LLARD."

I know him well; he will be here tomorrow.

May 6th.
No uncle as yet.

May 7th.
No more uncle than yesterday.

May 8th.
Total eclipse continues. No news of M. Mouillard. This is very strange.

May 9th.
This evening at seven o'clock, just as I was going out to dine, I saw, a
few yards away, a tall, broad-brimmed hat surmounting a head of lank
white hair, a long neck throttled in a white neckcloth, a frock-coat
flapping about a pair of attenuated legs. I lifted up my voice:

"Uncle!"

He opened his arms to me and I fell into them. His first remark was:

"I trust at least that you have not yet dined."

"No, uncle."

"To Foyot's, then!"

When you expect to meet a man in his wrath and get an invitation to
dinner, you feel almost as if you had been taken in. You are heated, your
arguments are at your fingers' ends, your stock of petulance is ready for
immediate use; and all have to be stored in bond.

When I had recovered from my surprise, I said:

"I expected you sooner, from your letter."

"Your suppositions were correct. I have been two days here, at the Grand
Hotel. I went there on account of the dining-room, for my friend Hublette
(you remember Hublette at Bourges) told me: 'Mouillard, you must see that
room before you retire from business.'"

"I should have gone to see you there, uncle, if I had known it."

"You would not have found me. Business before pleasure, Fabien. I had to
see three barristers and five solicitors. You know that business of that
kind can not wait. I saw them. Business over, I can indulge my feelings.
Here I am. Does Foyot suit you?"

"Certainly, uncle."

"Come on, then nephew, quick, march! Paris, makes one feel quite young
again!"

And really Uncle Mouillard did look quite young, almost as young as he
looked provincial. His tall figure, and the countrified cut of his coat,
made all who passed him turn to stare, accustomed as Parisians are to
curiosities. He tapped the wood pavement with his stick, admired the
effects of Wallace's philanthropy, stopped before the enamelled
street-signs, and grew enthusiastic over the traffic in the Rue de
Vaugirard.

The dinner was capital--just the kind a generous uncle will give to a
blameless nephew. M. Mouillard, who has a long standing affection for
chambertin, ordered two bottles to begin with. He drank the whole of one
and half of the other, eating i