of the various customs of humanity.
When at a ripe age, he returned to his own country, he rarely strayed
from his ancient Rue de Seine, thoroughly enjoying his life, save that
it depressed him a trifle to see how little able his contemporaries were
to realize the deplorable misunderstandings which for eighteen centuries
had kept humanity at cross-purposes with nature.

There was a tap at the door.

"It's only me!" exclaimed a woman's voice in the passage.

Felicie, slipping on her pink petticoat, begged the doctor to open the
door.

Enter Madame Doulce, a lady who was allowing her massive person to run
to seed, although she had long contrived to hold it together on the
boards, compelling it to assume the dignity proper to aristocratic
mothers.

"Well, my dear! How-d'ye-do, doctor! Felicie, you know I am not one to
pay compliments. Nevertheless, I saw you the day before yesterday, and I
assure you that in the second of _La Mere confidente_ you put in some
excellent touches, which are far from easy to bring off."

Nanteuil, with smiling eyes, waited--as is always the case when one has
received a compliment--for another.

Madame Doulce, thus invited by Nanteuil's silence, murmured some
additional words of praise:

"...excellent touches, genuinely individual business!"

"You really think so, Madame Doulce? Glad to hear it, for I don't feel
the part. And then that great Perrin woman upsets me altogether. It is a
fact. When I sit on the creature's knees, it makes me feel as if----You
don't know all the horrors that she whispers into my ear while we are on
the stage! She's crazy! I understand everything, but there are some
things which disgust me. Michon, don't my stays crease at the back, on
the right?"

"My dear child," cried Trublet with enthusiasm, "you have just said
something that is really admirable."

"What?" inquired Nanteuil simply.

"You said: 'I understand everything, but there are some things which
disgust me.' You understand everything; the thoughts and actions of men
appear to you as particular instances of the universal mechanics, but in
respect of them you cherish neither hatred nor anger. But there are
things which disgust you; you have a fastidious taste, and it is
profoundly true that morals are a matter of taste. My child, I could
wish that the Academy of Moral Science thought as sanely as you. Yes.
You are quite right. As regards the instincts which you attribute to
your fellow-actress,