d on its four panels
with studies for a dining-hall in the fine style of olden days--where
were fruits, venison, and eatables of all sorts. The service of the
table was noiseless; the domestics seemed to glide upon the thick
carpet. The butler whispered the wines in the ears of the guests with a
confidential tone, and as if he were revealing a secret upon which life
depended.

At the soup--a _consomme_ at the same time mild and stimulating, giving
force and youthful vigor to the digestion--chat between neighbors began.
Undoubtedly these were the merest trifles that were at first so low
spoken. But what politeness in the grave gestures! What affability in
looks and smiles! Soon after the Chateau-yquem, wit sparkled. These
men, for the most part old or very mature, all remarkable through birth
or through talent, had lived much; full of experience and memories, they
were made for conversation, and the beauty of the women present inspired
them with a desire to shine, and excited them to a courteous rivalry.
There was a snapping of bright words, a flight of sudden sallies, and
the conversationalists broke into groups of two or three. A famous
voyager with bronzed skin, recently returned from the farthest deserts,
told his two neighbors of an elephant hunt, without any boasting, with
as much tranquillity as though he were speaking of shooting rabbits.
Farther off, the fine profile and white hair of an illustrious savant
was gallantly inclined towards the comtesse, who listened to him
laughing--a very slender blonde, her eyes young and intent, with a
collar of splendid emeralds on a bosom like a professional beauty, and
the neck and shoulders of the Venus de Medici.

* * * * *

Decidedly the dinner promised to be charming as well as sumptuous.
Ennui, that too frequent guest at mundane feasts, would not come to sit
at that table. These fortunate ones were going to pass a delicious hour,
drinking enjoyment through every pore, by every sense.

[Illustration]

Now, at that same table, at the lower end, in the most modest place, a
man still young, the least qualified, the most obscure of all who were
there, a man of reverie and imagination, one of those dreamers in whom
is something of philosophy, something of poetry, sat silent.

Admitted into that high society by virtue of his renown as an artist,
one of nature's aristocrats but without vanity, sprung from the people
and not forgetting it, he