on which we now live. It is sufficient, but itis not enormous. And to think that at one time he had almost a fortune. 

"Now you see what he does. This habit holds him like a frenzy. He has tobe young; he has to dance with women who smell of perfume and cosmetics. You poor old darling!"

She was looking at her old snoring husband fondly, ready to cry. Then, gently tiptoeing up to him, she kissed his hair. The physician had risenand was getting ready to leave, finding nothing to say to this strangecouple. Just as he was leaving she asked:

"Would you mind giving me your address? If he should grow worse, I couldgo and get you. "

THE PENGUINS' ROCK

This is the season for penguins. 

From April to the end of May, before the Parisian visitors arrive, onesees, all at once, on the little beach at Etretat several old gentlemen, booted and belted in shooting costume. They spend four or five days atthe Hotel Hauville, disappear, and return again three weeks later. Then, after a fresh sojourn, they go away altogether. 

One sees them again the following spring. 

These are the last penguin hunters, what remain of the old set. Therewere about twenty enthusiasts thirty or forty years ago; now there areonly a few of the enthusiastic sportsmen. 

The penguin is a very rare bird of passage, with peculiar habits. Itlives the greater part of the year in the latitude of Newfoundland andthe islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon. But in the breeding season aflight of emigrants crosses the ocean and comes every year to the samespot to lay their eggs, to the Penguins' Rock near Etretat. They arefound nowhere else, only there. They have always come there, have alwaysbeen chased away, but return again, and will always return. As soon asthe young birds are grown they all fly away, and disappear for a year. 

Why do they not go elsewhere? Why not choose some other spot on the longwhite, unending cliff that extends from the Pas-de-Calais to Havre? Whatforce, what invincible instinct, what custom of centuries impels thesebirds to come back to this place? What first migration, what tempest, possibly, once cast their ancestors on this rock? And why do thechildren, the grandchildren, all the descendants of the first parentsalways return here?

There are not many of them, a hundred at most, as if one single family, maintaining the tradition, made this annual pilgrimage. 

And each spring, as soon as the little wandering tribe has taken up itsabode an the rock, the same sportsmen also reappear in the village. Oneknew them formerly when they were young; now they are old, but constantto the regular appointment which they have kept for thirty or fortyyears. They would not miss it for anything in the world. 

It was an April evening in one of the later years. Three of the oldsportsmen had arrived; one was missing--M. D'Arnelles. 

He had written to no one, given no account of himself. But he was notdead, like so many of the rest; they would have heard of it. At length, tired of waiting for him, the other three sat down to table. Dinner wasalmost over when a carriage drove into the yard of the hotel, and thelate corner presently entered the dining room. 

He sat down, in a good humor, rubbing his hands, and ate with zest. Whenone of his comrades remarked with surprise at his being in a frock-coat, he replied quietly:

"Yes, I had no time to change my clothes. "

They retired on leaving the table, for they had to set out beforedaybreak in order to take the birds unawares. 

There is nothing so pretty as this sport, this early morning expedition. 

At three o'clock in the morning the sailors awoke the sportsmen bythrowing sand against the windows. They were ready in a few minutes andwent down to the beach. Although it was still dark, the stars had paleda little. The sea ground the shingle on the beach. There was such afresh breeze that it made one shiver slightly in spite of one's heavyclothing. 

Presently two boats were pushed down the beach, by the sailors, with asound as of tearing cloth, and were floated on the nearest waves. Thebrown sail was hoisted, swelled a little, fluttered, hesitated andswelling out again as round as a paunch, carried the boats towardsthe large arched entrance that could be faintly distinguished in thedarkness. 

The sky became clearer, the shadows seemed to melt away. The coast stillseemed veiled, the great white coast, perpendicular as a wall. 

They passed through the Manne-Porte, an enormous arch beneath which aship could sail; they doubled the promontory of La Courtine, passed thelittle valley of Antifer and the cape of the same name; and suddenlycaught sight of a beach on which some hundreds of seagulls were perched. 

That was the Penguins' Rock. It was just a little protuberance of thecliff, and on the narrow ledges of rock the birds' heads might be seenwatching the boats. 

They remained there, motionless, not venturing to fly off as yet. Some of them perched on the edges, seated upright, looked almost likebottles, for their little legs are so short that when they walk theyglide along as if they were on rollers. When they start to fly theycannot make a spring and let themselves fall like stones almost down tothe very men who are watching them. 

They know their limitation and the danger to which it subjects them, andcannot make up their minds to fly away. 

But the boatmen begin to shout, beating the sides of the boat with thewooden boat pins, and the birds, in affright, fly one by one intospace until they reach the level of the waves. Then, moving their wingsrapidly, they scud, scud along until they reach the open sea; if ashower of lead does not knock them into the water. 

For an hour the firing is kept up, obliging them to give up, one afteranother. Sometimes the mother birds will not leave their nests, andare riddled with shot, causing drops of blood to spurt out on the whitecliff, and the animal dies without having deserted her eggs. 

The first day M. D'Arnelles fired at the birds with his habitual zeal;but when the party returned toward ten o'clock, beneath a brilliant sun, which cast great triangles of light on the white cliffs along thecoast he appeared a little worried, and absentminded, contrary to hisaccustomed manner. 

As soon as they got on shore a kind of servant dressed in black came upto him and said something in a low tone. He seemed to reflect, hesitate, and then replied:

"No, to-morrow. "

The following day they set out again. This time M, d'Arnelles frequentlymissed his aim, although the birds were close by. His friends teasedhim, asked him if he were in love, if some secret sorrow was troublinghis mind and heart. At length he confessed. 

"Yes, indeed, I have to leave soon, and that annoys me. "

"What, you must leave? And why?"

"Oh, I have some business that calls me back. I cannot stay any longer. "

They then talked of other matters. 

As soon as breakfast was over the valet in black appeared. M. D'Arnellesordered his carriage, and the man was leaving the room when the threesportsmen interfered, insisting, begging, and praying their friend tostay. One of them at last said:

"Come now, this cannot be a matter of such importance, for you havealready waited two days. "

M. D'Arnelles, altogether perplexed, began to think, evidently baffled, divided between pleasure and duty, unhappy and disturbed. 

After reflecting for some time he stammered:

"The fact is--the fact is--I am not alone here. I have my son-in-law. "

There were exclamations and shouts of "Your son-in-law! Where is he?"

He suddenly appeared confused and his face grew red. 

"What! do you not know? Why--why--he is in the coach house. He is dead. "

They were all silent in amazement. 

