or, at the end of a repast where sobriety has not reigned, each one is
disposed to impose upon others the despotism of his own intoxication,
and the idle talk of his peculiar hallucinations. Marillac bore away the
prize among the talking contingent, thanks to the vigor of his lungs and
the originality of his words, which sometimes forced the attention of
his adversaries. Finally he remained master of the field, and flashed
volleys of his drunken eloquence to the right and left.

"It is a pity," he exclaimed, in the midst of his triumph, as he glanced
disdainfully up and down the table, "it really is a pity, gentlemen,
to listen to your conversation. One could imagine nothing more
commonplace-prosaic or bourgeois. Would it not please you to indulge in
a discussion of a little higher order?

"Let us join hands, and talk of poetry and art. I am thirsting for an
artistic conversation; I am thirsting for wit and intelligence."

"You must drink if you are thirsty," said the notary, filling his glass
to the brim.

The artist emptied it at one draught, and continued in a languishing
voice as he gazed with a loving look at his fat neighbor.

"I will begin our artistic conversation: 'Knowest thou the land where
the orange-flower blooms?'"

"It is warmer than ours," replied the notary, who was not familiar with
Mignon's song; and, beginning to laugh maliciously, he gave a wink at
his neighbors as if to say:

"I have settled him now."

Marillac leaned toward him with the meekness of a lamb that presents his
head to the butcher, and sympathetically pressed his hands.

"O poet!" he continued, "do you not feel, as I do at the twilight hour
and in the eventide, a vague desire for a sunny, perfumed, southern
life? Will you not bid adieu to this sterile country and sail away to
a land where the blue sky is reflected in the blue sea? Venice! the
Rialto, the Bridge of Sighs, Saint Mark! Rome! the Coliseum and Saint
Peter--But I know Italy by heart; let us go instead to Constantinople. I
am thirsting for sultanas and houris; I am thirsting--"

"Good gracious! why do you not drink if you are thirsty?"

"Gladly. I never say no to that. I scorn love in a nightcap; I adore
danger. Danger is life to me.

"I dote on silken ladders as long as Jacob's, on citadels worth scaling;
on moonlight evenings, bearded husbands, and all that sort of thing--I
would love a bed composed of five hundred poniards; you understand me,
poet--"

"I be