y cause you. Don't do what I did with my blind man on Pont de
la Concorde, that horrible clarinet player, who has made my life a
burden for ten years, whistling at me every day: _De tes fils, Norma_. I
tried everything to make him go away, money, threats. Nothing would
induce him to go. The police? Oh! yes. With our modern ideas, to turn a
poor blind man off his bridge would become a momentous affair. The
opposition newspapers would speak of it, the Parisians would make a
fable of it. _The Cobbler and the Financier_; _The Duke and the
Clarinet._ I must resign myself to it. Indeed, it's my own fault. I
should not have shown the fellow that he annoyed me. I am confident that
my torture is half of his life now. Every morning he leaves his hovel
with his dog, his folding-stool and his horrible instrument, and says to
himself: 'Now I'll go and make life a burden to the Duc de Mora.' Not a
day does he miss, the villain. Look you! if I should open the window a
crack, you would hear that deluge of shrill little notes above the noise
of the water and the carriages. Very well! this _Messager_ man is your
clarinet; if you let him see that his music wearies you, he will never
stop. By the way, my dear deputy, let me remind you that you have a
committee meeting at three o'clock, and I shall see you very soon in the
Chamber."

Then, turning to Jenkins, he added: "You know what I asked you for,
Doctor,--pearls for day after to-morrow. And well loaded!"

Jenkins started and shook himself, as if suddenly aroused from a dream.

"I understand, my dear Duke; I'll supply you with breath--oh! breath
enough to win the Derby."

He bowed, and went away, laughing, a genuine wolf's laugh, showing his
white, parted teeth. The Nabob also took his leave, his heart
overflowing with gratitude, but not daring to allow that sceptic to see
anything of it, for any sort of demonstration aroused his distrust. And
the Minister of State, left alone, crouching in front of the crackling,
blazing fire, sheltered by the velvety warmth of his luxurious garments,
lined on that day by the feverish caress of a lovely May sun, began to
shiver anew, to shiver so violently that Felicia's letter, which he held
open in his blue fingers and read with amorous zest, trembled with a
rustling noise as of silk.

* * * * *

A very peculiar situation is that of a deputy in the period which
follows his election and precedes--as they say in Parl