M. D'Arnelles continued, more and more disturbed:

"I had the misfortune to lose him; and as I was taking the body tomy house, in Briseville, I came round this way so as not to miss ourappointment. But you can see that I cannot wait any longer. "

Then one of the sportsmen, bolder than the rest said:

"Well, but--since he is dead--it seems to me that he can wait a daylonger. "

The others chimed in:

"That cannot be denied. "

M. D'Arnelles appeared to be relieved of a great weight, but a littleuneasy, nevertheless, he asked:

"But, frankly--do you think--"

The three others, as one man, replied:

"Parbleu! my dear boy, two days more or less can make no difference inhis present condition. "

And, perfectly calmly, the father-in-law turned to the undertaker'sassistant, and said:

"Well, then, my friend, it will be the day after tomorrow. "

A FAMILY

I was to see my old friend, Simon Radevin, of whom I had lost sight forfifteen years. At one time he was my most intimate friend, the friendwho knows one's thoughts, with whom one passes long, quiet, happyevenings, to whom one tells one's secret love affairs, and who seems todraw out those rare, ingenious, delicate thoughts born of that sympathythat gives a sense of repose. 

For years we had scarcely been separated; we had lived, travelled, thought and dreamed together; had liked the same things, had admiredthe same books, understood the same authors, trembled with the samesensations, and very often laughed at the same individuals, whom weunderstood completely by merely exchanging a glance. 

Then he married. He married, quite suddenly, a little girl from theprovinces, who had come to Paris in search of a husband. How in theworld could that little thin, insipidly fair girl, with her weak hands, her light, vacant eyes, and her clear, silly voice, who was exactly likea hundred thousand marriageable dolls, have picked up that intelligent, clever young fellow? Can any one understand these things? No doubt hehad hoped for happiness, simple, quiet and long-enduring happiness, inthe arms of a good, tender and faithful woman; he had seen all that inthe transparent looks of that schoolgirl with light hair. 

He had not dreamed of the fact that an active, living and vibrating mangrows weary of everything as soon as he understands the stupid reality, unless, indeed, he becomes so brutalized that he understands nothingwhatever. 

What would he be like when I met him again? Still lively, witty, light-hearted and enthusiastic, or in a state of mental torpor inducedby provincial life? A man may change greatly in the course of fifteenyears!

The train stopped at a small station, and as I got out of the carriage, a stout, a very stout man with red cheeks and a big stomach rushed up tome with open arms, exclaiming: "George!" I embraced him, but I had notrecognized him, and then I said, in astonishment: "By Jove! You have notgrown thin!" And he replied with a laugh:

"What did you expect? Good living, a good table and good nights! Eatingand sleeping, that is my existence!"

I looked at him closely, trying to discover in that broad face thefeatures I held so dear. His eyes alone had not changed, but I nolonger saw the same expression in them, and I said to myself: "If theexpression be the reflection of the mind, the thoughts in that head arenot what they used to be formerly; those thoughts which I knew so well. "

Yet his eyes were bright, full of happiness and friendship, but they hadnot that clear, intelligent expression which shows as much as words thebrightness of the intellect. Suddenly he said:

"Here are my two eldest children. " A girl of fourteen, who was almost awoman, and a boy of thirteen, in the dress of a boy from a Lycee, cameforward in a hesitating and awkward manner, and I said in a low voice:"Are they yours?" "Of course they are, " he replied, laughing. "How manyhave you?" "Five! There are three more at home. "

He said this in a proud, self-satisfied, almost triumphant manner, andI felt profound pity, mingled with a feeling of vague contempt, for thisvainglorious and simple reproducer of his species. 

I got into a carriage which he drove himself, and we set off throughthe town, a dull, sleepy, gloomy town where nothing was moving in thestreets except a few dogs and two or three maidservants. Here and therea shopkeeper, standing at his door, took off his hat, and Simon returnedhis salute and told me the man's name; no doubt to show me that he knewall the inhabitants personally, and the thought struck me that he wasthinking of becoming a candidate for the Chamber of Deputies, that dreamof all those who bury themselves in the provinces. 

We were soon out of the town, and the carriage turned into a garden thatwas an imitation of a park, and stopped in front of a turreted house, which tried to look like a chateau. 

"That is my den, " said Simon, so that I might compliment him on it. "Itis charming, " I replied. 

A lady appeared on the steps, dressed for company, and with companyphrases all ready prepared. She was no longer the light-haired, insipidgirl I had seen in church fifteen years previously, but a stout ladyin curls and flounces, one of those ladies of uncertain age, withoutintellect, without any of those things that go to make a woman. Inshort, she was a mother, a stout, commonplace mother, a human breedingmachine which procreates without any other preoccupation but herchildren and her cook-book. 

She welcomed me, and I went into the hall, where three children, rangedaccording to their height, seemed set out for review, like firemenbefore a mayor, and I said: "Ah! ah! so there are the others?" Simon, radiant with pleasure, introduced them: "Jean, Sophie and Gontran. "

The door of the drawing-room was open. I went in, and in the depths ofan easy-chair, I saw something trembling, a man, an old, paralyzed man. Madame Radevin came forward and said: "This is my grandfather, monsieur;he is eighty-seven. " And then she shouted into the shaking old man'sears: "This is a friend of Simon's, papa. " The old gentleman tried tosay "good-day" to me, and he muttered: "Oua, oua, oua, " and waved hishand, and I took a seat saying: "You are very kind, monsieur. "

Simon had just come in, and he said with a laugh: "So! You have madegrandpapa's acquaintance. He is a treasure, that old man; he is thedelight of the children. But he is so greedy that he almost killshimself at every meal; you have no idea what he would eat if he wereallowed to do as he pleased. But you will see, you will see. He looks atall the sweets as if they were so many girls. You never saw anything sofunny; you will see presently. "

I was then shown to my room, to change my dress for dinner, and hearinga great clatter behind me on the stairs, I turned round and saw that allthe children were following me behind their father; to do me honor, nodoubt. 

My windows looked out across a dreary, interminable plain, an oceanof grass, of wheat and of oats, without a clump of trees or any risingground, a striking and melancholy picture of the life which they must beleading in that house. 

A bell rang; it was for dinner, and I went downstairs. Madame Radevintook my arm in a ceremonious manner, and we passed into the dining-room. A footman wheeled in the old man in his armchair. He gave a greedyand curious look at the dessert, as he turned his shaking head withdifficulty from one dish to the other. 

