ed in great
perplexity:

"What business could we set up in? That would not do, for all I know is
Latin!"

She reflected in her turn, passing in review all her business ambitions.

"You could not be a doctor?"

"No, I have no diploma."

"Or a chemist?"

"No more than the other."

She uttered a cry of joy. She had discovered it.

"Then we'll buy a grocer's shop! Oh! what luck! we'll buy a grocer's
shop. Not on a big scale, of course; with five thousand francs one does
not go far."

He was shocked at the suggestion.

"No, I can't be a grocer. I am--I am--too well known: I only
know Latin, that is all I know."

But she poured a glass of champagne down his throat. He drank it and was
silent.

We got back into the boat. The night was dark, very dark. I saw clearly,
however, that he had caught her by the waist, and that they were hugging
each other again and again.

It was a frightful catastrophe. Our escapade was discovered, with the
result that Pere Piquedent was dismissed. And my father, in a fit of
anger, sent me to finish my course of philosophy at Ribaudet's school.

Six months later I took my degree of Bachelor of Arts. Then I went to
study law in Paris, and did not return to my native town till two years
later.

At the corner of the Rue de Serpent a shop caught my eye. Over the door
were the words: "Colonial Products--Piquedent"; then underneath, so
as to enlighten the most ignorant: "Grocery."

I exclaimed:

"'Quantum mutatus ab illo!'"

Piquedent raised his head, left his female customer, and rushed toward me
with outstretched hands.

"Ah! my young friend, my young friend, here you are! What luck! what
luck!"

A beautiful woman, very plump, abruptly left the cashier's desk and flung
herself on my breast. I had some difficulty in recognizing her, she had
grown so stout.

I asked:

"So then you're doing well?"

Piquedent had gone back to weigh the groceries.

"Oh! very well, very well, very well. I have made three thousand francs
clear this year!"

"And what about Latin, Monsieur Piquedent?"

"Oh, good heavens! Latin, Latin, Latin--you see it does not keep the
pot boiling!"

A MEETING

It was nothing but an accident, an accident pure and simple. On that
particular evening the princess' rooms were open, and as they appeared
dark after the brilliantly lighted parlors, Baron d'Etraille, who was
tired of standing, inadvertently wandered into an empty bedroom.

He looked rou