rant in the Latin Quarter. He afterward
went to the Comedie Francaise, to kill time, as well as to inquire after
his drama of Jocquelet, who played that evening in 'Le Legataire
Universel'.

The comedian received him in his dressing-room, being already arrayed in
Crispin's long boots and black trousers. He was seated in his
shirt-sleeves be fore his toilet-table, and had just pasted over his
smooth lips the bristling moustache of this traditional personage.
Without rising, or even saying "Good-day," he cried out to the poet as he
recognized him in the mirror.

"No news as to your piece! The manager has not one moment to himself; we
are getting ready for the revival of Camaraderie. But we shall be through
with it in two days, and then--"

And immediately, talking to hear himself talk, and to exercise his
terrible organ, he belched out, like the noise from an opened dam, a
torrent of commonplace things. He praised Scribe's works, which they had
put on the stage again; he announced that the famous Guillery, his senior
in the comedy line, would be execrable in this performance, and would
make a bungle of it. He complained of being worried to death by the
pursuit of a great lady--"You know, stage box Number Six," and showed,
with a conceited gesture, a letter, tossed in among the jars of paint and
pomade, which smelled of musk. Then, ascending to subjects of a more
elevated order, he scored the politics of the Tuileries, and scornfully
exposed the imperial corruption while recognizing that this "poor
Badingue," who, three days before, had paid a little compliment to the
actor, was of more account than his surroundings.

The poet went home and retired, bewildered by such gossip. When he awoke,
the agony of his thoughts about Maria had become still more painful. When
should he see Louise again? Would her reply be favorable? In spite of the
fine autumn morning his heart was troubled, and he felt that he had no
courage. His administrative work had never seemed more loathsome than on
that day. His fellow-clerk, an amateur in hunting, had just had two days'
absence, and inflicted upon him, in an unmerciful manner, his stories of
slaughtered partridges, and dogs who pointed, so wonderfully well, and of
course punctuated all this with numerous Pan-Pans! to imitate the report
of a double-barrelled gun.

When he left the office Amedee regained his serenity a little; he
returned home by the quays, hunting after old books and enjoy