Simon rubbed his hands: "You will be amused, " he said; and all thechildren understanding that I was going to be indulged with the sightof their greedy grandfather, began to laugh, while their mother merelysmiled and shrugged her shoulders, and Simon, making a speaking trumpetof his hands, shouted at the old man: "This evening there is sweetcreamed rice!" The wrinkled face of the grandfather brightened, andhe trembled more violently, from head to foot, showing that he hadunderstood and was very pleased. The dinner began. 

"Just look!" Simon whispered. The old man did not like the soup, andrefused to eat it; but he was obliged to do it for the good of hishealth, and the footman forced the spoon into his mouth, while the oldman blew so energetically, so as not to swallow the soup, that it wasscattered like a spray all over the table and over his neighbors. Thechildren writhed with laughter at the spectacle, while their father, whowas also amused, said: "Is not the old man comical?"

During the whole meal they were taken up solely with him. He devouredthe dishes on the table with his eyes, and tried to seize them and pullthem over to him with his trembling hands. They put them almost withinhis reach, to see his useless efforts, his trembling clutches at them, the piteous appeal of his whole nature, of his eyes, of his mouth andof his nose as he smelt them, and he slobbered on his table napkin witheagerness, while uttering inarticulate grunts. And the whole family washighly amused at this horrible and grotesque scene. 

Then they put a tiny morsel on his plate, and he ate with feverishgluttony, in order to get something more as soon as possible, and whenthe sweetened rice was brought in, he nearly had a fit, and groaned withgreediness, and Gontran called out to him:

"You have eaten too much already; you can have no more. " And theypretended not to give him any. Then he began to cry; he cried andtrembled more violently than ever, while all the children laughed. Atlast, however, they gave him his helping, a very small piece; and ashe ate the first mouthful, he made a comical noise in his throat, and amovement with his neck as ducks do when they swallow too large a morsel, and when he had swallowed it, he began to stamp his feet, so as to getmore. 

I was seized with pity for this saddening and ridiculous Tantalus, andinterposed on his behalf:

"Come, give him a little more rice!" But Simon replied: "Oh! no, my dearfellow, if he were to eat too much, it would harm him, at his age. "

I held my tongue, and thought over those words. Oh, ethics! Oh, logic!Oh, wisdom! At his age! So they deprived him of his only remainingpleasure out of regard for his health! His health! What would he do withit, inert and trembling wreck that he was? They were taking care of hislife, so they said. His life? How many days? Ten, twenty, fifty, or ahundred? Why? For his own sake? Or to preserve for some time longer thespectacle of his impotent greediness in the family. 

There was nothing left for him to do in this life, nothing whatever. Hehad one single wish left, one sole pleasure; why not grant him that lastsolace until he died?

After we had played cards for a long time, I went up to my room and tobed; I was low-spirited and sad, sad, sad! and I sat at my window. Nota sound could be heard outside but the beautiful warbling of a bird in atree, somewhere in the distance. No doubt the bird was singing in a lowvoice during the night, to lull his mate, who was asleep on her eggs. And I thought of my poor friend's five children, and pictured him tomyself, snoring by the side of his ugly wife. 

SUICIDES

To Georges Legrand. 

Hardly a day goes by without our reading a news item like the followingin some newspaper:

"On Wednesday night the people living in No. 40 Rue de-----, wereawakened by two successive shots. The explosions seemed to come from theapartment occupied by M. X----. The door was broken in and the man wasfound bathed in his blood, still holding in one hand the revolver withwhich he had taken his life. 

"M. X----was fifty-seven years of age, enjoying a comfortable income, and had everything necessary to make him happy. No cause can be foundfor his action. "

What terrible grief, what unknown suffering, hidden despair, secretwounds drive these presumably happy persons to suicide? We search, weimagine tragedies of love, we suspect financial troubles, and, aswe never find anything definite, we apply to these deaths the word"mystery. "

A letter found on the desk of one of these "suicides without cause, " andwritten during his last night, beside his loaded revolver, has come intoour hands. We deem it rather interesting. It reveals none of thosegreat catastrophes which we always expect to find behind these acts ofdespair; but it shows us the slow succession of the little vexationsof life, the disintegration of a lonely existence, whose dreams havedisappeared; it gives the reason for these tragic ends, which onlynervous and high-strung people can understand. 

Here it is:

"It is midnight. When I have finished this letter I shall kill myself. Why? I shall attempt to give the reasons, not for those who may readthese lines, but for myself, to kindle my waning courage, to impressupon myself the fatal necessity of this act which can, at best, be onlydeferred. 

"I was brought up by simple-minded parents who were unquestioningbelievers. And I believed as they did. 

"My dream lasted a long time. The last veil has just been torn from myeyes. 

"During the last few years a strange change has been taking place withinme. All the events of Life, which formerly had to me the glow of abeautiful sunset, are now fading away. The true meaning of things hasappeared to me in its brutal reality; and the true reason for love hasbred in me disgust even for this poetic sentiment: 'We are the eternaltoys of foolish and charming illusions, which are always being renewed. '

"On growing older, I had become partly reconciled to the awful mysteryof life, to the uselessness of effort; when the emptiness of everythingappeared to me in a new light, this evening, after dinner. 

"Formerly, I was happy! Everything pleased me: the passing women, theappearance of the streets, the place where I lived; and I even took aninterest in the cut of my clothes. But the repetition of the same sightshas had the result of filling my heart with weariness and disgust, justas one would feel were one to go every night to the same theatre. 

"For the last thirty years I have been rising at the same hour; and, atthe same restaurant, for thirty years, I have been eating at the samehours the same dishes brought me by different waiters. 

"I have tried travel. The loneliness which one feels in strange placesterrified me. I felt so alone, so small on the earth that I quicklystarted on my homeward journey. 

"But here the unchanging expression of my furniture, which has stood forthirty years in the same place, the smell of my apartments (for, withtime, each dwelling takes on a particular odor) each night, these andother things disgust me and make me sick of living thus. 

"Everything repeats itself endlessly. The way in which I put my key inthe lock, the place where I always find my matches, the first objectwhich meets my eye when I enter the room, make me feel like jumping outof the window and putting an end to those monotonous events from whichwe can never escape. 

"Each day, when I shave, I feel an inordinate desire to cut my throat;and my face, which I see in the little mirror, always the same, withsoap on my cheeks, has several times made me weak from sadness. 

