the verge of an abyss. They either say that or they talk about the
chariot of state, or convulsions, or political horizons. Don't I know
their dodges? I'm up to all the tricks of all the trades. Do you know
why? Because I was born with a caul; my mother has got it, but I'll give
it to you. You'll see! I shall soon be in the government."

"You!"

"Why shouldn't I be the Baron Gaudissart, peer of France? Haven't they
twice elected Monsieur Popinot as deputy from the fourth arrondissement?
He dines with Louis Phillippe. There's Finot; he is going to be, they
say, a member of the Council. Suppose they send me as ambassador to
London? I tell you I'd nonplus those English! No man ever got the better
of Gaudissart, the illustrious Gaudissart, and nobody ever will. Yes, I
say it! no one ever outwitted me, and no one can--in any walk of life,
politics or impolitics, here or elsewhere. But, for the time being,
I must give myself wholly to the capitalists; to the 'Globe,' the
'Movement,' the 'Children,' and my article Paris."

"You will be brought up with a round turn, you and your newspapers. I'll
bet you won't get further than Poitiers before the police will nab you."

"What will you bet?"

"A shawl."

"Done! If I lose that shawl I'll go back to the article Paris and
the hat business. But as for getting the better of Gaudissart--never!
never!"

And the illustrious traveller threw himself into position before
Jenny, looked at her proudly, one hand in his waistcoat, his head at
three-quarter profile,--an attitude truly Napoleonic.

"Oh, how funny you are! what have you been eating to-night?"

Gaudissart was thirty-eight years of age, of medium height, stout and
fat like men who roll about continually in stage-coaches, with a face as
round as a pumpkin, ruddy cheeks, and regular features of the type which
sculptors of all lands adopt as a model for statues of Abundance, Law,
Force, Commerce, and the like. His protuberant stomach swelled forth in
the shape of a pear; his legs were small, but active and vigorous. He
caught Jenny up in his arms like a baby and kissed her.

"Hold your tongue, young woman!" he said. "What do you know about
Saint-Simonism, antagonism, Fourierism, criticism, heroic enterprise,
or woman's freedom? I'll tell you what they are,--ten francs for each
subscription, Madame Gaudissart."

"On my word of honor, you are going crazy, Gaudissart."

"More and more crazy about YOU," he replied, flinging h