laden with plates and dishes had
fallen down, almost deafened me.

I was smothering beneath the weight that was crushing me and preventing
me from moving. I stretched out my hand to find out what was the nature
of this object. I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers. Then, with all my
strength, I launched out a blow at this face. But I immediately received
a hail of cuffings which made me jump straight out of the soaked sheets,
and rush in my nightshirt into the corridor, the door of which I found
open.

Oh, heavens! it was broad daylight. The noise brought my friends hurrying
into my apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised bed, the
dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea, had tripped
over this obstacle in the middle of the floor and fallen on his stomach,
spilling my breakfast over my face in spite of himself.

The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep in
the middle of the room had only brought about the practical joke I had
been trying to avoid.

Oh, how they all laughed that day!

A PORTRAIT

"Hello! there's Milial!" said somebody near me. I looked at the man who
had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this
Don Juan.

He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur
bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell
down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was
talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and
looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness.

I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved
madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his
name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in
his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered,
after thinking for a while: "I don't know--he has a certain charm
about him."

He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we
ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts. I wondered what might be his
hid den charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of
his. In his glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings
have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the flavor of
things good to eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words
penetrates us like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I asked him:
"Do you know