"Now I even hate to be with people whom I used to meet with pleasure; Iknow them so well, I can tell just what they are going to say and whatI am going to answer. Each brain is like a circus, where the same horsekeeps circling around eternally. We must circle round always, around thesame ideas, the same joys, the same pleasures, the same habits, the samebeliefs, the same sensations of disgust. 

"The fog was terrible this evening. It enfolded the boulevard, wherethe street lights were dimmed and looked like smoking candles. A heavierweight than usual oppressed me. Perhaps my digestion was bad. 

"For good digestion is everything in life. It gives the inspiration tothe artist, amorous desires to young people, clear ideas to thinkers, the joy of life to everybody, and it also allows one to eat heartily(which is one of the greatest pleasures). A sick stomach inducesscepticism unbelief, nightmares and the desire for death. I have oftennoticed this fact. Perhaps I would not kill myself, if my digestion hadbeen good this evening. 

"When I sat down in the arm-chair where I have been sitting every dayfor thirty years, I glanced around me, and just then I was seized bysuch a terrible distress that I thought I must go mad. 

"I tried to think of what I could do to run away from myself. Everyoccupation struck me as being worse even than inaction. Then I bethoughtme of putting my papers in order. 

"For a long time I have been thinking of clearing out my drawers; for, for the last thirty years, I have been throwing my letters and billspell-mell into the same desk, and this confusion has often caused meconsiderable trouble. But I feel such moral and physical laziness at thesole idea of putting anything in order that I have never had the courageto begin this tedious business. 

"I therefore opened my desk, intending to choose among my old papers anddestroy the majority of them. 

"At first I was bewildered by this array of documents, yellowed by age, then I chose one. 

"Oh! if you cherish life, never disturb the burial place of old letters!

"And if, perchance, you should, take the contents by the handful, closeyour eyes that you may not read a word, so that you may not recognizesome forgotten handwriting which may plunge you suddenly into a sea ofmemories; carry these papers to the fire; and when they are in ashes, crush them to an invisible powder, or otherwise you are lost--just as Ihave been lost for an hour. 

"The first letters which I read did not interest me greatly. They wererecent, and came from living men whom I still meet quite often, andwhose presence does not move me to any great extent. But all at onceone envelope made me start. My name was traced on it in a large, boldhandwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. That letter was frommy dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes;and he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and hishand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back. Yes, yes, thedead come back, for I saw him! Our memory is a more perfect world thanthe universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist. 

"With trembling hand and dimmed eyes I reread everything that he toldme, and in my poor sobbing heart I felt a wound so painful that I beganto groan as a man whose bones are slowly being crushed. 

"Then I travelled over my whole life, just as one travels along a river. I recognized people, so long forgotten that I no longer knew theirnames. Their faces alone lived in me. In my mother's letters I saw againthe old servants, the shape of our house and the little insignificantodds and ends which cling to our minds. 

"Yes, I suddenly saw again all my mother's old gowns, the differentstyles which she adopted and the several ways in which she dressed herhair. She haunted me especially in a silk dress, trimmed with old lace;and I remembered something she said one day when she was wearing thisdress. She said: 'Robert, my child, if you do not stand up straight youwill be round-shouldered all your life. '

"Then, opening another drawer, I found myself face to face with memoriesof tender passions: a dancing-pump, a torn handkerchief, even a garter, locks of hair and dried flowers. Then the sweet romances of my life, whose living heroines are now white-haired, plunged me into the deepmelancholy of things. Oh, the young brows where blond locks curl, thecaress of the hands, the glance which speaks, the hearts which beat, that smile which promises the lips, those lips which promise theembrace! And the first kiss-that endless kiss which makes you close youreyes, which drowns all thought in the immeasurable joy of approachingpossession!

"Taking these old pledges of former love in both my hands, I coveredthem with furious caresses, and in my soul, torn by these memories, Isaw them each again at the hour of surrender; and I suffered a torturemore cruel than all the tortures invented in all the fables about hell. 

"One last letter remained. It was written by me and dictated fifty yearsago by my writing teacher. Here it is:

 "'MY DEAR LITTLE MAMMA:

 "'I am seven years old to-day. It is the age of reason. I take advantage of it to thank you for having brought me into this world. 

 "'Your little son, who loves you

 "'ROBERT. '

"It is all over. I had gone back to the beginning, and suddenly I turnedmy glance on what remained to me of life. I saw hideous and lonely oldage, and approaching infirmities, and everything over and gone. Andnobody near me!

"My revolver is here, on the table. I am loading it. .. . Never rereadyour old letters!"

And that is how many men come to kill themselves; and we search in vainto discover some great sorrow in their lives. 

AN ARTIFICE

The old doctor sat by the fireside, talking to his fair patient who waslying on the lounge. There was nothing much the matter with her, exceptthat she had one of those little feminine ailments from which prettywomen frequently suffer--slight anaemia, a nervous attack, etc. 

"No, doctor, " she said; "I shall never be able to understand a womandeceiving her husband. Even allowing that she does not love him, thatshe pays no heed to her vows and promises, how can she give herself toanother man? How can she conceal the intrigue from other people's eyes?How can it be possible to love amid lies and treason?"

The doctor smiled, and replied: "It is perfectly easy, and I can assureyou that a woman does not think of all those little subtle details whenshe has made up her mind to go astray. 

"As for dissimulation, all women have plenty of it on hand for suchoccasions, and the simplest of them are wonderful, and extricatethemselves from the greatest dilemmas in a remarkable manner. "

The young woman, however, seemed incredulous. 

"No, doctor, " she said; "one never thinks until after it has happenedof what one ought to have done in a critical situation, and women arecertainly more liable than men to lose their head on such occasions:"

The doctor raised his hands. "After it has happened, you say! Now I willtell you something that happened to one of my female patients, whom Ialways considered an immaculate woman. 

"It happened in a provincial town, and one night when I was asleep, in that deep first sleep from which it is so difficult to rouse us, itseemed to me, in my dreams, as if the bells in the town were soundinga fire alarm, and I woke up with a start. It was my own bell, which wasringing wildly, and as my footman did not seem to be answering the door, I, in turn, pulled the bell at the head of my bed, and soon I heard abanging, and steps in the silent house, and Jean came into my room, andhanded me a letter which said: 'Madame Lelievre begs Dr. Simeon to cometo her immediately. '

"I thought for a few moments, and then I said to myself: 'A nervousattack, vapors; nonsense, I am too tired. ' And so I replied: 'As Dr. Simeon is not at all well, he must beg Madame Lelievre to be kind enoughto call in his colleague, Monsieur Bonnet. ' I put the note into anenvelope and went to sleep again, but about half an hour later thestreet bell rang again, and Jean came to me and said: 'There is somebodydownstairs; I do not quite know whether it is a man or a woman, as theindividual is so wrapped up, but they wish to speak to you immediately. They say it is a matter of life and death for two people. ' Whereupon Isat up in bed and told him to show the person in. 

