wn than sitting down,' let that pass; but as for
the last proposition, that it is 'better to be dead than alive,' it is,
in my opinion, very absurd, my own undoubted preference being for my
bed; and if you are not of my opinion, it is simply, as I have already
had the honor of telling you, because you are boring yourself to death."

"Planchet, do you know M. la Fontaine?"

"The chemist at the corner of the Rue Saint-Mederie?"

"No; the writer of fables?"

"Oh! Maitre Corbeau!"

"Exactly so; well, then, I am like his hare."

"He has got a hare also, then?"

"He has all sorts of animals."

"Well, what does his hare do, then?"

"His hare thinks."

"Ah, ah!"

"Planchet, I am like M. la Fontaine's hare--I am thinking."

"You're thinking, you say?" said Planchet, uneasily.

"Yes; your house is dull enough to drive people to think. You will admit
that, I hope."

"And yet, monsieur, you have a look out upon the street."

"Yes; and wonderfully interesting that is, of course."

"But it is no less true, monsieur, that, if you were living at the back
of the house, you would bore yourself--I mean, you would think--more
than ever."

"Upon my word, Planchet, I hardly know that."

"Still," said the grocer, "if your reflections were at all like those
which led you to restore King Charles II.;" and Planchet finished by a
little laugh which was not without its meaning.

"Ah, Planchet, my friend," returned D'Artagnan, "you are getting
ambitious."

"Is there no other king to be restored, M. d'Artagnan--no other Monk to
be put into a box?"

"No, my dear Planchet; all the kings are seated on their various
thrones--less comfortably so, perhaps, than I am upon this chair; but,
at all events, there they are." And D'Artagnan sighed very deeply.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Planchet, "you are making me very uneasy."

"You're very good, Planchet."

"I begin to suspect something."

"What is it?"

"Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are getting thin."

"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, striking his chest, which sounded like an empty
cuirass; "it is impossible, Planchet."

"Ah!" said Planchet, slightly overcome, "if you were to get thin in my
house--"

"Well?"

"I should do something rash."

"What would you do? Tell me."

"I should look out for the man who was the cause of all your anxieties."

"Ah! according to your account, I am anxious now."

"Yes, you are anxious, and you are getting thin, visibly getting thin.
Malaga! if