n to say something to him, anything, some word which he
could repeat to his colleagues; and, growing bold, he stammered: "Oh,
monsieur! If you knew how I appreciate your works!" The other bowed, but
answered nothing. Patissot became very bold and continued: "It is a great
honor for me to speak to you to-day." The writer once more bowed, but
with a stiff and impatient look. Patissot noticed it, and, completely
losing his head, he added as he retreated: "What a su--su
--superb property!"

Then, in the heart of the man of letters, the landowner awoke, and,
smiling, he opened the window to show them the immense stretch of view.
An endless horizon broadened out on all sides, giving a view of Triel,
Pisse-Fontaine, Chanteloup, all the heights of Hautrie, and the Seine as
far as the eye could see. The two visitors, delighted, congratulated him,
and the house was opened to them. They saw everything, down to the dainty
kitchen, whose walls and even ceilings were covered with porcelain tiles
ornamented with blue designs, which excited the wonder of the farmers.

"How did you happen to buy this place?" asked the journalist.

The novelist explained that, while looking for a cottage to hire for the
summer, he had found the little house, which was for sale for several
thousand francs, a song, almost nothing. He immediately bought it.

"But everything that you have added must have cost you a good deal!"

The writer smiled, and answered: "Yes, quite a little."

The two men left. The journalist, taking Patissot by the arm, was
philosophizing in a low voice:

"Every general has his Waterloo," he said; "every Balzac has his Jardies,
and every artist living in the country feels like a landed proprietor."

They took the train at the station of Villaines, and, on the way home,
Patissot loudly mentioned the names of the famous painter and of the
great novelist as though they were his friends. He even allowed people to
think that he had taken luncheon with one and dinner with the other.

BEFORE THE CELEBRATION

The celebration is approaching and preliminary quivers are already
running through the streets, just as the ripples disturb the water
preparatory to a storm. The shops, draped with flags, display a variety
of gay-colored bunting materials, and the dry-goods people deceive one
about the three colors as grocers do about the weight of candles. Little
by little, hearts warm up to the matter; people speak about it in th