"A kind of black phantom appeared and raised her veil as soon as Jeanhad left the room. It was Madame Berthe Lelievre, quite a young woman, who had been married for three years to a large a merchant in the town, who was said to have married the prettiest girl in the neighborhood. 

"She was terribly pale, her face was contracted as the faces of insanepeople are, occasionally, and her hands trembled violently. Twice shetried to speak without being able to utter a sound, but at last shestammered out: 'Come--quick--quick, doctor. Come--my--friend has justdied in my bedroom. ' She stopped, half suffocated with emotion, and thenwent on: 'My husband will be coming home from the club very soon. '

"I jumped out of bed without even considering that I was only in mynightshirt, and dressed myself in a few moments, and then I said: 'Didyou come a short time ago?' 'No, ' she said, standing like a statuepetrified with horror. 'It was my servant--she knows. ' And then, after ashort silence, she went on: 'I was there--by his side. ' And she uttereda sort of cry of horror, and after a fit of choking, which made hergasp, she wept violently, and shook with spasmodic sobs for a minute: ortwo. Then her tears suddenly ceased, as if by an internal fire, and withan air of tragic calmness, she said: 'Let us make haste. '

"I was ready, but exclaimed: 'I quite forgot to order my carriage. ' 'Ihave one, ' she said; 'it is his, which was waiting for him!' She wrappedherself up, so as to completely conceal her face, and we started. 

"When she was by my side in the carriage she suddenly seized my hand, and crushing it in her delicate fingers, she said, with a shaking voice, that proceeded from a distracted heart: 'Oh! if you only knew, ifyou only knew what I am suffering! I loved him, I have loved himdistractedly, like a madwoman, for the last six months. ' 'Is anyoneup in your house?' I asked. 'No, nobody except those, who knowseverything. '

"We stopped at the door, and evidently everybody was asleep. We went inwithout making any noise, by means of her latch-key, and walked upstairson tiptoe. The frightened servant was sitting on the top of the stairswith a lighted candle by her side, as she was afraid to remain with thedead man, and I went into the room, which was in great disorder. Wettowels, with which they had bathed the young man's temples, were lyingon the floor, by the side of a washbasin and a glass, while a strongsmell of vinegar pervaded the room. 

"The dead man's body was lying at full length in the middle of the room, and I went up to it, looked at it, and touched it. I opened the eyes andfelt the hands, and then, turning to the two women, who were shaking asif they were freezing, I said to them: 'Help me to lift him on to thebed. ' When we had laid him gently on it, I listened to his heart and puta looking-glass to his lips, and then said: 'It is all over. ' It was aterrible sight!

"I looked at the man, and said: 'You ought to arrange his hair alittle. ' The girl went and brought her mistress' comb and brush, but asshe was trembling, and pulling out his long, matted hair in doing it, Madame Lelievre took the comb out of her hand, and arranged his hair asif she were caressing him. She parted it, brushed his beard, rolled hismustaches gently round her fingers, then, suddenly, letting go of hishair, she took the dead man's inert head in her hands and looked for along time in despair at the dead face, which no longer could smile ather, and then, throwing herself on him, she clasped him in her arms andkissed him ardently. Her kisses fell like blows on his closed mouth andeyes, his forehead and temples; and then, putting her lips to his ear, as if he could still hear her, and as if she were about to whispersomething to him, she said several times, in a heartrending voice:

"'Good-by, my darling!'

"Just then the clock struck twelve, and I started up. 'Twelve o'clock!'I exclaimed. 'That is the time when the club closes. Come, madame, wehave not a moment to lose!' She started up, and I said:

"'We must carry him into the drawing-room. ' And when we had done this, I placed him on a sofa, and lit the chandeliers, and just then the frontdoor was opened and shut noisily. 'Rose, bring me the basin and thetowels, and make the room look tidy. Make haste, for Heaven's sake!Monsieur Lelievre is coming in. '

"I heard his steps on the stairs, and then his hands feeling along thewalls. 'Come here, my dear fellow, ' I said; 'we have had an accident. '

"And the astonished husband appeared in the door with a cigar in hismouth, and said: 'What is the matter? What is the meaning of this?''My dear friend, ' I said, going up to him, 'you find us in greatembarrassment. I had remained late, chatting with your wife and ourfriend, who had brought me in his carriage, when he suddenly fainted, and in spite of all we have done, he has remained unconscious for twohours. I did not like to call in strangers, and if you will now help medownstairs with him, I shall be able to attend to him better at his ownhouse. '

"The husband, who was surprised, but quite unsuspicious, took off hishat, and then he took his rival, who would be quite inoffensive for thefuture, under the arms. I got between his two legs, as if I had been ahorse between the shafts, and we went downstairs, while his wife held alight for us. When we got outside I stood the body up, so as to deceivethe coachman, and said: 'Come, my friend; it is nothing; you feel betteralready I expect. Pluck up your courage, and make an effort. It willsoon be over. ' But as I felt that he was slipping out of my hands, Igave him a slap on the shoulder, which sent him forward and made himfall into the carriage, and then I got in after him. Monsieur Lelievre, who was rather alarmed, said to me: 'Do you think it is anythingserious?' To which I replied: 'No, ' with a smile, as I looked at hiswife, who had put her arm into that of her husband, and was trying tosee into the carriage. 

"I shook hands with them and told my coachman to start, and during thewhole drive the dead man kept falling against me. When we got to hishouse I said that he had become unconscious on the way home, and helpedto carry him upstairs, where I certified that he was dead, and actedanother comedy to his distracted family, and at last I got back to bed, not without swearing at lovers. "

The doctor ceased, though he was still smiling, and the young woman, whowas in a very nervous state, said: "Why have you told me that terriblestory?"

He gave her a gallant bow, and replied:

"So that I may offer you my services if they should be needed. "

DREAMS

They had just dined together, five old friends, a writer, a doctor andthree rich bachelors without any profession. 

