deposited my books. Fear is so unreasoning. Very
likely by saying no more about it, by making off and hiding my head
in my hands, like a man crushed by the weight of his remorse, I might
disarm this wrath. I tried to think so. But I knew well enough that
there was more to come. I had hardly taken my seat when, looking up,
I could see between my fingers the little man standing up and
gesticulating beside one of the keepers. At one moment he rapped the
damning page with his forefinger; the next, he turned sidewise and flung
out a hand toward me; and I divined, without hearing a word, all the
bitterness of his invective. The keeper appeared to take it seriously.
I felt myself blushing. "There must be," thought I, "some law against
ink-stains, some decree, some regulation, something drawn up for the
protection of Early Texts. And the penalty is bound to be terrible,
since it has been enacted by the learned; expulsion, no doubt, besides a
fine--an enormous fine. They are getting ready over there to fleece me.
That book of reference they are consulting is of course the catalogue of
the sale where this treasure was purchased. I shall have to replace the
Early Text! O Uncle Mouillard!"

I sat there, abandoned to my sad reflections, when one of the
attendants, whom I had not seen approaching, touched me on the shoulder.

"The keeper wishes to speak to you."

I rose up and went. The terrible reader had gone back to his seat.

"It was you, sir, I believe, who blotted the folio just now?"

"It was, sir."

"You did not do so on purpose?"

"Most certainly not, sir! I am indeed sorry for he accident."

"You ought to be. The volume is almost unique; and the blot, too, for
that matter. I never saw such a blot! Will you, please, leave me your
Christian name, surname, profession, and address?"

I wrote down, "Fabien Jean Jacques Mouillard, barrister, 91 Rue de
Rennes."

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, that is all for the present. But I warn you that Monsieur
Charnot is exceedingly annoyed. It might be as well to offer him some
apology."

"Monsieur Charnot?"

"Yes. It is Monsieur Charnot, of the Institute, who was reading the
Early Text."

"Merciful Heavens!" I ejaculated, as I went back to my seat; "this must
be the man of whom my tutor spoke, the other day! Monsieur Flamaran
belongs to the Academy of Moral and Political Science, the other to the
Institute of Inscriptions and the Belles-Lettres. Charnot? Yes, I
hav