urn,
to keep the secret and lend him their tongues. They served him well.
The captain of the fishing-smack told Germain that one of his cousins,
a sailor, had just returned from Marseilles, where he had been paid off
from the brig in which Monsieur Mignon returned to France. The brig had
been sold to the account of some other person than Monsieur Mignon, and
the cargo was only worth three or four hundred thousand francs at the
utmost.

"Germain," said Canalis, as the valet was leaving the room, "serve
champagne and claret. A member of the legal fraternity of Havre must
carry away with him proper ideas of a poet's hospitality. Besides, he
has got a wit that is equal to Figaro's," added Canalis, laying his
hand on the dwarf's shoulder, "and we must make it foam and sparkle with
champagne; you and I, Ernest, will not spare the bottle either. Faith,
it is over two years since I've been drunk," he added, looking at La
Briere.

"Not drunk with wine, you mean," said Butscha, looking keenly at him,
"yes, I can believe that. You get drunk every day on yourself, you drink
in so much praise. Ha, you are handsome, you are a poet, you are famous
in your lifetime, you have the gift of an eloquence that is equal to
your genius, and you please all women,--even my master's wife. Admired
by the finest sultana-valide that I ever saw in my life (and I never
saw but her) you can, if you choose, marry Mademoiselle de La Bastie.
Goodness! the mere inventory of your present advantages, not to speak
of the future (a noble title, peerage, embassy!), is enough to make me
drunk already,--like the men who bottle other men's wine."

"All such social distinctions," said Canalis, "are of little use without
the one thing that gives them value,--wealth. Here we can talk as men
with men; fine sentiments only do in verse."

"That depends on circumstances," said the dwarf, with a knowing gesture.

"Ah! you writer of conveyances," said the poet, smiling at the
interruption, "you know as well as I do that 'cottage' rhymes with
'pottage,'--and who would like to live on that for the rest of his
days?"

At table Butscha played the part of Trigaudin, in the "Maison en
loterie," in a way that alarmed Ernest, who did not know the waggery of
a lawyer's office, which is quite equal to that of an atelier. Butscha
poured forth the scandalous gossip of Havre, the private history of
fortune and boudoirs, and the crimes committed code in hand, which are
called in