They had talked about everything, and a feeling of lassitude came overthem, that feeling which precedes and leads to the departure of guestsafter festive gatherings. One of those present, who had for the lastfive minutes been gazing silently at the surging boulevard dotted withgas-lamps, with its rattling vehicles, said suddenly:

"When you've nothing to do from morning till night, the days are long. "

"And the nights too, " assented the guest who sat next to him. "I sleepvery little; pleasures fatigue me; conversation is monotonous. Neverdo I come across a new idea, and I feel, before talking to any one, aviolent longing to say nothing and to listen to nothing. I don't knowwhat to do with my evenings. "

The third idler remarked:

"I would pay a great deal for anything that would help me to pass justtwo pleasant hours every day. "

The writer, who had just thrown his overcoat across his arm, turnedround to them, and said:

"The man who could discover a new vice and introduce it among hisfellow creatures, even if it were to shorten their lives, would render agreater service to humanity than the man who found the means of securingto them eternal salvation and eternal youth. "

The doctor burst out laughing, and, while he chewed his cigar, he said:

"Yes, but it is not so easy to discover it. Men have however crudely, been seeking for--and working for the object you refer to since thebeginning of the world. The men who came first reached perfection atonce in this way. We are hardly equal to them. "

One of the three idlers murmured:

"What a pity!"

Then, after a minute's pause, he added:

"If we could only sleep, sleep well, without feeling hot or cold, sleepwith that perfect unconsciousness we experience on nights when we arethoroughly fatigued, sleep without dreams. "

"Why without dreams?" asked the guest sitting next to him. 

The other replied:

"Because dreams are not always pleasant; they are always fantastic, improbable, disconnected; and because when we are asleep we cannot havethe sort of dreams we like. We ought to dream waking. "

"And what's to prevent you?" asked the writer. 

The doctor flung away the end of his cigar. 

"My dear fellow, in order to dream when you are awake, you need greatpower and great exercise of will, and when you try to do it, greatweariness is the result. Now, real dreaming, that journey of ourthoughts through delightful visions, is assuredly the sweetestexperience in the world; but it must come naturally, it must not beprovoked in a painful, manner, and must be accompanied by absolutebodily comfort. This power of dreaming I can give you, provided youpromise that you will not abuse it. "

The writer shrugged his shoulders:

"Ah! yes, I know--hasheesh, opium, green tea--artificial paradises. Ihave read Baudelaire, and I even tasted the famous drug, which made mevery sick. "

But the doctor, without stirring from his seat, said:

"No; ether, nothing but ether; and I would suggest that you literary menshould use it sometimes. "

The three rich bachelors drew closer to the doctor. 

One of them said:

"Explain to us the effects of it. "

And the doctor replied:

"Let us put aside big words, shall we not? I am not talking of medicineor morality; I am talking of pleasure. You give yourselves up every dayto excesses which consume your lives. I want to indicate to you anew sensation, possible only to intelligent men--let us say even veryintelligent men--dangerous, like everything else that overexcites ourorgans, but exquisite. I might add that you would require a certainpreparation, that is to say, practice, to feel in all their completenessthe singular effects of ether. 

"They are different from the effects of hasheesh, of opium, or morphia, and they cease as soon as the absorption of the drug is interrupted, while the other generators of day dreams continue their action forhours. 

"I am now going to try to analyze these feelings as clearly aspossible. But the thing is not easy, so facile, so delicate, so almostimperceptible, are these sensations. 

"It was when I was attacked by violent neuralgia that I made use of thisremedy, which since then I have, perhaps, slightly abused. 

"I had acute pains in my head and neck, and an intolerable heat of theskin, a feverish restlessness. I took up a large bottle of ether, and, lying down, I began to inhale it slowly. 

"At the end of some minutes I thought I heard a vague murmur, which erelong became a sort of humming, and it seemed to me that all the interiorof my body had become light, light as air, that it was dissolving intovapor. 

"Then came a sort of torpor, a sleepy sensation of comfort, in spite ofthe pains which still continued, but which had ceased to make themselvesfelt. It was one of those sensations which we are willing to endureand not any of those frightful wrenches against which our tortured bodyprotests. 

"Soon the strange and delightful sense of emptiness which I felt in mychest extended to my limbs, which, in their turn, became light, as lightas if the flesh and the bones had been melted and the skin only wereleft, the skin necessary to enable me to realize the sweetness ofliving, of bathing in this sensation of well-being. Then I perceivedthat I was no longer suffering. The pain had gone, melted away, evaporated. And I heard voices, four voices, two dialogues, withoutunderstanding what was said. At one time there were only indistinctsounds, at another time a word reached my ear. But I recognized thatthis was only the humming I had heard before, but emphasized. I was notasleep; I was not awake; I comprehended, I felt, I reasoned with theutmost clearness and depth, with extraordinary energy and intellectualpleasure, with a singular intoxication arising from this separation ofmy mental faculties. 

"It was not like the dreams caused by hasheesh or the somewhat sicklyvisions that come from opium; it was an amazing acuteness of reasoning, a new way of seeing, judging and appreciating the things of life, andwith the certainty, the absolute consciousness that this was the trueway. 

"And the old image of the Scriptures suddenly came back to my mind. Itseemed to me that I had tasted of the Tree of Knowledge, that all themysteries were unveiled, so much did I find myself under the sway of anew, strange and irrefutable logic. And arguments, reasonings, proofsrose up in a heap before my brain only to be immediately displaced bysome stronger proof, reasoning, argument. My head had, in fact, becomea battleground of ideas. I was a superior being, armed with invincibleintelligence, and I experienced a huge delight at the manifestation ofmy power. 

"It lasted a long, long time. I still kept inhaling the ether from myflagon. Suddenly I perceived that it was empty. "

The four men exclaimed at the same time:

"Doctor, a prescription at once for a liter of ether!"

But the doctor, putting on his hat, replied:

"As to that, certainly not; go and let some one else poison you!"

And he left them. 

Ladies and gentlemen, what is your opinion on the subject?

SIMON'S PAPA

Noon had just struck. The school door opened and the youngsters dartedout, jostling each other in their haste to get out quickly. But insteadof promptly dispersing and going home to dinner as usual, they stopped afew paces off, broke up into knots, and began whispering. 

The fact was that, that morning, Simon, the son of La Blanchotte, had, for the first time, attended school. 

They had all of them in their families heard talk of La Blanchotte; and, although in public she was welcome enough, the mothers among themselvestreated her with a somewhat disdainful compassion, which the childrenhad imitated without in the least knowing why. 

