ad frequented he had made
friends with several talkative students who spouted politics as they
drank their beer. He had a great admiration for them and followed them
persistently from cafe to cafe, even paying for their drinks when he had
the money.

He became a lawyer and pleaded causes, which he lost. However, one
morning he read in the papers that one of his former comrades of the
Quartier had just been appointed deputy.

He again became his faithful hound, the friend who does the drudgery, the
unpleasant tasks, for whom one sends when one has need of him and with
whom one does not stand on ceremony. But it chanced through some
parliamentary incident that the deputy became a minister. Six months
later Jean Marin was appointed a state councillor.

He was so elated with pride at first that he lost his head. He would walk
through the streets just to show himself off, as though one could tell by
his appearance what position he occupied. He managed to say to the
shopkeepers as soon as he entered a store, bringing it in somehow in the
course of the most insignificant remarks and even to the news vendors and
the cabmen:

"I, who am a state councillor--"

Then, in consequence of his position as well as for professional reasons
and as in duty bound through being an influential and generous man, he
felt an imperious need of patronizing others. He offered his support to
every one on all occasions and with unbounded generosity.

When he met any one he recognized on the boulevards he would advance to
meet them with a charmed air, would take their hand, inquire after their
health, and, without waiting for any questions, remark:

"You know I am state councillor, and I am entirely at your service. If I
can be of any use to you, do not hesitate to call on me. In my position
one has great influence."

Then he would go into some cafe with the friend he had just met and ask
for a pen and ink and a sheet of paper. "Just one, waiter; it is to write
a letter of recommendation."

And he wrote ten, twenty, fifty letters of recommendation a day. He wrote
them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Maison
Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais, to the
Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the officials of
the republican government, from the magistrates to the ministers. And he
was happy, perfectly happy.

One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to r