elf just now, while contemplating the back of your neck, and
you will readily understand that, under such an impression----"

She made a grimace at him like that of a disdainful monkey.

"You think it witty, I suppose, to talk nonsense when anyone asks you a
serious question?"

"Well, then, since you wish it, mademoiselle, you shall have an
instructive answer. Some twenty years ago we had, in the post-mortem
room at the Hopital Saint-Joseph, a drunken old watchman, named Daddy
Rousseau, who every day at eleven o'clock used to lunch at the end of
the table on which the corpse was lying. He ate his lunch because he was
hungry. Nothing prevents people who are hungry from eating as soon as
they have got something to eat. Only Daddy Rousseau used to say: 'I
don't know whether it is because of the atmosphere of the room, but I
must have something fresh and appetizing.'"

"I understand," said Felicie. "Little flower-girls are what you want.
But you mustn't, you know. And there you are seated like a Turk and you
haven't written out my prescription yet." She cast an inquiring glance
at him. "Where is the stomach exactly?"

The door had remained ajar. A young man, a very pretty fellow and
extremely fashionable, pushed it open, and, having taken a couple of
steps into the dressing-room, inquired politely whether he might come
in.

"Oh, it's you!" said Nanteuil. And she stretched out her hand, which he
kissed with pleasure, ceremony and fatuity.

"How are you, Doctor Socrates?" he inquired, without wasting any
particular courtesies on Madame Doulce.

Trublet was often accosted in this manner, because of his snub-nose and
his subtle speech. Pointing to Nanteuil, he said:

"Monsieur de Ligny, you see before you a young lady who is not quite
sure whether she has a stomach. It is a serious question. We advise her
to refer, for the answer, to the little girl who ate too much jam. Her
mother said to her: 'You will injure your stomach.' The child replied:
'It's only ladies who have stomachs; little girls haven't any.'"

"Heavens, how silly you are, doctor!" cried Nanteuil.

"I would you spoke the truth, mademoiselle. Silliness is the capacity
for happiness. It is the sovereign content. It is the prime asset in a
civilized society."

"You are paradoxical, my dear doctor," remarked Monsieur de Ligny. "But
I grant you that it is better to be silly as everybody is silly than to
be clever as no one else is clever."

"It's true,