As for Simon himself, they did not know him, for he never went out, anddid not run about with them in the streets of the village, or alongthe banks of the river. And they did not care for him; so it was with acertain delight, mingled with considerable astonishment, that they metand repeated to each other what had been said by a lad of fourteen orfifteen who appeared to know all about it, so sagaciously did he wink. "You know--Simon--well, he has no papa. "

Just then La Blanchotte's son appeared in the doorway of the school. 

He was seven or eight years old, rather pale, very neat, with a timidand almost awkward manner. 

He was starting home to his mother's house when the groups of hisschoolmates, whispering and watching him with the mischievous andheartless eyes of children bent upon playing a nasty trick, graduallyclosed in around him and ended by surrounding him altogether. There hestood in their midst, surprised and embarrassed, not understanding whatthey were going to do with him. But the lad who had brought the news, puffed up with the success he had met with already, demanded:

"What is your name, you?"

He answered: "Simon. "

"Simon what?" retorted the other. 

The child, altogether bewildered, repeated: "Simon. "

The lad shouted at him: "One is named Simon something--that is not aname--Simon indeed. "

The child, on the brink of tears, replied for the third time:

"My name is Simon. "

The urchins began to laugh. The triumphant tormentor cried: "You can seeplainly that he has no papa. "

A deep silence ensued. The children were dumfounded by thisextraordinary, impossible, monstrous thing--a boy who had not a papa;they looked upon him as a phenomenon, an unnatural being, and they feltthat hitherto inexplicable contempt of their mothers for La Blanchottegrowing upon them. As for Simon, he had leaned against a tree to avoidfalling, and he remained as if prostrated by an irreparable disaster. He sought to explain, but could think of nothing-to say to refute thishorrible charge that he had no papa. At last he shouted at them quiterecklessly: "Yes, I have one. "

"Where is he?" demanded the boy. 

Simon was silent, he did not know. The children roared, tremendouslyexcited; and those country boys, little more than animals, experiencedthat cruel craving which prompts the fowls of a farmyard to destroy oneof their number as soon as it is wounded. Simon suddenly espied a littleneighbor, the son of a widow, whom he had seen, as he himself was to beseen, always alone with his mother. 

"And no more have you, " he said; "no more have you a papa. "

"Yes, " replied the other, "I have one. "

"Where is he?" rejoined Simon. 

"He is dead, " declared the brat, with superb dignity; "he is in thecemetery, is my papa. "

A murmur of approval rose among the little wretches as if this fact ofpossessing a papa dead in a cemetery had caused their comrade to growbig enough to crush the other one who had no papa at all. And theseboys, whose fathers were for the most part bad men, drunkards, thieves, and who beat their wives, jostled each other to press closer and closer, as though they, the legitimate ones, would smother by their pressure onewho was illegitimate. 

The boy who chanced to be next Simon suddenly put his tongue out at himwith a mocking air and shouted at him:

"No papa! No papa!"

Simon seized him by the hair with both hands and set to work to disablehis legs with kicks, while he bit his cheek ferociously. A tremendousstruggle ensued between the two combatants, and Simon found himselfbeaten, torn, bruised, rolled on the ground in the midst of the ring ofapplauding schoolboys. As he arose, mechanically brushing with his handhis little blouse all covered with dust, some one shouted at him:

"Go and tell your papa. "

Then he felt a great sinking at his heart. They were stronger than hewas, they had beaten him, and he had no answer to give them, for he knewwell that it was true that he had no papa. Full of pride, he attemptedfor some moments to struggle against the tears which were choking him. He had a feeling of suffocation, and then without any sound he commencedto weep, with great shaking sobs. A ferocious joy broke out amonghis enemies, and, with one accord, just like savages in their fearfulfestivals, they took each other by the hand and danced round him in acircle, repeating as a refrain:

"No papa! No papa!"

But suddenly Simon ceased sobbing. He became ferocious. There werestones under his feet; he picked them up and with all his strengthhurled them at his tormentors. Two or three were struck and rushedoff yelling, and so formidable did he appear that the rest becamepanic-stricken. Cowards, as the mob always is in presence of anexasperated man, they broke up and fled. Left alone, the little fellowwithout a father set off running toward the fields, for a recollectionhad been awakened in him which determined his soul to a great resolve. He made up his mind to drown himself in the river. 

He remembered, in fact, that eight days before, a poor devil who beggedfor his livelihood had thrown himself into the water because he had nomore money. Simon had been there when they fished him out again; and thewretched man, who usually seemed to him so miserable, and ugly, had thenstruck him as being so peaceful with his pale cheeks, his long drenchedbeard, and his open eyes full of calm. The bystanders had said:

"He is dead. "

And some one had said:

"He is quite happy now. "

And Simon wished to drown himself also, because he had no father, justlike the wretched being who had no money. 

He reached the water and watched it flowing. Some fish were sportingbriskly in the clear stream and occasionally made a little bound andcaught the flies flying on the surface. He stopped crying in orderto watch them, for their maneuvers interested him greatly. But, atintervals, as in a tempest intervals of calm alternate suddenly withtremendous gusts of wind, which snap off the trees and then losethemselves in the horizon, this thought would return to him with intensepain:

"I am going to drown myself because I have no papa. "

It was very warm, fine weather. The pleasant sunshine warmed thegrass. The water shone like a mirror. And Simon enjoyed some minutes ofhappiness, of that languor which follows weeping, and felt inclined tofall asleep there upon the grass in the warm sunshine. 

A little green frog leaped from under his feet. He endeavored tocatch it. It escaped him. He followed it and lost it three times insuccession. At last he caught it by one of its hind legs and began tolaugh as he saw the efforts the creature made to escape. It gathereditself up on its hind legs and then with a violent spring suddenlystretched them out as stiff as two bars; while it beat the air with itsfront legs as though they were hands, its round eyes staring in theircircle of yellow. It reminded him of a toy made of straight slipsof wood nailed zigzag one on the other; which by a similar movementregulated the movements of the little soldiers fastened thereon. Then hethought of his home, and then of his mother, and, overcome by sorrow, he again began to weep. A shiver passed over him. He knelt down and saidhis prayers as before going to bed. But he was unable to finish them, for tumultuous, violent sobs shook his whole frame. He no longerthought, he no longer saw anything around him, and was wholly absorbedin crying. 

Suddenly a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a rough voiceasked him:

"What is it that causes you so much grief, my little man?"

Simon turned round. A tall workman with a beard and black curly hair wasstaring at him good-naturedly. He answered with his eyes and throat fullof tears:

"They beat me--because--I--I have no--papa--no papa. "

"What!" said the man, smiling; "why, everybody has one. "

The child answered painfully amid his spasms of grief:

"But I--I--I have none. "

Then the workman became serious. He had recognized La Blanchotte's son, and, although himself a new arrival in the neighborhood, he had a vagueidea of her history. 

