orn to roll;
the day comes when he experiences the necessity of being seated. I am
seated; my seat is a little hard, but when I am tempted to murmur, I
think of my mother and refrain."

"What did you do in Roumania?" inquired M. Moriaz, who liked to have
stories circumstantially detailed.

"Ah! I beg of you to excuse me from recounting to you the worst employed
years of my life. I am my father's own son. He dreamed of cutting
through an isthmus, I of inventing a gun. I spent four years of my life
in fabricating it, and the first time it was used it burst."

And thereupon he plunged into a somewhat humorous description of his
invention, his hopes, his golden dreams, his disappointments, and his
chagrin. "The only admirable thing in the whole affair," he concluded,
"and something that I believe never has happened to any other inventor,
is that I am cured entirely of my chimera; I defy it to take possession
of me again. I propose to put myself under discipline in order to
expiate my extravagance. So soon as my cure is entirely finished I will
set out for Paris, where I will do penance."

"What kind of penance?" asked M. Moriaz. "Paris is not a hermitage."

"Nor is it my intention to live there as a hermit," was the reply,
given with perfect simplicity. "I go to give lessons in music and in the
languages."

"Indeed!" exclaimed M. Moriaz. "Do you see no other career open to you,
my dear count?"

"I am no longer a count," he replied, with an heroic smile. "Counts do
not run about giving private lessons." And a strange light flashed in
his eyes as he spoke. "I shall run about giving private lessons until I
hear anew the voice that spoke to me in California. It will find me
ever ready; my reply will be: 'I belong to thee; dispose of me at thy
pleasure.' Ah! this chimera is one that I never will renounce!"

Then suddenly he started as one just awakening from a dream; he drew
his hand over his brow, looked confusedly around him, and said: "_Grand
Dieu!_ here I have been talking to you of myself for two hours! It is
the most stupid way of passing one's time, and I promise you it shall
not happen again."

With these words he rose, took up his hat, and left.

M. Moriaz paced the floor for some moments, his hands behind his back;
presently he said: "This _diable_ of a man has strangely moved me. One
thing alone spoils his story for me--that is the gun. A man who once has
drunk will drink again; one who has invented will i