n
of Bonaparte to the army of Italy: "Soldiers, you are in need of
everything; the enemy has it."

Tholomyes paused.

"Take breath, Tholomyes," said Blachevelle.

At the same moment Blachevelle, supported by Listolier and Fameuil,
struck up to a plaintive air, one of those studio songs composed of
the first words which come to hand, rhymed richly and not at all, as
destitute of sense as the gesture of the tree and the sound of the wind,
which have their birth in the vapor of pipes, and are dissipated and
take their flight with them. This is the couplet by which the group
replied to Tholomyes' harangue:--

"The father turkey-cocks so grave
Some money to an agent gave,
That master good Clermont-Tonnerre
Might be made pope on Saint Johns' day fair.
But this good Clermont could not be
Made pope, because no priest was he;
And then their agent, whose wrath burned,
With all their money back returned."

This was not calculated to calm Tholomyes' improvisation; he emptied his
glass, filled, refilled it, and began again:--

"Down with wisdom! Forget all that I have said. Let us be neither prudes
nor prudent men nor prudhommes. I propose a toast to mirth; be merry.
Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion and
the digest. Let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy in
the depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy.
The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingale
is a gratuitous Elleviou. Summer, I salute thee! O Luxembourg! O
Georgics of the Rue Madame, and of the Allee de l'Observatoire! O
pensive infantry soldiers! O all those charming nurses who, while they
guard the children, amuse themselves! The pampas of America would please
me if I had not the arcades of the Odeon. My soul flits away into the
virgin forests and to the savannas. All is beautiful. The flies buzz in
the sun. The sun has sneezed out the humming bird. Embrace me, Fantine!"

He made a mistake and embraced Favourite.

CHAPTER VIII--THE DEATH OF A HORSE

"The dinners are better at Edon's than at Bombarda's," exclaimed
Zephine.

"I prefer Bombarda to Edon," declared Blachevelle. "There is more
luxury. It is more Asiatic. Look at the room downstairs; there are
mirrors [glaces] on the walls."

"I prefer them [glaces, ices] on my plate," said Favourite.

Blachev