"Well, " said he, "console yourself, my boy, and come with me home toyour mother. They will give you--a papa. "

And so they started on the way, the big fellow holding the littlefellow by the hand, and the man smiled, for he was not sorry to seethis Blanchotte, who was, it was said, one of the prettiest girls of thecountryside, and, perhaps, he was saying to himself, at the bottom ofhis heart, that a lass who had erred might very well err again. 

They arrived in front of a very neat little white house. 

"There it is, " exclaimed the child, and he cried, "Mamma!"

A woman appeared, and the workman instantly left off smiling, for he sawat once that there was no fooling to be done with the tall pale girlwho stood austerely at her door as though to defend from one man thethreshold of that house where she had already been betrayed by another. Intimidated, his cap in his hand, he stammered out:

"See, madame, I have brought you back your little boy who had losthimself near the river. "

But Simon flung his arms about his mother's neck and told her, as heagain began to cry:

"No, mamma, I wished to drown myself, because the others had beaten me--had beaten me--because I have no papa. "

A burning redness covered the young woman's cheeks; and, hurt to thequick, she embraced her child passionately, while the tears coursed downher face. The man, much moved, stood there, not knowing how to get away. 

But Simon suddenly ran to him and said:

"Will you be my papa?"

A deep silence ensued. La Blanchotte, dumb and tortured with shame, leaned herself against the wall, both her hands upon her heart. Thechild, seeing that no answer was made him, replied:

"If you will not, I shall go back and drown myself. "

The workman took the matter as a jest and answered, laughing:

"Why, yes, certainly I will. "

"What is your name, " went on the child, "so that I may tell the otherswhen they wish to know your name?"

"Philip, " answered the man:

Simon was silent a moment so that he might get the name well into hishead; then he stretched out his arms, quite consoled, as he said:

"Well, then, Philip, you are my papa. "

The workman, lifting him from the ground, kissed him hastily on bothcheeks, and then walked away very quickly with great strides. When thechild returned to school next day he was received with a spitefullaugh, and at the end of school, when the lads were on the point ofrecommencing, Simon threw these words at their heads as he would havedone a stone: "He is named Philip, my papa. "

Yells of delight burst out from all sides. 

"Philip who? Philip what? What on earth is Philip? Where did you pick upyour Philip?"

Simon answered nothing; and, immovable in his faith, he defied them withhis eye, ready to be martyred rather than fly before them. The schoolmaster came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother. 

During three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently passed by LaBlanchotte's house, and sometimes he made bold to speak to her whenhe saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, alwayssedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her house. Notwithstanding, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb, he imaginedthat she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with him. 

But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and always remains sofragile that, in spite of the shy reserve of La Blanchotte, they alreadygossiped in the neighborhood. 

As for Simon he loved his new papa very much, and walked with him nearlyevery evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly toschool, and mixed with great dignity with his schoolfellows without everanswering them back. 

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip. "

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed. 

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband. "

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless, heretorted:

"He is my papa, all the same. "

"That can very well be, " exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that isnot being your papa altogether. "

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in thedirection of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked. This forge was as though buried beneath trees. It was very dark there;the red glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashesfive blacksmiths; who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din. They were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed onthe red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fellwith their hammers. 

Simon entered without being noticed, and went quietly to pluck hisfriend by the sleeve. The latter turned round. All at once the work cameto a standstill, and all the men looked on, very attentive. Then, in themidst of this unaccustomed silence, rose the slender pipe of Simon:

"Say, Philip, the Michaude boy told me just now that you were notaltogether my papa. "

"Why not?" asked the blacksmith. 

The child replied with all innocence:

"Because you are not my mamma's husband. "

No one laughed. Philip remained standing, leaning his forehead uponthe back of his great hands, which supported the handle of his hammerstanding upright upon the anvil. He mused. His four companions watchedhim, and Simon, a tiny mite among these giants, anxiously waited. Suddenly, one of the smiths, answering to the sentiment of all, said toPhilip:

"La Blanchotte is a good, honest girl, and upright and steady in spiteof her misfortune, and would make a worthy wife for an honest man. "

"That is true, " remarked the three others. 

The smith continued:

"Is it the girl's fault if she went wrong? She had been promisedmarriage; and I know more than one who is much respected to-day, and whosinned every bit as much. "

"That is true, " responded the three men in chorus. 

He resumed:

"How hard she has toiled, poor thing, to bring up her child all alone, and how she has wept all these years she has never gone out except tochurch, God only knows. "

"This is also true, " said the others. 

Then nothing was heard but the bellows which fanned the fire of thefurnace. Philip hastily bent himself down to Simon:

"Go and tell your mother that I am coming to speak to her this evening. "Then he pushed the child out by the shoulders. He returned to his work, and with a single blow the five hammers again fell upon their anvils. Thus they wrought the iron until nightfall, strong, powerful, happy, like contented hammers. But just as the great bell of a cathedralresounds upon feast days above the jingling of the other bells, soPhilip's hammer, sounding above the rest, clanged second after secondwith a deafening uproar. And he stood amid the flying sparks plying histrade vigorously. 

The sky was full of stars as he knocked at La Blanchotte's door. Hehad on his Sunday blouse, a clean shirt, and his beard was trimmed. Theyoung woman showed herself upon the threshold, and said in a grievedtone:

"It is ill to come thus when night has fallen, Mr. Philip. "

He wished to answer, but stammered and stood confused before her. 

She resumed:

"You understand, do you not, that it will not do for me to be talkedabout again. "

"What does that matter to me, if you will be my wife!"

No voice replied to him, but he believed that he heard in the shadow ofthe room the sound of a falling body. He entered quickly; and Simon, whohad gone to bed, distinguished the sound of a kiss and some words thathis mother murmured softly. Then, all at once, he found himself liftedup by the hands of his friend, who, holding him at the length of hisherculean arms, exclaimed:

"You will tell them, your schoolmates, that your papa is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and that he will pull the ears of all who do you anyharm. "

On the morrow, when the school was full and lessons were about to begin, little Simon stood up, quite pale with trembling lips:

"My papa, " said he in a clear voice, "is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and he has promised to pull the ears of all who does me any harm. "

This time no one laughed, for he was very well known, was Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and was a papa of whom any one in the world would havebeen proud.